Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The gala was everything Cat had told him it would be. High class people, from old money families, snobs and barely polite. The kind of people that got Clark gritting his teeth with unrestrained force. He had been treated poorly before. In his line of work, many people were disinclined to talk to a snooping reporter.

But this? He felt completely invisible to these people. Twice already someone had mistaken him for a waiter, calling on him with a weak wave of a hand, and Clark's blood boiled with empathy towards the real people working the floor.

And his work? No one seemed to give the first fuck to the cause of the gala. Most didn't even know why they were here for. Any thoughts on the fight against children with cancer? Someone snorted. Are we fighting children now? He would leave the evening with a blank pad and nothing to give Perry in return of the great lengths he went through to get the press pass.

Clark was ready to fly off towards the sun and never come back. Never again volunteer to take Cat's place when she fell sick again. He needed to blow out some steam that was growing rapidly under his skin.

At least the host seemed to be having fun. Bruce Wayne waltzed around the extravagant room with the confidence only someone born with it could have. The floor was his, and everyone knew it. He was everywhere, always by the corner of Clark's eyes, always laughing sickeningly at some godforsaken meaningless compliment thrown at him.

But he was slippery. Whenever Clark tried to get close to the man, somehow, he'd loose track and Bruce would disappear. It became the most infuriating game of hide and seek that Clark had ever played.

And just past midnight, after a dozen of failed attempts of getting anything consistent out of the guests, and after running around in circles like a dog chasing his tail when it came to interviewing Bruce Wayne, Clark gave up.

He sat with a sigh on a bar stool, and waved the barman over for a shot of whiskey. Not that it would do anything to his kryptonian physique, but Clark liked the sour taste it left on his tongue.

How much longer he'd have to be here for?

On his third glass he decided to just interview the bartender. Yet even then, the poor man's answers left much to be desired. At least he didn't outright answered "I just work here," so that felt subtly better.

No League messages, no natural disaster, no nothing happening in the world that needed Superman's attention. Gods, his head fell miserably on the table. Perry would skin him alive.

"You know, Ms. Grant is far better at this than you," came from a voice behind him. Clark straightened and turned around, no doubt coming face to face with the main cause of his frustrations that night.

Bruce Wayne wore a delectable three piece suit, everything in clear white, emphasizing the pearly white silk tie that shone a bit under the warm colors of the ambient light. It fit him like a glove, nothing like Clark's hand me down. It accentuated Bruce's muscles in a way that left Clark needing to peel his eyes off him every five seconds.

And then, and only then, did Wayne's words caught up to him. His chest bubbled in frustration.

"I bet you don't play her like a fool." And because his mom taught him manners— "Sir."

Wayne's perfect eyebrows shot up. A wide grin spread on his face as he sat on the stool next to Clark.

"No, I don't. You're right." Wayne kept his eyes on Clark as he took the glass out of Clark's hand and sipped its content. He hummed, deep, slow, making Clark's skin tremble with it. "Good choice. Few hints of honey in that."

Clark's heart thudded loudly. Why on Earth was Bruce Wayne, the man that'd been avoiding him the entire night suddenly so interested in Clark?

"I-it's why I chose it, actually," he answered lamely. He watched as Bruce rested the glass down on the table, the fingers around it almost touching Clark's own. His brain shut down.

"What do you think of the party?" Wayne let go of the glass and loosened his tie. Clark couldn't help staring, not when the silk unraveled evenly under those longe fingers. Soft, light. Clark caught a glimpse of exposed collarbone and his mouth fell dry.

"Not my style," Clark caught himself saying. He straightened up. "I-I mean it's beautiful, everyone is dressed so nicely…"

"I can feel a 'but' coming."

Clark grimaced. "This is why Cat covers these."

"Although I am curious, Clark Kent." Wayne emphasized his name as he read it on the press card. He pulled his stool closer, his thigh now pressing against Clark's. Warm and strong. "What does a hunk man like yourself like to do on a free time? Or who?"

Clark could physically feel the heat coming up on his face. His brain froze—or better, overheated. The only thing on his mind now was Wayne's words, the press of his thigh against Clark's and the stupid, beautiful silk tie dangling so suggestively on Wayne's chest.

"Would you mind answering a few questions? F-for the kids?"

Nice one, Kent, so smooth. The words no doubt fell like an ice bucket over Wayne.

Yet Wayne tilted his head to the side, a rogue lock falling dramatically on his cheekbone, and Clark zeroed on that, if not he would be agonizing about the size of Bruce's thighs or that beautiful strong neck or the soft skin behind his earlobe—

Clark took a mental step back. Focus, Kent. That pent up energy from the night's frustration really needed to stop materializing as lust. Besides, it wasn't like Wayne would really be interested in h—

"What's in it for me, darling?"

Clark's brain froze. He didn't know exactly what he said in return, only that Bruce Wayne was now leaning over him and whispering a hotel room number, just a couple of floors down from the expensive penthouse gala.

"For a chat." And Wayne left, and Clark's cock twitched.

They really did chat. For a bit.

Clark managed to get enough material that he wouldn't need to worry about Perry throwing him out to the dogs. It smoothed that anxiety current that had been keeping him taunt for the entirety of the gala.

Yet now what kept him taunt was Bruce Wayne, and in a very distinct way.

"Yes, I believe Wayne Enterprises are a pioneer on that area," Wayne said as he moved around the room. He shucked his coat and carelessly threw it at an armchair, but Clark couldn't care less about it. His eyes were glued on the way Wayne undid his shirtsleeves, as his deft fingers worked the white, thin material up to the sleeves, showing strong, bare skin for Clark to lust after.

"W—uh, and what can you say about your research team?" Clark couldn't let that distract him from his work. His mouth was dry, his hands shook slightly. Any minute now he was afraid he'd have to cross his legs. Inconspicuously.

Wayne gave him a bland answer. And Clark had a feeling that Wayne probably didn't know much about his business. Not that he didn't doubt that before. Every interview with the man were as superficial as this. He just thought that maybe, if he was asking the right questions… maybe Wayne would… he didn't know. Clark had a hunch about how Bruce Wayne would be in person. How he would really be. It wasn't usual for a billionaire to be donating so much money for so many good causes, and that got Clark wondering about the man in question. But it downed him that maybe Wayne was just as shallow as the press made him sound.

Yet still—

Bruce sat on the sofa facing Clark. His right knee touched Clark's left thigh gently, just a reminder of his presence. He offered Clark a glass of that same whiskey they previously shared. Clark took it, and carefully let the weight of his left leg against Wayne's knee.

Bold. But Wayne purred in response.

"Are there other causes you're interested in donating?"

Wayne rested his elbow on the back of the couch and propped his chin on his palm, looking intently at Clark. He held back the urge to squirm under those intense, deep blue eyes. He felt bare, naked.

"I'm more interested in getting to know you better, Kent," Wayne said, smoothly. "Are you always this accepting when someone makes a move on you?"

Wayne's other hand found its way to Clark's thigh. Clark inhaled sharply, the pressure and the warmth sinking into his skin, marking him. His heart leapt inside his ribcage, until the only thing Clark could think of was that hand.

"N-no…" he managed to blurt out. "I don't— I've never done this…"

"'This as in 'men' or 'this' as in…"

Clark shook his head. He was loosing his cool. That forearm on the back of the sofa was flexed so close to his face, strong and enticing. Clark licked his lips.

"Hooking up with strangers, I mean," he clarified. Not only strangers, but famous strangers.

Wayne raised his eyebrows, a satisfied grin spreading on his face. "Is that what we're doing? I thought we were just… chatting."

Slowly, Wayne undid the knot on his tie. It slid down naturally, the white silk falling like water from Wayne's neck. Clark followed the movement hungrily, not hiding his reaction.

"I think that's enough questions, don't you agree?"

Something snapped inside Clark. He lunged at Wayne and cradled the man and his strong irresistible thighs between his. His notepad fell on the floor with a small thud, but Clark couldn't care less. He was on Wayne's lap, kissing him and holding his head between his hands. When they came up for air, Wayne gazed at him with darken, molten eyes. His hands were now holding Clark by his hips in a strong grip.

"Mmm, that's batter, don't you think?"

Instead of answering, Clark kissed Wayne over the sound of their irregular beating hearts. Wayne's kissed lewdly, using his tongue confidently to breach open Clark's lips. The pressure and the taste pulled a moan out of Clark, and he gave back the same treatment. He licked his way inside Wayne's mouth, loosing himself in the friction of their tongues sliding together, until he pulled back.

Clark teased. He would get his lips close, would watch the way Bruce's eyes fluttered close and pulled back. Confused, Wayne would open his eyes and try to catch Clark's lips. But Clark teased him some more, licked the plum lips before planting a kiss on the right corner of Wayne's mouth, until Wayne huffed in frustration, and Clark kissed him hard.

Eventually, the hands on Clark's hips started to move. They rumpled up his shirt and got it out of his pants. The most difficult part was getting Clark out of his coat, which demanded them to part. But they managed, and Clark's coat flew in the direction of Bruce's own.

Disheveled, Clark sighed as Wayne explored his torso. Every touch ignited a streak of pleasure out of Clark, the kind that went all the way down and pooled in his groin. His cock, which'd been partially interested the entire interview, was now pulsing and twitching and tenting on his pants. No doubt Wayne was aware.

Wayne found his way to Clark's nipples, drawing a long moan out of Clark as he pressed and pulled on the sensitive skin.

"You like that, don't you?" Wayne asked, purring at his discovery. Clark nodded, thrusting down on Wayne and feeling his own cock hard against Clark's.

Wayne moaned and Clark took that moment to slick a hand on Wayne's hair. He gripped the back of it, a handful of that soft, perfect hair. Clark kissed Wayne, biting and licking and pulling another moan out of the man.

"I love it," Clark answered roughly. He kissed his way down the jaw, enjoying the rough feel of the stubble against his lips. A kiss, a lick and a bite: he varied between these in no particularly order, painting Wayne's neck with his work while the man squirmed under his attention.

Clark forced Wayne's head back by the hair, exposing his throat to the air, and that beautiful glimpse of collarbone was face to face with Clark. Finally. He bit down right where neck became chest, lapped his tongue over the abused skin and felt Bruce shivering under him. His hands were holding onto Clark's flanks under his shirt, nails biting the skin.

Clark sucked on his Adam's apple, and Wayne thrusted up. He exposed more of his throat, and Clark took it. Not long, Wayne fell completely under Clark's spell.

"You look so obscene in white," Clark whispered to the reddened skin. "I've been wanting to get right here the moment you said hi."

Wayne sighed and nodded in agreement. One of his hands was now on Clark's head, guiding him down back at the collarbone. Clark followed instructions, and pressed his tongue down on the bone, nibbled the skin and sucked on the spot that made Wayne fidget desperately.

"You're so fucking hot," Clark murmured to the skin. His hands went over Wayne's body, who fluttered his eyes closed and let Clark explore. He felt the strong curves of his pecs, the flanks and torso under the layers of clothes.

"God, you're packed," Clark said, hands on Wayne's chest. Clark bit his lips. "I can just imagine the wreck you can do to someone." His hands moved south. "But I think I want to fuck you tonight, if that's fine by you."

Wayne nodded desperately. He moaned as Clark cupped his cock through the fabric of his pants. And in a rush, they fumbled together to get their belts undone and pull their pants down.

Bruce palmed him over his underwear, and the pressure drew stars in Clark's mind. He connected his forehead with Wayne's and watched as he jerked Clark to complete hardness before pulling down the underwear with a shaking hand.

"Fuck, that's so good," Clark muttered. He closed his eyes and gasped as Wayne fondled with his balls. He gave Clark one last jerk before moving to free himself. "No, let me."

And Bruce obeyed. Clark's mouth watered at the sight of that gorgeous cock straining hard against Bruce's waistcoat. He needed to get his mouth around it at some point. But for the moment he thrusted his hips forward, using his body to press their cocks together. He spit down on them, and kept going.

Bruce pulled Clark in by his collar for a desperate kiss. Their bodies flushed together as they humped against the other. His cock slipped, then, and Clark felt the expensive material of Wayne's waistcoat against his skin. He thrusted, no doubt getting the cloth dirty, and when he looked at Wayne, Clark's breath hitched.

Wayne was watching him with glazed, intense eyes as he bit his lower lip.

"You liked that?"

Bruce nodded. A red tint still painting his cheeks.

"Yes," Wayne whined. "Fuck me."

Clark found some lube and condoms on the drawer next to them, and turned them around, so Bruce had his knees on the couch, hands supporting himself from the back. Clark stood behind Bruce, shucking his pants slowly, unraveling Bruce like a gift. He let the pants fall to Bruce's knees, together with his underwear, and caressed the soft skin of the back of Bruce's thighs.

"Your legs, fuck." Clark gripped the fragile skin there, "They are indecent, did you know that?" He kneeled down, nuzzling the coarse hair with his nose, feeling Bruce trembling at the attention, before biting down hard. Bruce shouted, gasping as he thrusted his body towards Clark for more, but Clark only lapped on the bruise, sucking aimlessly on the skin. "They are driving me mad."

"Again," Bruce said, pleading. Clark bit his other thigh, just were the thigh met crotch, and Wayne wailed.

He breathed in, taking a moment to just enjoy himself unhurriedly. Clark kissed his way up to Wayne's ass, and teased his entrance, licking gently with the tip of his tongue. He worked through the little twitches Wayne's body did.

Once he was sure Wayne was relaxed enough, he poured the lube onto his fingers, a generous amount on each one. He smacked one last kiss on the abused skin before pulling back. Just as Wayne turned his face to protest the loss, Clark slipped a finger inside. He saw as Wayne melted at the press of his finger. His entire demeanor changed. He seemed to have been holding himself tense, now that his muscles completely relaxed under Clark's care.

"Are you this desperate to be filled?" Clark asked, moving his finger, curling it, prodding Bruce open. Wayne scrunched his eyes and nodded, moaning a faint yes. "Good, that's perfect. Because I'm enjoying this." He found the spot that made Wayne cry out and huffed, pleased with himself. "A lot."

Bruce looked so pleased, every sound he made was a content little pant of a breath, and as Clark added a second finger, he swore he could see tears welling up on his eyes.

"Fuck, Clark, yes," Wayne moaned as Clark curled his fingers. He turned his head around to look at Clark, locking eyes. His lips were wet and obscenely red and Clark leaned over to ravage them some more.

Wayne's cock dangled between his trembling thighs, it's head glistening with a drop of precome. Clark didn't hesitate before crouching down and licking that droplet, spreading around the stiff head with the tip of his tongue. Wayne hissed, arched his back, completely lost between the feeling of being fucked and sucked. Clark wasn't far behind. He felt so drunk on the musky smell of Bruce. The rich soap and the sweat of his skin and just pure sex. He wanted to drink it. Clark nuzzled the length, giving special attention to that spot behind his balls, that sensitive stretch of skin. Bruce squeezed around Clark's fingers.

As he pressed a third finger in, Clark's eyes caught the sight of Wayne's discarded tie on the cushion on his left, and a wicked idea formed in his mind.

He took his fingers off Wayne, put the condom on his own cock, and stopped.

Wayne looked at him, "Come on, fuck me, I'm ready." He spread his legs wider, using his feet to bring Clark closer. Clark let Wayne move him, let his cock rub against the entrance, but nothing more.

Clark leaned forward, his body covering Wayne's, back to chest. Their clothes rumpled on each other. His cock pressed against Wayne's ass, just a few inches away from where they both wanted it. But before that, Clark held Wayne's jaw with a firm hand.

"I would very much like to fuck you right now," Clark said, his lips caressing Wayne's ear, a gentle contrast to the hand on Bruce's cheeks. "I want to come while you scream." Wayne was nodding underneath him, fidgeting impatiently. "But I've got an idea, and I want you to tell me if you'd like that or not." Clark grabbed the silk tie. "Don't you think your cock deserves a pretty little bow?"

Wayne scrunched his face. "What?" he breathed out.

"I want to tie you up," Clark cleared it up. "I want to fuck you and know that you won't come until the knot is undone." Wayne moaned, hips thrusting back. "So I think you deserve a pretty little bow around your cock, don't you?"

"Yes, oh God," Wayne whined. "Tie me, fuck me. Do whatever you want. Wreck me, Kent."

Clark groaned, feeling his own cock desperate for attention. But he ignored it for the time being. His heart was pounding. Never before had he done something like this. But this just felt right. That silk tie had been getting under his skin the moment Wayne walked up to him. And now, as he tied it firmly on the base of Wayne's cock, seeing it so bright against the feverish, trembling skin, Clark felt something inside clicking in place.

"What a beautiful bow," he said, not recognizing his own voice as it reached deeper tones. "Aren't you the sweetest present to unravel, Wayne?"

Wayne had his head between his arms, looking down at himself. He breathed out a shaky curse and jerked his hips, trying to find friction in the air. Clark had no idea what he might be thinking about seeing himself with his cock like that. But by the way he seemed to be feeling himself, he could guess.

Still.

"Aren't you going to answer me?" Clark asked. His hand gently caressed the bow, feeling the stiffness beneath it jumping in attention. "Are you, or are you not, the sweetest present? It's a simple question."

Wayne finally looked up from himself. His bright eyes were shinning, his expression foggy with pleasure. There was a faint color on his cheeks.

"Am I?" Wayne asked back. It came out small, smaller than Wayne probably wanted. It carried a piece of genuine questioning, and Clark felt the sudden urge to protect Bruce Wayne from the world.

"You are." Clark made sure to say it clearly. He aligned himself with Wayne's entrance, added more lube on his cock and pushed inside. "The sweetest little thing." Slowly, not to hurt Wayne. They had the entire night. Wayne was vocal with his pleasure. Each moan drove Clark deeper into him, until he bottomed out. Clark took a moment to breath, holding back his need to start pounding like a crude animal. So he settled his hands on each ass cheek, stroking it with his thumbs in a soothing motion. "Such a good present you are."

Wayne moaned and squeezed tight, and Clark moved.

The first snap of their hips sounded around the room, and it took Clark's breath from his lungs. He started a pace, letting the fap fap fap of the rhythm fill the room completely. Wayne thrusted his hips back in tandem with his moves, and Clark had to be careful not to use his strength to just move the man around by his hips like a giant fuck toy.

The silk tie hit the inside of Clark's thighs, a constant reminder to that treat waiting for him at the end. It made him want to speed up, to fuck his way deeper into Wayne. To growl and mark his body with his fingerprints.

"Oh fuck, Kent," Wayne said between thrusts. Clark nodded frenetically, mind completely focused on where his cock disappeared inside Wayne. It was lewd, it was crude, but fuck, Clark loved it.

"You're so fucking tight." And as he said it, Wayne squeezed around him, drawing his vision white. Clark whined punctuating his thrusts. A hot white bundle of pleasure grew on the base of his groin. "I think I'm going to—"

"Yeah, yeah, please. Oh—" Clark buried himself deeper, hitting Wayne's sweet spot, over and over again.

"Fuck!" He came shallowly thrusting in a quick pace, come spurting inside the condom. He curled into himself, forehead resting on Wayne's shoulders and just— just let the orgasm wash over him. He made sure to not put more weight on Wayne: his legs were trembling with adrenaline and exhaustion, and the last thing Clark wanted was to add to that.

Before long, Wayne started to get antsy, and Clark (who thankfully was quick at recovering) pulled out of him. Wayne groaned at the loss, but Clark didn't let him waiting. He shifted them around so Wayne was now sitting on the couch with Clark kneeling in front of him. He put his palms down on each thigh and massaged the muscles.

"Did you like that?" Clark asked, voice rough.

Wayne just stared at him like he grew a second head. "You have to ask?"

Clark chuckled, hands getting closer and closer to Wayne's cock. He jumped at the feeling, legs falling further apart. Wayne's cock was looking on the verge of purple by now. The head leaked, and a trail of precome fell on the pristine silk, staining it in a darker shade of white.

"How decadent," Clark noted, eyes catching the way the cock twitched at his words. "I cannot wait to unravel my prize." He liked his lips.

Wayne breathed out a "please." He looked so debauched. His clothes were rumpled, a few buttons came undone while Clark fucked him. His face was a mess, his hair stuck to every direction in a way that only Bruce Wayne could make look sexy. And his legs. Fuck, those huge thighs. And how could Clark say no to that?

Clark leaned in, taking the head into his mouth. He used his tongue to spread the precome around, all the way down to the base. The cock hit the back of his throat and the feeling of being filled made Clark's chest flutter. He closed his eyes and moved his head back to the tip, falling easily into the task.

"Please, please, please, please," Wayne chanted over him. His hands found their way to Clark's hair, and Clark let them guide him back down until he was nuzzling gently Wayne's pubes, lips glued to the tie. He swallowed, and Wayne shouted.

Clark undid the knot slowly, pulling the tie away from Wayne in a silent command. Wayne pulled Clark's head back, only to pull it back down again. His fingers trembled in their grip.

"I need— Kent, I, can I?"

Clark nodded and sucked him down, and Wayne came in his throat. He convulsed, body doubling over Clark as the intense high hit him. He gasped, whined, breathed for air as he fucked Clark's mouth with the last of his orgasm.

Then he fell back on the couch, boneless. Clark let him recompose, took his time getting to know those beautiful thighs better, leaving small pecks on the skin. He realized that despite his best efforts of not marking Wayne, there were bruises appearing on the side of his hips.

"Sorry for these." He kissed the bruises, whishing the kisses could take them back.

"Oh, don't worry about them," Wayne said, breathless. "I will treasure them for as long as they remain."

Clark blushed, a bit embarrassed.

He left a bit after that. Not before giving Wayne his number, you know, in case he wanted… another interview.

"Shouldn't I be the one handing you my number, then?" Wayne raised an eyebrow, a tired smile on his lips.

But he accepted the number and let Clark go with one last searing kiss.

Clark drifted back to his apartment, head in the literally clouds as he crossed Gotham back to Metropolis. He couldn't believe that this had just happened. He just had the most mind blowing sex with none other than Bruce Wayne. Clark never came that hard in his life.

Bruce Wayne, who let Clark tie a knot to his cock. Who let Clark say all those things about him.

Clark stopped mid air, somewhere over the lake dividing Gotham and Metropolis. Oh, fuck. He really did all those things, didn't he?

Fear crept over Clark like ice. What was he thinking!? Shit, what the fuck? People don't go around tying dicks for fun! And he gave Bruce Wayne his number as if he'd call Clark after… after— well!

Gods, should he go back and apologize? Did people do that? Could he? No, scratch that. It would he entirely too weird to comment on that.. right? And besides…

Bruce liked it.

Clark felt his face getting hot, hotter than the sun.

But no, this was wrong. To treat someone like that.

Right?

He shut his brain and flew back to his apartment. Maybe if he asked someone about it. He couldn't ask anyone he knew, though, that would only raise more questions than answers.

His phone went off with a nitification, and Clark jumped, almost hitting his head on the ceiling. Could it be Wayne? Was he going to call Clark a degenerate? Or that he would call the cops the next time he came near Bruce again?

Clark almost destroyed the phone with his laser vision the second time it went off.

But the messages were from Lois, wanting to know about the gala. He groaned and buried his face into his hands.

He turned his phone off. No more notifications, no more messages. Just Clark, who needed a shower and some sleep before the Justice League meeting tomorrow morning. Just that.

No thinking of sex and silk ties and blue eyes and the way Wayne moaned his name and…

Clark jerked himself off on the shower, feeling completely wrong but also completely right.

The meeting went as it normally did. Except not.

Wonder Woman was the one in charge of the meeting, since she had a longer history with the threat they were going to be dealing soon, by her calculations. It didn't seem a very difficult job for the League, just the usual 'defend the Earth from extra terrestrial life' job. Which was why Clark decided it was okay if he didn't pay much attention to the report.

He left his phone back at his place. It wouldn't do for Superman to carry around a phone, especially since everyone on the League was inclined to keep their aliases to themselves. Using his phone during a League meeting would not only be rude but could out Clark's identity, which he wasn't inclined to do.

It didn't stop him from wondering if Bruce Wayne ghosted him or if he'd find a new message waiting for him when he arrived home. So his ears were trained to the sound of his phone vibrating and the timber of its notification sound.

Last night had been intense. He barely got any sleep before it was time for the meeting. He couldn't seem to turn off his brain. His thoughts were running him tired with tension, the good and the bad.

A part of him wanted to throw up just from remembering what he did to Wayne last night. His mouth worked on its own, kept saying things that, well, Clark did mean, but in no way were they fit for saying out loud. He embarrassed Wayne, the most rich and influencing person in Gotham city.

And the tie… By Rao what was the thinking? That could have hurt Wayne irreparably. Did he tie it too tight? He couldn't remember it. He desperately hoped Wayne was okay, and that Clark hadn't injured him aside from those marks.

His leg shook underneath the table. It took him a minute to notice everyone was looking at him.

"What?" he asked, looking at Wonder Woman.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

"Peaches!" He winced at his words. Wonder Woman gave him a blank stare, unconvinced. "It's— well, nothing. It's personal, don't worry, it won't affect me on the mission."

She nodded, relaxing, before going back to her report. Clark made an effort to pay attention to it now, watching as Green Lantern projected an alien device on top of the table and explained how it worked. Clark's eyes fell on Batman, because instead of asking all the million questions he would normally ask about this device, Batman was also lost in thought, it seemed.

And that couldn't be a good sign.

He waited until the meeting was done before approaching Batman.

"Hey," Clark greeted his friend. Well, acquaintance. Well, not enemies. "Are you feeling alright?"

Batman turned slowly and looked at Clark. "What?" He asked, sounding a bit too far away for Clark's likings. Clark crossed his arms, and the walls around Batman were up again. He quickly composed himself and shook his head. "Back off. It's nothing to do with you."

Anger snapped in his chest. "Well, not right now, but if something was to happen and you were lost in your own mind, we could be dead."

Batman pointed a finger at Clark, "Well, you talk as if you were any better. Wonder Woman had to reprimand you in the middle of a meeting, or did you forget that? Mind your own business, Superman."

Batman left before Clark could get another word around, and maybe it was for the better. Sometimes their discussions ended disastrously, and neither one of them wanted that, Clark thought.

His phone went off, and he instantly let go of his animosity towards Batman. Once home, he quickly made for his phone, but again, the message wasn't from Bruce Wayne.

In fact, the message Clark was expecting would only arrive a year later.

Chapter Text

There were few things in life that made Bruce truly, insanely mad.

Bruce was no stranger to anger, it was one of his pillars, which meant he knew how to work with it, to channel that anger for good.

Now, though, the simmering rage felt nothing like that. His hands shook with adrenaline as something hot and acid grew right in the middle of his chest.

They won. Those other dimensional little beasts were gone. They wouldn't cause anymore trouble. Superman made sure of that when he destroyed the portal.

Bruce strutted towards Superman, walking through the rubble. He was right in the middle of it all, with kids circling him, laughing and celebrating their victory. His smile slipped from his face for a second when he caught a glimpse of Bruce approaching.

"Not now, Batman," Superman hissed between his teeth once Bruce caught up to him. "Not in front of all these people." He waved happily to the people who flocked around them, cheering their victory.

Bruce waited for about three full seconds before beaming them to the Watchtower unceremoniously. Just the two of them. The rest of the League could deal with the celebration for a while more.

Superman didn’t even protest. He just grunted and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before looking at Bruce. Bruce would never admit, but those blue eyes made the hair on the back of his neck rise. An instinctive reaction. He could never shake the feeling of being in danger. Feeling like his armour, his cowl meant nothing to an alien that could see right through it.

"What did I do wrong this time?" Superman asked with sigh, and Bruce's blood boiled.

"Take a guess," Bruce spat.

Superman threw his arms up in the air. "Oh, don't tell me saving you from danger is what made you mad!"

Bruce swiftly got in Superman's space, and damn the alien for being a few inches taller, because Bruce would have loved to look down at him.

"I had it under control," he gritted through his teeth.

"No, you didn't!" Superman said, and let out the most dry chuckle Bruce had ever heard. "Or do you call 'getting yourself in danger for no reason' being 'under control'? Because, Batman, you could have died."

"I didn't need to be saved. Least of all by you." He lifted his chin, watching triumphantly as Superman flinched. "Do you want the fame all for yourself? Fine. I never asked for it. But don't." He poked a finger to Superman's chest. "Get in my way again."

But Superman, instead of cowering like Bruce had expected, straightened.

"I won't let my colleagues die,” he said, sternly. "Not even the ungrateful ones. So if you have a problem with that, I suggest you stop putting yourself in front of uncontrolled trucks going at highspeed and let me take the hit!" His voice had a twinge of desperation.

"Oh, so I should be grateful?" Batman asked, sarcasm running like venom from between his teeth. Superman groaned exasperated. "No, really. Should I?!" Bruce wanted to grip his hair out. "I'm so grateful Superman caught me before the truck- which I had previously calculated its trajectory time- hit me. Sooo glad he saved me from my untimely death. I wonder if he knew about the kid hiding on the sewer hole? The one so scared that once she saw me she started crying for help? Voice shaking so violent that she couldn't even form words."

Superman grew pale. His eyes went wide. "Fuck!" he said.

"Yeah, Superman, fuck indeed."

Superman turned around, hiding his expression from Bruce. Served him right.

Bruce breathed deeply and sat on his usual chair of their meeting table. He watched the Earth from above, giving both himself and Superman time to recompose. The seconds stretched by, the only sound between them was the humming of energy from the Watch Tower’s system.

When Superman spoke, his voice was rough and small. "Is the kid alright now? Do you know?"

Bruce felt a twinge of sympathy.

"Yes. I saw her on the arms of an older woman, supposedly her mother, before I beamed us over."

"Good… that's good." His shoulders relaxed.

He fell on a chair opposite from Bruce, his fight completely gone.

"This wouldn't have happened if you trusted me," Bruce said, voicing the elephant in the room.

"No, this wouldn't have happened if you had trusted me." Superman sighed.

"How is that?"

"If you said what you were up to instead of just straight up going silent and disappearing into danger, maybe that way I would worry less." He breathed out. "Then maybe I'd trust you more."

“There was no time to chat," Bruce pointed out, rolling his eyes. They had the same problem, over and over. Bruce didn't need to trust anyone to know how to work with them, but apparently, when it came to Superman, all his strategies were based on that.

Bruce left the Watch Tower without another word. It had been a while since a fight with Superman had left him feeling… weird. Wrong. It was not the first time they stepped on each other's toes in a fight, but the anger Bruce felt this time…

He couldn't get that poor girl's face out of his mind.

To top it all off, Bruce was staying in Metropolis for the night.

The horizon didn't darken into an orange tinge after sundown, there was no fog obfuscating the street ahead. No, the air was clear. Bruce felt too exposed, too seen. He didn't linger in the streets for longer than necessary. He did his best to waltz around the shadows, as limited as they were, and got himself back to his hotel room.

Damn Superman, Bruce sighed. He threw his cowl on the bed and paced the room. Bruce was agitated. His skin itched with untouched energy. He needed to punch something. He flexed his knuckles, aware that he couldn't just go breaking the furniture in the room without raising unwanted questions.

So the energy sat deep on his chest, simmering constantly with the need to spill. Maybe he could go for a run, that could probably take the edge off, although it would not truly satiate him, he knew.

He hesitated and stopped his pacing. An uneasy feeling grew at the pit of his stomach. There was one thing Bruce knew could easily fix this situation. The one thing he promised himself never to go chasing again.

He bit his lower lip, focusing on the pain emanating from the bite. He faintly hoped that would drive his mind away from the deep desire that gradually made itself known. Gradually as in, hitting Bruce in the chest with the force of a train.

He could already feel his body reacting. Down the pit of his stomach, something coiled up in anticipation, and Bruce knew he could only give in.

He fished his phone from deep inside his armor.

To Clark Kent:
Are you free tonight? I'm in town.

To Clark Kent:
It's Bruce

Bruce could already see himself regretting this come morning. But he couldn't deny the way his heart leaped in anticipation.

That night had rewritten something inside Bruce. Bruce had never thought sex could surprise him, not anymore. He knew everything he needed to know to make his partners enjoy a night spent with him. Because sex was an act. Means to an end.

And even when that wasn't the case, when his body was tight stringed, he'd keep it simple. It was just another normal body function like eating or sleeping. Bruce would get it done and get on with his life.

He enjoyed sex, it just wasn't on his priority list.

He intended to keep it that way at the gala. Bruce had just wanted to get off and move on. And Kent had been a sight for sore eyes.

The problem was—

His phone went off with a new message.

From Clark Kent:
Sure! :)

From Clark Kent:
Send me the address and I'll see you there?

From Clark Kent:
Or if you want to meet somewhere else, I mean, I don't want to assume anything

— Clark Kent hadn’t been like other people Bruce fucked.

He sent Kent the location and told him to come by at 8pm, which gave Bruce ample of time to think this through properly. He stacked away his suit and secured the locks around it before hopping into the shower.

The warm water helped him think things through.

In a perfect world, Bruce would have gotten rid of the piece of paper with Kent's number. He should have crumpled it and threw in the closest trashcan. Maybe lose it somewhere between other bits of papers. But he hadn't, he saved the contact.

And now he was going to break his self imposed rule of never having sex with someone twice.

He'd been good, he’d managed to hold himself back for many long months. He’d tried to convince himself that he always felt like that when having sex with someone. Just another fuck.

But the man had managed to sweep the floor from under Bruce's feet like no other before him.

And Bruce…

His face grew hot.

Bruce could at least admit to himself that he needed that right now.

There was a knock on his door at 8pm sharp. His heart leaped.

Bruce had dressed himself in a casual attire, as if he'd just come down from a long and tiring bussiness day. A simple white shirt—the first two buttons open to show some skin— and black suit pants. Kent, when Bruce opened the door, looked…

Delectable.

He wore a baby blue shirt that was two sizes too small, and navy pants that hugged his thighs snugly. Bruce let himself look, falling onto his sleazy persona with a familiar ease.

Kent, whose eyes were hidden behind those cute glasses, shied away to look at the floor.

“Uh, I brought chocolate?” He smiled and shook the box between them.

But Bruce wasn't in the mood for small talk. He grabbed Clark by his collar and crashed their mouths together. He forced Clark's mouth open, licking lips, teeth, tongue, and only then Clark seemed to get his bearings, because his hands anchored on Bruce's hips, holding fast. The chocolate box forgotten somewhere.

They made their way properly inside, not breaking the kiss once, and Bruce closed the door with his feet. They stumbled between sucks and kisses towards the couch, and Bruce nudged Clark down. He breathed hard, chest rising as he took a long look at Clark. His lips wet, eyes dark. His entire focus was on Bruce, and it made his skin tingle, the hair on the back of his neck to rise.

He slowly, not wanting to miss the way Clark's eyes followed his every move, straddled Clark's hips. His hands ran his sides, feeling their way up to his chest. Buttons were off in a second and Clark hummed at Bruce's naked touch.

They kissed again as Bruce got intimate with Clark's body. A patch of hair went down his belly, and Clark shivered as Bruce played with it. Clark's cock was starting to show some interest, Bruce could feel between his legs, and it made Bruce dizzy with want.

He shifted his weight, sitting straight. Bruce felt Clark's bulge against his ass cheeks and couldn't help rocking his hips back. Clark moaned and held on to Bruce, involuntarily thrusting his hips back up, chasing the friction.

And once again, Bruce felt himself being firmly restrained. Knowing that Clark was as strong as Bruce or probably stronger, that he could easily immobilize him made Bruce's cock swell. He gave in too much too easily to Clark, Bruce was aware. But something about those blue eyes…

Trust wasn't an easy thing for Bruce, it would never be.

But this wasn't about trust, it was about pleasure.

Bruce hunched over, covering Clark's body with his own. And in his ear, softly, he whispered, "I need you to fuck me hard, news boy."

Clark growled. He grabbed the back of Bruce's legs and hauled them from the couch in an immense show of strength. Bruce was thrown in bed, its hinges creaking at his weight, but he couldn't care less. In front of him stood Clark, watching with hunger in his eyes. His cock was already hard, gleaming with a bead of precome on its tip.

Bruce's mouth watered. He licked his lips meaningfully, eyeing Clark.

Clwrk raised his eyebrows. "You want this?" He gave himself a lazy stroke, smearing that precome. Bruce nodded, entranced, but Clark shook his head, a tiny grin growing on his face. "Words, Wayne, use it."

Bruce felt a pang of embarrassment rising to his face, but more emphatically he felt the arousal Clark's words prompted. He wanted to fight it, to never let anyone speak to him like this, but a bigger part of himself needed to give in. He bit his lower lip.

"I'm waiting," Clark pressed. "Don't you want it? I bet you're a perfect cocksucker."

Bruce's caught himself nodding, dizzy with Clark's words. His own cock was straining against his pants.

Just when he was about to give in, Clark said something even better.

"Or I could just fuck your face myself."

Bruce moaned a yes. His hips shifted, jolting pleasure around his body. Clark kneeled in bed and slowly walked until his thighs were bracketing Bruce's face. He still held himself on his hand, stroking his cock right on Bruce's face.

"Tell me what you prefer."

Clark's words barely registered, Bruce's attention was completely zeroed on the massive cock just a few inches from his eyes. Clark's hand brushed his cheeks occasionally, as it moved from base to top. Bruce wanted to lick that tip, feel the salty taste of precome in his buds. He wanted to choke on the length, feel Clark's balls against his chin.

"Fuck my face." And when he made eye contact with Clark, it was clear he needed to say, "Please."

Clark responded with a brilliant smile, rewarding Bruce with a gentle caress on the cheek. It threw Bruce off the loop, how Clark could say the most obscene things and come back from it with a gentleness Bruce wasn't used to. But the caress wasn't bad, it didn't feel inappropriate. In fact, in a weird way, it made sense, it anchored Bruce.

"Good, Bruce, see? Speaking gets us what we want." And just as he finished speaking, Clark pressed his cock to Bruce's mouth.

The cock was hot against his lips, and Bruce indulged himself a bit, licking the slickness out of it before letting his mouth fall open. Clark's hand on his cheek moved up, dangling itself on Bruce's hair, holding it in place as he slowly entered Bruce's mouth.

He relaxed his throat, forced himself to be still and focused on being good. It was difficult, but the pressure from Clark's hand and the tiny huffs he was letting out helped. From somewhere, Bruce could hear Clark was saying something in a soothing tone.

"Just stay like that, you're doing so good, aren't you?"

Bruce was lightheaded, and Clark wasn't even fucking him yet. His mind was blanking, and the events of the day were washing away from his thoughts. No more Superman, no more Justice League, no more being a hero. Just Clark.

"I'm going to fuck you, now," Clark said, bringing Bruce to the present. He was well sheathed in Bruce's throat, he could feel the cock pulsing against his trachea, blocking some of the air flux. But it was perfect.

Clark tightened the grip on his hair. He moved his hips back, trembling minutely, before rocking forward. Bruce moaned, eyes rolling closed. Clark soon found a pace, rocking against Bruce’s face, not brutally, but certainly unforgiving. He tried to suck whenever he could, and Clark arched beautifully each time.

Bruce shifted his hips in circles as his cock throbbed, pleading to be released.

“Fuck,” Clark gasped. Bruce opened his bleary eyes and looked up, catching Clark looking at him, blues eyes shifting from Bruce’s to where his cock disappeared in Bruce’s mouth. “I've been thinking about this," he breathed out. “Fucking your mouth. Oh, God— you have no idea how you look, do you?” Bruce whimpered, already dreading the embarrassment he knew was going to come with Clark’s words. “You look like you were born for this,” Clark panted. “Your lips are so plum, I whish I could bite them off. And your eyes,” he moaned, “your eyes are begging me to fuck you harder.”

Clark held Bruce’s head tight in place as he sped up. Clark panted in time with his thrusts, his balls hitting Bruce on the underside of his chin. It was raw, he felt like something to be used. Not Bruce Wayne, not Batman. Just a mouth made for pleasure. He felt electrified.

“You wish you could do this all day long, don’t you?” Clark caught on, something on Bruce’s face clearly expressed his thoughts. He just moaned and nodded. “You could be my cock warmer. You wouldn’t have to be anything else.” The thought encrusted itself on Bruce’s mind like a perfect future. “And you’d be so good at it.” Bruce squirmed at the praise. “You already are. So good. Uh—” Clark moaned, his ragged thrusts faltering. “I’m gonna—”

Drool slipped past his lips, pooling on the base of his neck. He was a mess, his throat would be sore for the next few days, but this was exactly what he needed. Clark came with a sharp thrust. He held himself in place for a few seconds before pulling back gently.

Bruce heaved a breath as Clark fell on the bed next to him. He looked boneless as he came down from his orgasm, and Bruce prided himself for being the one to have done that.

He didn’t have time to feel smug, because soon, a hand was working on getting Bruce’s cock off his pants.

Bruce faced Clark and caught his lips with lazy kisses. Clark hummed his approval as he jerked Bruce.

“So good,” Clark murmured, kissing the skin behind Bruce’s ear almost reverently. He shivered, arching his back from the mattress as Clark played with the head of his cock.

It didn’t take long for Bruce to come, the pleasure had pooled on the pit of his stomach for a while. He came with his teeth digging Clark’s neck, a small cry escaping his throat.

He stayed there, tucked on Clark’s neck as he caught his breath.

After a few moments, Bruce noticed faintly how Clark ran his hands on his back, gentle and caring, and suddenly, it felt too much.

Bruce rolled away from Clark and zipped himself up.

“Now, where's that chocolate you brought?”

Clark left the room, coming back a few minutes later dressed and with the box in question. He made himself comfortable back in bed, putting the dark box in between them. Bruce hummed and threw himself on the chocolates.

“So, Mr. Wayne—

Bruce made a choking sound “Please, call me Bruce. You just had your cock in my throat, I think we're way past that”

Clark blushed. “Uh, yeah, fair.” He nibbled on a chocolate. “I’m just curious. What made you change your mind?”

“About what?” Bruce licked his fingers before diving for another piece.

“Well, it’s been a year since we’ve, uh— met. I thought you… you know, didn't want to meet again.”

Bruce shrugged, giving the question a light answer. “Nothing in general. Life just got in the way, I forgot about your number, or I’ve been too busy elsewhere, you know how this goes.”

“Oh,” Clark blinked. “Of course. You must do this a lot.” He chuckled self counsiously.

Bruce just hummed. He didn’t know where Clark was taking this conversation, but that didn’t mean he had to open himself up just because they had (quite frankly) one of the best fucks of Bruce’s life.

Clark ate his chocolate slowly, methodically. “I actually wanted to thank you for texting.”

Bruce’s eyebrow shot up. “Really? Shouldn’t I be the one thanking you for answering?”

Clark grinned. “Maybe. But I mean it. I had… a bad argument with a colleague today. So I kind of needed this.” His grin turned bashful.

That seemed to be the theme of the day, Bruce mused.

He gave Clark a faint smile. “I’m glad to have been of service.”

They finished the box, Clark left, if a bit awkwardly. Bruce got rid of his clothes and slept soundlessly for the entire night.