Clark was surprised to see Batman, seated in the WatchTower cafeteria with the other Leaguers, as he joined them. The group seemed to be chatting amicably during lunch. Everyone was there early because a big meeting was due to start in a few hours. He also remembered Bruce had mentioned something about working with Cyborg to update the onboard systems.
Otherwise, the Bat would have arrived in the conference room precisely as the clock ticked over, cape flaring dramatically upon entry. No one ever accused Bruce Wayne of not being a drama queen. Just ask Alfred.
Apparently, today’s topic of conversation were the various uniforms each member wore. Barry was needling Arthur about the lack of uniform, while Cyborg commented that Barry’s was from the children’s department. Clark was amused, and his lips twitched as he smothered his laughter.
Bruce was discussing the materials of his own uniform with Diana, but didn’t say anything about the Amazonian’s ahem lack of coverage. She wasn’t human and, therefore, didn’t need the protection a regular, albeit well trained, human did. Diana must have noticed Bruce’s reluctance to discuss her armour, because she did not hesitate to bring it up.
“You are interested to know about my uniform too?” Diana’s voice was laced with good humour.
Bruce fell silent for a moment, seemed to contemplate the question, before engaging in the conversation once more. “Does it have special properties? Like the lasso, bracers, shield and sword?”
“It does, it also has an extensive history of providing protection, and has not failed us yet.” Diana sounded proud.
“Was it not worn by your mother, Queen Hippolyta?” Batman inquired politely. “How was it altered to fit you?”
“It’s magic, Bruce,” Diana insisted. “Created by Hephaestus, it will fit the wearer as needed.”
“I don’t doubt you, Princess, not after the things I’ve seen from you,” Batman countered dryly. “Does it only mould to fit you and your sisters of Themyscira?”
“It would also accommodate someone of your build.” was the smug response.
There was a sparkle in Diana’s eye, and Clark could swear Bruce lifted an eyebrow at her in surprise. The other conversations had died down, and everyone seemed to focus on the pair.
“It isn’t exactly my colour,” the Dark Knight pointed out.
“Rubbish,” the Amazonian scoffed. “I’ve seen you in all shades of the rainbow.”
A tilt of the lips on one side of Bruce’s face was as close to a smile as Clark had ever seen from the man while dressed as the the Dark Knight.
“You should try it,” Flash piped up.
“Why?” Batman queried flatly.
“Scared, Batman?” Arthur sniped. “Wearing a woman’s outfit beneath you?”
“Mind your words and tone, Arthur,” Diana growled.
“To test the theory, of course,” Barry interjected, a look of confusion on the young face. “I mean, we would take your word for it, no doubt at all here, but it would be interesting to see how it actually worked.”
“I just can’t picture it,” the Atlantean interrupted with a snort. “The Terror of Gotham wouldn’t be seen dead in your armour. No offense to you, Di, because it suits you and you wear it well. We are talking about Batman here, the grumpiest of them all.”
As the King of the Sea nodded to Diana, Bruce crossed his arms.
“I am secure enough in my masculinity,” Batman needled in return. “Sounds like you are the one with issues, Fish Boy.”
A positively evil smirk crossed Arthur’s face, and Clark had a bad feeling about this. The pair of them always seemed to rub each other the wrong way.
“I dare you,” Aquaman declared confidently.
Clark shook his head, implying fear in Batman was never going to end well. A glare erupted from behind the cowl, and Clark saw the tension rise in the black clad frame.
“Hold on a minute,” Clark interjected. “Have you considered Diana in this? What if it’s against the laws of her home? What if it causes a problem? You haven’t even asked what her opinion is.”
“There is no reason preventing Bruce from wearing my armour,” Diana said contemplatively. “As long as I get to wear his uniform in recompense.”
Batman’s head snapped back to Diana.
“What?” Diana asked serenely. “It would be fair and just. If you wish to wear my uniform, I should be given the opportunity to wear yours.”
“Oh, this is gold,” Barry laughed. “You have to do it now, I want to see Wonder Bat.”
“Which one of them would be Wonder Bat, Barry?” Cyborg asked around muffled chuckling.
Barry looked thoughtful and Arthur’s laughter boomed. Clark’s mind didn’t seem to be keeping up with the conversation at this point, how had it devolved into swapping costumes?
“Why are you all so obsessed with this?” Bruce argued. “Is it an armour or uniform kink? Not satisfied with your own hero identity that you now want to trade off? Or are you just looking to add to your spank bank, Arthur?”
Clark was totally confused. What did kink have to do with anything? Where had that even come from? Not that he had anything against Batman’s uniform. It was quite snug and made the lines of Bruce’s body… never mind. He forced his attention back to the conversation.
Aquaman had a mighty scowl on his face, and looked aggravated but intrigued at the same time. Clark tried not to think about it.
“Well, it’s not as if the rest of us can swap uniforms,” Cyborg stated somewhat sadly. “I can’t take off my parts.”
“What about Clark’s uniform?” Arthur asked, looking at the red and blue almost wistfully.
“I’m not sure,” Clark frowned as he answered. “It’s Kryptonian technology actually, I don’t know if it would work for anyone that isn’t, well, Kryptonian.”
Clark could see Bruce’s eyes lock on to him. Tech was one way to get the man’s attention. He could practically see the questions lining up inside that shrewd mind. Clark also mentally fumbled over the thought of Batman wearing his uniform. A blush crept up on his neck and he looked away before he could be questioned further.
Clark watched as Barry’s feet kicked restlessly under the chair, hands under red clad thighs to keep from vibrating in place. “No one else would fit my uniform,” When Bruce stared at Barry, the younger man took a breath and thought for a moment, “Would you do it? Try Diana’s uniform? For science?”
“Science?” Bruce’s eyes rolled so hard, Clark was sure the man could see the back of his own skull. “Why not?”
It was said so offhandedly that Clark wasn’t sure if he heard right.
“You’d do it? Really?” Barry asked, wide eyed in shock. “You wouldn’t be embarrassed?”
“He wouldn’t,” Arthur murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
“Bold of you to assume that I won’t own it,” Bruce deadpanned.
“Are you implying my armour would be embarrassing to wear, Flash?” Diana stated imperiously.
“No, no, I would never say that.” The words came out rushed, in Barry’s haste, as the speedster blanched, and raised his hands raised in surrender.
The group seemed to laugh at that, and the conversation moved on to other things. Clark tried to put the visual of Batman wearing Diana’s skimpy armour to the back of his mind and focussed on his notes for the upcoming meeting. Diana positively beamed from her seat.
Clark was seated at the head of the table in the conference room, joined by Barry, Victor, and Arthur. Diana and Bruce were nowhere in sight, and surprisingly, late for the meeting.
“Are they doing the uniform thing?” Clark asked Barry.
“Apparently, yes. They should be here momentarily.” Barry grinned widely. Clark narrowed his eyes at the speedster, waiting for a punchline, but nothing was forthcoming.
Before he could interrogate the speedster further, he heard the faint sound of Batman’s heavy boots in the corridor. It contrasted sharply against the clicking of Diana's unique footwear.
He watched the door expectantly, as it slid open with a hiss of displaced air. The black cape was drawn over the lower half of the cowl, and although they were similar enough in height, the uniform obviously didn’t sit right on Diana’s feminine frame. She looked like an actor in a B grade vampire movie. The whisper of black cloth reached his ears as Diana whipped it back theatrically, and Clark could see Diana’s huge grin. It was jarring to see the permanently etched scowl of the mask with such a blinding smile.
Diana posed with her hands at her waist, where the utility belt obviously had several pouches removed and cinched tightly to fit. She looked proud, and a little contradictory as the cowl wobbled down to cover her eyes briefly. Diana huffed as she pushed it back on her head, and resumed her superhero stance.
“I am Batman!” she exclaimed.
The room broke into happy laughter and applause, which Clark joined enthusiastically.
Arthur rubbed his hands together in obvious anticipation, and called loudly, “Where is the Wonder Bat?”
“I thought I was the Wonder Bat?” Diana pouted, and tried to cross her arms over her chest without the gauntlets falling off.
“The other Wonder Bat?” Flash added hesitantly.
Clark thought the crimson clad hero might have been too afraid to say it with enough volume for Bruce to hear but he didn’t get a chance to dwell on it as Diana stepped aside with a flourish.
“I give you, the Prince of Themyscira,” she intoned playfully. A gauntlet slipped off her hand and dropped to the floor with a plop.
Bruce strutted into the room, and Clark’s mouth went completely dry.
Without a hitch or pause in step, despite the heels on the boots, the scantily clad billionaire entered confidently before stopping abruptly, fists planted on his hips, a smirk on the unashamed, unmasked, face. The man was wearing every single piece of Diana’s uniform.
The tiara sat proudly amongst intricately styled hair, and the bracers glinted on his strong forearms. The boots would be the death of Clark though, they skimmed over his knees and up his thick muscular thighs, and made the billionaire’s legs look even longer than usual.
The blue skirt piece skimmed the tops of Bruce’s legs, the red upper part decorated with the golden eagle relief did not sag where a female’s breasts would be, and fitted against his skin perfectly. The brown straps holding Diana’s lasso sat snug, and contrasted against the golden W piece around the well defined waist. The overall effect was not what you would call feminine. In fact, Bruce looked every bit the warrior. Clark was shocked that it actually worked, not just in fit but in overall image.
What was the most surprising was the indifferent, almost bored, look on his visage, done in precise, stunning makeup. The attention to detail was mesmerising.
Clark was rendered completely speechless. Blood started to flow south to pool in his groin and he was grateful he was seated at the table. Bruce was edible and Clark was hungry. A haze seemed to descend over his vision and the rest of the room faded away. His heart leapt in his chest and his throat was drier than the hottest desert. Clark felt his palms begin to sweat, and drops of moisture collected at his hairline and top lip. He ground his teeth together, and clenched his fists, to try and stay still when all he wanted to do was rush over to Bruce and ravish him.
The reaction was so powerful and visceral that it took a huge effort to draw his attention back to the rest of the room.
“I, what, how, oh my gosh, it really does fit you” Barry stammered at Bruce.
“You doubted?” Diana asked archly.
“I don’t think it is doubt,” Cyborg chimed in. “I think Barry’s overclocking his brain seeing the evidence of magic.”
“Magic is science we don’t understand yet,” Both Barry and Bruce intoned at the same time.
Diana’s rich laughter echoed in the large room. “I told you.”
“Well,” Arthur muttered, the Sea King seemed stunned by the sight.
Clark belatedly realized the Atlantean hadn’t stopped staring at the Gothamite. Not that he could blame him, Bruce was eye wateringly gorgeous. Yet ice curled in his gut, and it was difficult to parse the strong reaction he was experiencing. When had he become so possessive of Bruce Wayne? He shook himself, mentally, and tried to push away the minor crisis that unexpectedly came out of nowhere, and intruded on his train of thought.
Barry was a streak of lightning, taking note of the changes to Diana’s armour, spinning around not-Batman.
Clark tried not to blush as he caught on to what Barry was saying.
“Even the boots fit perfectly,” the smaller man babbled. “And the, what are they called again?”
Diana looked over as Flash pointed at Bruce’s wrists.
“The Bracelets of Submission,” Diana provided.
“Yes, those, wow,” Barry continued. “They definitely fit and look more masculine. Extended along the arms. The armour itself looks custom made, a tighter fit that my own suit, and even the crown thingy.”
“It’s a tiara, Bar, even I know that,” Cyborg added in.
“Yeah,” Barry breathed in awe.
Diana laughed softly, and the cowl slipped down her face once again. She pulled it off completely. “How do you wear this?”
Bruce looked over, his lips twitched, and shrugged. “I could ask the same of you, Princess.”
“Can I?” Barry looked at Batman and pointed in the general direction of the outfit.
Bruce nodded, Barry started checking out the armour, touching with reverence. Clark’s neck reddened as he watched Barry’s hands skim over the surface. Again, he had to fight back a reaction. He wanted nothing more than to spirit Bruce away from the prying eyes.
“How can you walk in heels so easily?” Arthur questioned.
“Why would you think I haven’t worn heels before?” Bruce replied sarcastically.
“Oh, you even have the lasso,” the young forensic scientist pondered, ignoring the other conversation. “How can he use it? He’s not, what, god touched, like you? Can he use it?”
“Would you like to find out, Barry?” Bruce responded easily.
Clark gulped at the question. He really, really , did want to find out.
“Magic, Barry,” Diana beamed. “He can use it, with my permission of course.”
“And I have permission,” Bruce stated, distinctly self satisfied.
Clark felt himself nearly go cross eyed. Mercy, he thought to himself.
"That seems like a slight over-simplification," Barry enunciated slowly.
“Kal?” Diana called to him.
Clark had to tear his eyes off the sight of all that skin as he turned towards the Amazon. Her eyes twinkled and a knowing smile played on her lips.
“Um…” he stuttered.
“Do you not think Batman looks handsome?” she asked playfully.
“Um…” he repeated.
Clark felt the laser like focus of Bruce’s gaze, but dared not look.
“He does not look ready to battle,” Arthur interjected sternly. “How can a man fight in that?”
Diana frowned and Clark turned his attention back to Bruce as the man stepped closer to the Atlantean.
“Do you want to spar?” Bruce questioned silkily. “I would enjoy a chance to wield Diana’s sword and shield.”
Arthur’s hands came up, throat bobbing around a loud swallow, and took a step back. “No, not spar…”
Bruce’s eyebrow rose and the billionaire actually pouted. Clark’s heart nearly beat out of his chest. He would love to spar with Bruce, truth be told, to see the man wield such a fine sword . Clark once again tried to push the dangerous thoughts from his mind.
“What about our meeting?” Cyborg interrupted Clark’s thoughts.
Bruce stalked over to the chair next to Clark. He was mesmerized by the way Diana’s armour showed off rippling muscles and acres of skin. Every step enhanced the strong muscles of Bruce’s thighs and the short blue tunic barely covered the bouncing globes of the billionaire’s ass.
Bruce sat down and crossed his long legs, the toe of his boot tapped metallically against the underside of the table. The bracers clanked against the surface as Bruce typed to display the meeting agenda on the big screen.
Clark could not stop staring and Diana cleared her throat as she sat on the other side of him.
“Impressed?” she asked softly.
“With your armour?”
“That too,” she winked.
Clark blushed but pushed it down as the meeting was called to order.
The meeting adjourned, but Clark wouldn’t have been capable of repeating a single thing that was discussed. All Clark had been able to do was refrain from drooling at the man beside him. Every shift, every movement, seemed telegraphed straight to Clark’s groin and he wanted . Diana had snickered every so often, as if she knew, and it kept Clark from having an obvious reaction, but only just.
Everyone seemed to linger, as if waiting for Batman to get up out of the chair. It was Victor that broke the spell.
“Well, I’m not hanging around to see you all ogle Batman,” the teen stated. “Just, no.”
With that, the hush that had fallen over the group was hastily forgotten. Cyborg ushered Flash in front of him, and out the door, not without a few curious glances from Barry at Bruce.
“But I want to science,” Barry whined.
“Later,” Victor said as he pushed the speedster ahead.
Diana got up and walked over to Arthur. During the meeting, she had shed the boots and gauntlets completely and they rested at her position at the conference table.
“Come, Arthur, I want to spar with you,” she stated, throwing the cape back dramatically. “I feel powerful, and intimidating, wearing Batman’s armour.”
“Powerful? While dressed like a Bat?” Arthur’s tone was disbelieving.
“Indeed,” Diana answered, fingers flicking over the top of the various pouches. “I would love to…”
“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Bruce interrupted. “Booby traps.”
“You did not disarm them?” Diana questioned.
“I emptied them, but the traps reset every time they are closed.” Bruce stated blandly.
“Paranoid much?” Arthur snorted.
“I hardly think it’s paranoia, Arthur,” Diana admonished. “Not when everyone really is out to get him.”
Clark blushed as Diana blatantly winked at him. Diana chivvied Arthur out the door and it was just Clark and Bruce left. Batman seemed to be finishing up some typing so Clark sat patiently.
“What are your plans for the rest of the day, Clark?” Bruce asked suddenly.
Clark realised he hadn’t noticed when Batman finished typing, he was too engrossed in the vision before him. He turned a little in his seat, facing Bruce more fully. What he didn’t notice was how his knee brushed against Diana’s lasso.
“You want to spar ?” Bruce questioned lightly, a hint of innuendo laced the silky voice.
“Oh Rao, yes,” Clark moaned.
He blinked at his reaction, that hadn’t been what he intended to say. Bruce raised an eyebrow and Clark felt heat rise up in himself at being the centre of the man’s attention.
Clark tried not to squirm as Bruce’s gaze travelled down his body and stopped on his obvious erection. Clark wanted to melt into the floor, or into Bruce, and tried to hold back his flush. When the billionaire’s eyes returned to his own, it was searching, as if trying to figure something out. The corner of the man’s mouth ticked up and Clark swallowed heavily.
“Seems to me you need an exercise in restraint ,” Bruce said, and licked his lips slowly.
Clark jolted at the blatant flirting, heat spiked in his groin sharply. He leaned forward slightly as Bruce’s eyes rose back up to his own.
“Yes,” Clark whispered. “Please?”
Bruce’s eyes blinked rapidly, before making an unvoiced decision and the mask slid back in place, and stood hastily. Clark flinched minutely. Had he crossed the line?
“With me,” Bruce stated, and led the way out of the meeting room.
Clark scrambled to follow, and did not pay a single scrap of attention to the corridors they traversed. He was mesmerised by the sight of the man walking in front of him.
The taut muscles swayed enticingly and Clark wanted to reach out, to touch and caress reverently. He couldn’t help but wonder what they would feel like under his hands. The wait was killing him slowly, in the best possible way. Clark’s cock was hard inside his uniform and although he had no idea what Bruce had planned, he hoped that his most hidden dreams were about to come true. Diana’s tunic continued to brush the crease between Bruce’s thighs and bubble butt and Clark wanted to just lick it. His self control was dwindling rapidly and he had to stop himself from just grabbing, but it was getting harder to do the more he watched. It was hypnotising. Bruce’s hips seemed to be deliberately swaying and Clark wanted to press himself up against that magnificent ass. He was so focussed that he didn’t notice when Bruce came to an unexpected stop.
Clark barely avoided walking straight into the solid line of muscle, that turned to face him. A hand fluttered up to rest on his House Shield, with what appeared to be a degree hesitance, and he found his personal space crowded. Clark’s heartbeat ratcheted up at the proximity. He wanted to just reach out and...
“Do you really want to do this, Clark?” The question was asked softly, interrupting his train of thought.
Clark jolted, brought back to himself, at the moment of truth. It was now or never, he knew he’d only ever get asked this question once. If he messed up, Bruce would back down and that would be the end of it. He squeezed every ounce of courage to the front of his mind, and held the Gothamite’s gaze steadily.
“I do,” Clark answered truthfully, as butterflies danced in his belly.
He did want this, whatever this was, had wanted it for a long time now. Bruce leaned in, nose brushing against his own, and Clark held his breath.
Bruce’s head tilted to the side, steel blue eyes bored into him, but said nothing, just diligently observed as Clark took a fortifying breath. A second, two, three, passed in silence and he felt the tension thicken in the air.
“You need to be clear here, Clark, what exactly do you want?” Bruce’s voice was smooth like honey, and expensive whiskey, and Clark felt himself shudder.
It was getting hard to breathe, and it’s not like he needed to very often, but lack of oxygen became a concern. Bruce was closer to him than ever before, and Clark wondered how he was reigning in his impulse to take take take. A pink tongue swiped over slightly open lips, and Bruce looked like a man who was ready to devour Clark whole. A spike of electricity shot down his spine.
“Anything, everything, whatever you’re willing to give me,” Clark breathed, his lips mere millimeters away from Bruce’s.
Bruce looked at him through long lashes, and a seductive smile graced the aristocratic features. Clark was so gone. He couldn’t have told you who closed the gap because his brain short circuited. He was kissing, and being kissed, by the man he had wanted for far too long.
It was surprisingly gentle and firm at the same time, soft and almost chaste. But when Bruce’s thumbs brushed across his jawline, the kiss deepened. There was nothing tentative, or overwhelming, about the tongue that pushed into Clark’s mouth, control taken in one sure stroke. Clark surrendered willingly, slid his tongue against Bruce’s, and was carried along by the sensation.
Bruce was an expert kisser. Clark’s eyes fluttered closed as he felt his knees weaken, and his cock harden even more in response. His hands roamed any skin he could reach, down the narrow waist and past the edge of the blue skirt like tunic, until he found solid thigh muscle. He continued his exploration by moving underneath the garment until he had a handful of the glorious ass he had been admiring. Bruce was plastered against him, from chest to knee, and Clark pulled up one leg to his hip so he could slide his hand along the underside until he caught the knee joint of the heeled boot. Clark swallowed the kiss down greedily. Clark pulled the other leg around his waist and pressed Bruce against the door.
The moan that escaped around their joined lips seemed to come from the very core of Bruce. They breathed each other’s air into their mouths, synchronised and panting.
When they broke apart for air, Bruce’s eyes slid open and looked at Clark. Blue eyes blinked several times and a brilliant flash of teeth smiled at him, Bruce’s face practically glowed. Clark was entrapped, caught, and wasn’t fighting it. He pressed their foreheads together and stared into the smouldering eyes before him.
“Bruce,” he breathed huskily.
“Inside,” Bruce whispered, and leant back in Clark’s sure grip to press a hand to the electronic palm reader at the door.
Clark held on underneath those thick, strong, thighs as Bruce arched away and back again. He appreciated Bruce’s flexibility even more, and hoped to put it to the test very soon. The look on Bruce’s face as he swayed back to grip Clark’s shoulders seemed to indicate it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
The door slid open quietly, and Clark stepped into Bruce’s quarters. The lights flickered on automatically before Bruce commanded them to dim to a low, intimate, level. Clark barely looked around, as most of the rooms were the same. Instead he turned and pressed Bruce against the closed door, and took those delectable lips once more.
Bruce’s kiss was hard, hot, dominating and possessive, biting at his lips and sucking on his tongue. The way his wild fantasies had dreamt Batman would kiss. Clark revelled in it. Their first kiss outside in the corridor was nothing like this.
The way he held Bruce meant the man had to lean down to participate in the kiss, hands on either side of his head as it was tilted back to the desired angle. A hand whipped out and slammed on the mechanism to engage the privacy lock, and a beep confirmed they wouldn't be disturbed.
They kissed and touched and fed on each other. Bruce’s tongue pushed inside his mouth. It was fast paced and so damned good. Clark was trying to memorise every taste, every sound, every touch, but was swept up in the heat and passion of the best kiss of his life.
Bruce’s hands returned to his shoulders to unclasp his bright red cape and he ignored how it quickly fluttered to the floor.
An undignified whimper crept up his throat when Bruce finally pulled away, he wanted to follow that kiss, to have more.
Bruce licked his lips and Clark realised they were both panting for breath.
His grip on Bruce loosened and allowed the man to slide down his body until the boots were, once again, on the floor. Bruce grabbed his shoulder and hip, and spun Clark until his back thunked against the door and their positions were reversed.
Clark licked up the line of Bruce’s neck, in one long stripe and then followed it with his teeth, heard the ragged breath that it pulled from Bruce’s mouth.
Bruce’s hands slicked across the surface of his uniform, seemed to be seeking out joins in the Kryptonian fabric, before he stepped back abruptly with a huff.
"Has anyone ever told you how annoying your uniform is?" Bruce complained, and took a few step backwards and further into the room.
Clark took in the sight in front of him, pupils dilated to black surrounded by a fine ring of blue, slick mouth open and panting, hair mussed. Words tumbled from his lips without thought.
“Rao, you’re gorgeous,” he stammered.
Bruce pinned him in place with his eyes and very deliberately licked at his kiss swollen lips. Another step backwards had Clark following subconsciously until Bruce lifted a palm in the universal stop signal.
Clark frowned and wondered if he misspoke.
Bruce’s ass swayed, much to Clark’s delight, as he moved to the dresser in the corner of the room, removed the tiara and bracers to carefully place them on the furniture, and bent over to unbuckle the boots.
“Wait,” Clark managed to get out. “Can you…?”
Clark was looking pointedly at the boots and Bruce, showoff that Clark knew the man to be, stood with his back straight and feet shoulder width apart, straightened those mile long legs, locked his knees and bent his upper body forward.
Clark was entranced. Bruce’s hands travelled down the front of his thighs, twisted around to grab his calf muscles before latching onto his ankles. Bruce’s back arched and the playboy smouldered as he looked up at Clark from under heavy lashes. The man paused for effect, slowly straightened up, and dragged one foot across his near naked body in a yoga looking pose. The angle and stretch was incredible, but Bruce didn’t stop, he simply kept straightening and lifted his ankle higher in a graceful arch. Clark’s eyes widened in astonishment, as Bruce stood still as a statue with one leg pointed the ceiling in a perfect vertical split.
“I might be persuaded,” Bruce finally answered the unasked question.
Clark’s throat dried up, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and his words were thick and clumsy on his tongue.
“What…” he gulped. “What sort of persuasion would you need?
Bruce seemed to smirk before his leg dropped back to the floor.
Bruce reached to undo the chestplate, at least Clark called it a chest plate in his mind. He may have whimpered silently, well, not so silently if Bruce’s look could be believed. An elegant eyebrow was raised in question.
“I thought you were going to keep…” Clark motioned to the uniform.
“Clark, if you think for one moment I am going to do anything while wearing Diana’s armour,” Bruce stated flatly, and shook his head. “If she were to do anything like what I’m thinking of doing to you, while wearing my armour, I would be displeased .”
Bruce left the threat hanging, and Clark could see his point despite a flush that crawled down his neck and heated his whole body. He nodded to show his agreement but words and proper sentences still escaped him.
The red and gold upper portion of the armour slid off Bruce’s body, along with the brown leather sword scabbard, and was placed carefully on a nearby chair. Clark’s mouth watered when the man was left wearing the blue skirted section. Bruce held the lasso in one hand delicately, eye’s gleaming in the reflected golden glow. Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, scarred skin rippled in the low light, and when Bruce faced him once more, Clark thought he looked a bit like one of Diana’s gods.
“I have no doubt that Diana would use the lasso on both of us if she suspected even the minutest discernable hint.” Bruce stated, and brushed his long fingers over the magical rope.
An assessing stare raked over him as some new idea seemed to cross the man’s mind. The lasso brightened, the planes of Bruce’s chest seemed to be emphasized by the new light source, and defined the musculature in soft curves and highlights.
Clark didn’t resist, he stepped forward and closed the distance in three strides. Bruce’s eyes glinted at him, mouth quirked slightly, and Clark just reached out. The billionaire came easily into his arms, tossing the lasso across and onto the bed, as Clark slipped his hands onto the trim waist. His thumbs brushed the skin where it joined with the blue material that wrapped the lower half.
Those delicious lips were on his own, a clever tongue worked its way into his mouth. Clark opened up, it felt so damned good, and kissed back with fervour. His hands went immediately around Bruce’s waist, and pulled the man even closer. Bruce kissed him aggressively, demanding and biting and coaxing, fingers explored where the hem of Clark’s shirt would be, if it was a normal two piece combination.
"What," he breathed, brain already shorted out. "Wait, what is –"
"You still want," Bruce said.
Clark couldn’t decide if it was a question or a statement, so he nodded. That's good enough for Bruce, it seemed, and began to paw at his uniform once more.
“How does this damned thing come off,” Bruce gruffed, obviously unhappy that he hadn’t figured out the mechanism.
Clark tried not to smile as he pressed the Shield on his chest, but laughter bubbled out as Bruce’s eyes widened at the way the whole thing tessellated into a small representation of his House Emblem. Clark stood before his heart’s desire as the man drank him in. He couldn’t help but straighten his shoulders and puff out his chest. He wanted Bruce to yearn for him, to thirst for him, to crave him as much as he did the billionaire.
For some insane, unfathomable reason, Bruce did want him, and he wanted Bruce back. He decided that he was going to take whatever he could get, consequences be damned, and revel in this moment.
Bruce removed the remainder of Diana’s armour, carefully until there was nothing but skin on skin. Clark just stared, took in every detail available to him. His eyes followed the line of Bruce’s jaw, down his neck and collarbones, before sweeping downward. Clark wanted to swallow him whole.
Bruce reached towards him and drew him closer to the bed. This was really happening and Clark felt a tumble of emotions from within. Fireworks exploded and every cliche under the sun merged into a formless joy.
They kiss messy, nowhere near elegant, tongue and teeth and saliva, Clark wrapped a hand around Bruce’s waist and pulled down so that Bruce was sprawled on top of him on the bed, limbs everywhere.
Clark was appreciative of Bruce’s lustful gaze, definitely, but it was also a little like the man was trying to see right through Clark’s skin. As if the human was the one with X-ray vision.
Clark tilted his head to kiss Bruce again, coaxing that tongue back into his mouth. He tangled his fingers in Bruce’s hair, threaded them through the short length.
“Do you trust me?” Bruce’s eyes glinted in the dark.
Clark nodded. “Yes,” he managed to rasp out.
Bruce pulled him up to sit on the side of the bed, his feet on the floor.
“Do you have a safeword?" Bruce asked seriously.
“Traffic lights? Green, yellow or red?” Clark managed to gasp out, which made Bruce smile.
“Do they have traffic lights in Smallville?” Bruce chuckled.
“They do in Metropolis, Bruce,” Clark retorted, and the banter helped him relax a little.
“Noted. Mine are the same, if you want to continue this in future. For now, if you want to me to stop, you know what to say."
Clark’s heart nearly stopped beating. Bruce was offering this in the future? He couldn’t think. He had to say something, anything, as long as it didn’t sound stupid. Bruce’s penetrating stare was tightly locked on his face and he dared to think that, maybe, Bruce could feel the same way he does? He wanted to ask directly but knew that wouldn’t get him the answers he needed. He pondered a moment.
“Any other questions?” Clark ventured forth, a small played at his lips.
“Many,” Bruce responded.
“Will you be interrogating me?” Clark asked playfully.
That earned an eye roll from Bruce, but the man still smirked at him.
"What do you think, Clark.” Bruce’s dry tone made Clark decide to just shut up for now.
Bruce pulled Clark’s left hand out and held it by the wrist, rubbed his thumb at the thin skin over the pulse point as the lasso was lifted from where it had landed beside the pillow earlier. A look at Clark, as if to confirm, had him nodding.
“Use your words, Clark,” Bruce murmured, uncertain. “I need consent here.”
“Yes, Bruce, I consent,” Clark breathed. His whole body flushed as his fantasy came to life.
Bruce breathed a deep breath, face lit up in pleasure, and unravelled the golden rope before grasping both his wrists together. Clark interestedly studied what was happening as Bruce expertly looped the lasso together to make two side by side strands.
“Hold your wrists up and put your elbows together,” Bruce commanded.
Clark gulped and complied. He wondered to himself, how often Bruce had done this before, in this setting. He watched as Bruce worked and wrapped a double length of the lasso up his forearms towards his wrists, twice. Both ends were crossed over under the wrapped bands so he ended up with four lengths around his wrists and the bight went between his wrists and back towards Bruce. Clark’s eyebrows rose as the vigilante continued to work. A twist of the wrist and the lower end went through the upper loop and tightened down, the trailing end held the whole thing closed and the end result was a clean knot. It reminded Clark of a variation on a bowline. It had been quick and efficient, and it took Clark’s breath away.
Bruce looked pleased with the result and although Clark was tempted to question him, he was pushed back down on to the mattress. His hands were pressed up against his chest, and it wasn’t uncomfortable, but he felt secured.
Bruce straddled him on the bed, quick and lithe. He swallowed as Bruce traced the skin where the lasso tied his wrists together. Balanced with a hand on Clark’s chest, Bruce briefly tangled their fingers together. It was more intimate than their nakedness, and he couldn’t really move his hands, but Bruce squeezed tightly and his heart skipped a beat.
“You’ve done this before?” The words skittered out of Clark’s mouth without thought.
“With criminals, when handcuffs or cable ties were unavailable,” the Dark Knight rasped. “This is very different, Clark.”
Bruce grabbed his wrists, moved his arms up slowly until they were stretched above his head.
“Don’t move,” Bruce commanded.
He leaned up and mouthed Bruce’s neck, all wet and filthy, and felt Bruce’s fingers scratch along his scalp, sending shivers down his spine, before the lasso was drawn tight against the headboard.
Bruce attached Clark’s wrists above with another complicated looking knot with quick competence of Batman, and straddled Clark, smirked down at him with all the smug confidence of a billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, detective, genius, vigilante, the boldness of the real Bruce Wayne. It was powerful and he shuddered under the unflinching assessment.
Bruce reached up and curled his hands around Clark’s wrists and tugged, checking the quality of his knotwork.
Clark met Bruce’s eyes, felt the rush of magic infused in the lasso, and yearned. There was a moment of stillness as the tension built between them, when without warning, their mouths collided with brutal force.
Clark groaned deep in his throat at the taste of Bruce, it filled his senses, their lips slick until the kiss deepened, devolved into a hunger that engulfed him.
Clark slid his tongue into Bruce’s mouth, swept the entirety of that addictive taste, traced over the neat sharp teeth. He sucked on Bruce’s tongue and was rewarded with a muffled moan from the man, who pulled away with a gasp before diving right back in.
After what could have been a minute, an hour or a day, they separated and Bruce sat back.
The material of the headboard creaked ominously. Bruce leant down next to his head on the pillow.
“If you,” Bruce husked, breath blowing on the shell of his ear, “break my bed, Clark, I’ll stop.”
The sounds of the headboard ceased as Clark released the tension on the bonds and froze on the spot.
“Good to know you can listen to orders,” was ghosted across his skin.
Bruce’s lips clamped down on the skin under his ear and Clark shuddered. “Don’t, please?” Clark pleaded. “I don’t want you to stop, Bruce.”
"The Lasso of Hestia compels you to reveal the truth," Bruce smirked. “So tell me, Clark, what do you want?”
Clark’s breath hitched, Bruce’s lips were so close, he could feel the man’s hot breath on his skin. He had been avoiding speech because he was tied with Diana’s lasso. But when Bruce asked the question, he couldn’t resist answering.
“It’s always been you, Bruce,” Clark moaned, arching up into the man above him.
“Hnnn,” Bruce sounded like he was wounded, and his pink tongue wet the lips that descended onto Clark’s.
Clark’s half hearted complaints die instantly. Bruce kissed like it was a fight, hard, powerful, and controlled. Easy to get lost in, to open his mouth and suck on Bruce’s tongue and groan against those sinful lips when Bruce rocked his hips back again. Bruce sat up and raked his gaze over Clark’s body. His observation stopped at Clark’s hard length and a shark like grin took over his face.
Bruce was kneeling in front of Clark a moment later, who met his eyes when he looked up. The man looked predatoraily at his cock and a spurt of precome slid down his length.
Bruce ran his pink tongue over his sharp white teeth, then smoothly leaned in and licked the head of the dick presented to him like a it was a long drink of water in a desert.
Bruce would have heard the hitch in Clark’s breath but seemed to take no notice as the head of his cock was laved with little kitten licks, kissed his way down the shaft, circled the base with his tongue, then returned to the head to dip his tongue into the slit that had begun to leak precum. Bruce kept teasing, until Clark begged.
“Please, oh Bruce, for the love of Rao,” he pleaded.
Bruce took mercy on him because, finally, his cock was in Bruce’s mouth, letting the head rest on that wicked tongue, and sucked. Clark shuddered and Bruce grinned around his cock and slowly began to lower and bob that dark haired head on his length, taking more and more each time.
Bruce’s throat steadily opened up further, every time he went lower, until eventually Bruce’s nose touched Clark’s abdomen, his entire cock stretched around reddened mouth and throat. Bruce swallowed, saliva ran from swollen lips and down his length as Bruce moaned around the shaft.
Bruce took the full length into the tight, heated, throat as he reached his peak. Bruce must have felt him jump and jerk as his come shot down Bruce’s throat, before his eyes rolled in his head.
Clark came hard into Bruce’s mouth, vision blackened around the edges, toes curled and back arched right off the bed. Bruce waited for him to finish and pulled off, wiped the white fluid from the corner of the talented mouth with the back of a hand, Bruce raised an eyebrow as Clark struggled to compose himself.
“Mmmmm,” Bruce murmured, looking inordinately pleased with himself.
Clark continued to gulp air and tried to focus.
Bruce’s smile grew brighter, hands braced on his chest, and leaned forward until he was kissed, soft and chaste even when he tried to push up and press for more.
Clark felt the shiver crawl down his spine, his cock twitch, and he laid back limply. He stretched the entirety of his body, fingertips to toes. Bruce continued to lick and suck at his available skin.
Bruce grinned, and dragged his nails up Clark’s bare sides. He was already so tightly wound by the fact that he’s naked, Bruce’s ass rubbing on his cock, and the vulnerable position he’s in. Clark groaned, and his skin blazed wherever Bruce touched him.
“How long until you can go again,” the billionaire whispered.
That voice made sparks dance behind his eyes, and Clark couldn’t help the interested flex his dick gave against his abdomen. The lasso forced him to answer.
“For you, for this, no time at all,” Clark echoed the low voice from above.
A beautiful smile was gifted to Clark, and Bruce ground down on him. He choked on a moan and reached for Bruce’s hips, until the lasso stopped him from moving his hands more than a few inches above his head. He remembered Bruce’s words about stopping and stilled his hands with difficulty. Bruce snickered at his struggle and kissed him briefly, before moving once more.
Not knowing what the Gothamite was doing, Clark watched as Bruce moved to open the bedside draw and pull out a tube. He gulped at the sight of the lube. Admittedly, he hadn’t thought about this part, who was top and who was bottom. Bruce was looking at him with hungry eyes and he tried to swallow around his dry mouth.
“Who…?” he began.
Bruce leered at him and straddled him once more.
“Oh, I intend to ride that, Farmboy,” Bruce breathed.
Clark’s breath faltered and his cock throbbed in response. To feel Bruce around him was his most frequent fantasy.
“But my hands are tied,” he rasped.
Clark wondered how he was meant to prepare the billionaire but he didn’t have time to think as Bruce squirted the lube onto a hand with a lewd squelch. A stroke down his blood filled dick was a shock but it quickly morphed into pleasure.
“Just watch and learn,” Bruce said, as the hand left Clark’s swollen cock and his mouth fell open as Bruce stroked his own erection lewdly.
Clark wriggled in place, now that Bruce’s hand left him, he wanted to find some friction to rub against. Bruce placed a hand against him to still his movement and Clark complied with a whine.
“Patience,” the man’s voice encouraged.
Bruce reached down between them and took Clark’s cock in hand once again, hard and heavy. Bruce nipped at his collar bone, his breath ragged and body tensed, as a calloused fist wrapped around them both and stroked, controlled and slow. Bruce’s hair tickled at the bare skin of chest as he moved against him, pushed his hips into Bruce’s fist, shallow and unsure.
Clark felt like he was going to fall apart, come right now without Bruce doing anything more to him. He's shaking, needy, and Bruce smiled at him like he knew exactly what was happening. Of course he did.
Clark could only blink stupidly as Bruce moved, reached behind himself with that lubed up hand.
Clark’s cock continued to slide sensuously against Bruce’s. Clark couldn’t see what the man was doing, and he really wanted to pay attention to the sight of those clever fingers, but could clearly hear the noise of Bruce’s digit breaching the tight ring of muscle. He could use his unique vision but it wouldn’t be the same. He stared Bruce’s face instead.
Bruce was looking at him like he was something precious and Clark forgot about what the man was doing to himself. Their mouths crashed together. Bruce had one hand supported on his shoulder and the other moving behind and out of sight. Clark kissed like a starving man, trying to devour a first meal in months, and wanted to commit every sensation and taste to memory.
Clark didn’t dare speak aloud how cute he thought Bruce looked when his nose scrunched up in concentration. He must be adding another finger, Clark thought.
The notion made his cock twitch once more, and another whine left his throat.
“Bruce,” he huffed.
“Patience,” Bruce admonished.
Clark just kissed the man again, wanting everything he could get. Bruce must have changed the angle because a deep moan left those luscious lips, which Clark swallowed down greedily. Bruce began to pant heavily, kiss messy and rough. Clark flexed his fingers uselessly where his hands were tied above with the lasso, and the tingling of the magic bond ran through him.
He knew he was on the verge of spilling his feelings, a sure way to scare the Bat off, so he began to suck on Bruce’s neck, leaving a ring of bruises. Bruce was grinding and twisting down on Clark, and gripped his shoulder hard. Clark felt the moment stretch out, and wanted it to last forever.
“Enough,” Bruce hoarsed as he sat up.
Clark felt him move above and line himself up.
He held his breath in anticipation. When Clark first breached the slick hole, he exhaled noisily. Bruce arched and drew him in deeper until Clark was all the way inside. It was tight, hot, and intense. Bruce paused, on the cusp of being overwhelmed by the way the heartbeat soared and breath stuttered. Clark wanted to say something, but his breath was literally caught in his throat, threatened to choke him with the overwhelming feeling of right and good and bliss.
His brain felt like it was shorting out. Words tumbled from his lips without conscious thought.
“Bruce, yes, please, I…” Clark cut himself off brutally.
He knew what he was going to say, and looked up at Bruce. There’s a strange expression there. Almost as if the detective knew what he was about to admit. As if waiting for Clark to finish the sentence. Bruce ground down hard and a gasp left Clark’s throat.
“What, Clark,” Bruce murmured. “What were you going to say?”
The lasso pulled, tried to drag the words from his depths. He clenched his teeth together but Bruce just moved, slow, deliberate and controlled. He was being kissed again, the pace matching the thrust of Bruce’s hips, tongue dancing in his mouth languidly. It was almost as if Bruce allowed the question to go unanswered. There was a look swimming in blue ringed blackness, one that Clark could almost recognise, one that nearly had him admitting to his feelings. Could it be possible?
It was hard to tell with Bruce, normally hidden under the cowl or mask of Bruce Wayne. It occurred to Clark that he was being shown, allowed to see Bruce let the facade fall. It made him feel light headed, a crazy hope burned from the inside, and wild laughter threatened to bubble up his throat and out his mouth to be swallowed down by the most amazing man he’d ever met. He still felt the lasso’s compulsion but Bruce simply laid down across his body, and wrapped dexterous fingers with his own, connected them together along with the lasso. Was that why Clark was seeing behind the mask, was the lasso compelling Bruce as well? He didn’t care.
“I want you, Clark” Bruce admitted. “I’ve always wanted you.”
Clark tried to concentrate on breathing but another thrust of hips had him pushing up into that tight warmth, matched by the feelings inside his very soul.
“Me too, B,” Clark said, and it felt so good to let it out. “For so long. Rao, I…”
Bruce began to move in tandem with Clark’s hips, the pace increased in fits and spurts, similar to how they always fought and understood each other, and crushed their lips together once more. Their tongues danced to an unwritten song, steps in a choreography only they knew, as they moved together as if it was always meant to be. Their bodies seemed to harmonise without a second thought and Clark felt better than if he was flying. He stretched his senses out to incorporate every part of Bruce, from sight and smell, to touch and taste. He let it overwhelm everything until his whole world was simply Bruce.
Bruce slid up and down his shaft, delicious pressure engulfed him and his body sang the praises of ecstasy. His heartbeat matched the human above him and every cell reached out in euphoria, wanted to prolong this moment that had been dreamed of, wished for, desired. His blood sang in his veins in perfect harmony to Bruce’s, their breath mingled between them, sweat glistened on their skin as pleasure ratcheted up further than he thought possible.
When the pleasure prevented them from kissing, Bruce bit kisses down his neck and Clark could feel the billionaire shaking against him, literally vibrating with need. It just made Clark want to take the man apart, only to put Bruce back together piece by piece. He couldn’t of course, his wrists tied above his head so he arched forwards and up, lifted his legs to draw the billionaire closer. To somehow join them beyond mere physical flesh and blood.
The heat started low in his belly and spread like up his spine. He shivered when teeth scraped over his invulnerable flesh, sweat dripped from Bruce’s body to linger on his skin before it evaporated against his higher body temperature, the slow sweet ache that built in the hollows of his bones.
Clark didn’t know how much more he could take, his body tighter than overstretched elastic, each moment dragging out and yet too short at the same time. He didn’t dare take a breath as his senses dialed up beyond anything he had ever experienced before before the wave crested and broke. His groan reverberated around the room, dragged up from the very core of himself, coming harder than he had ever before in his life until he felt drained and empty.
A shell of himself left to watch as the gorgeous man sought his own release. And Clark took it all in, the expression on his face, the way his whole body tightened and stuttered, the look of pure wonder on finely chiselled features. Clark saw the moment that Bruce lost himself to pleasure and painted Clark’s abs in stripes of white rapture.
They were both panting and dripping with sweat. Bruce’s bangs fell down across his forehead and his eyes were closed in joyful satisfaction.
Clark swelled with pride and he wanted to wrap his hands around this amazing man, to never let him go, to declare his feelings for the whole world to hear.
Bruce collapsed back against the mattress, chest heaving. A moment later, the knots were being undone before Bruce curled next to him, a hum of satisfaction from deep in the broad torso and a smirk of satisfaction curled those delectable lips.
“I don't suppose you're going to tell me what that was all about," Clark asked, breath still catching as he spoke, while staring at the ceiling.
"Mm," Bruce responded, voice already thick with sleep.
"You know," Clark motioned in the darkness weakly. "The sex. Not that it wasn't really amazing."
"I wanted you," Bruce said, like it was that simple.
Clark thought for a moment before he dropped the subject. Maybe it is.
Bruce was a solid weight next to him, body pressed against his. Clark threw an arm loosely over the man, and just let himself fall asleep, didn’t try to think about what would happen once they woke up.
Nothing was going to break this moment of peace and happiness he felt within himself.
Happy Birthday Lopithecus!