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As Superman enters his Fortress of Solitude, he is greeted by a familiar dark-clad figure standing near the computers. Quickly, Clark floats over.
“Batman. Hi.”
“Hello Superman,” Batman answers in his usually gravelly voice, albeit a bit more tinny.
“What are you doing here?”
“Your security is inadequate. I was able to get in without any trouble.” Batman crosses his arms, his cape moving with it just shy of the ground. Of course, Batman didn't break in at all, he was already here when his program started, but Clark plays along. He smiles.
“Well, you can get in. Not just anyone.”
“Hrm,” Batman growls in the back of his throat. It sounds just right to Clark's ears. “Perhaps you are right,” the vigilante concedes.
Ah, not as stubborn as the real deal, Clark thinks. He will recalibrate that in the programming later. For now, it's okay.
“So, why are you here?” He asks, stepping a bit closer.
Batman drops his arms. Under the immovable cowl, his eyes turn lidded, dangerous slits of passion. “You know why… Superman.” He slowly drags a finger down Clark's chest. The pressure and the pads on the glove feel just right, and Clark is unable to stop his mouth from opening slightly and his toes from curling in his boots.
“I do, Batman.” In one move, Superman gathers Batman in his arms, supporting the back of his head as he closes the distance between them. Batman's lips are full but slightly rough from how chapped they sometimes are. His tongue tastes like the black coffee he always drinks at Justice League HQ, and the mints he carries around in his belt. It's near perfect. Even his body fits perfectly with Superman's as Clark pulls him closer, breathing him in.
Batman breathes between them, nibbling at Superman's jaw. He looks up at Clark. “Take me, Superman.”
Clark smiles. His eyes focus on the small bit of Batman's skin he can see. His lips are slim, his chin pale and perfectly square just as it is in Clark's eidetic memory. He has taken great care in shaping it, the movements of his thumbs smoothing it down first perfected on making his wax figure of Batman, now stored in one of the other rooms in the Fortress.
“I will,” Clark promises. “But first, you'll please me with your mouth.” He pushes gently at Batman's shoulder, and Batman drops to his knees easily, just as obedient as Clark wants him.
From his new position, Batman looks up at him, waiting. Hungry. He's at eye level with Clark's red briefs. He noses at the hardening bulge inside, the area warming up and dampening from the contact. Clark sighs. He lays a hand on Batman's cowl, pushing him more onto his clothed cock.
For lack of a better alternative, Batman growls another gravelly hum. They're prerecorded sounds of course. Only the sounds Batman has made in Superman's vicinity are available in the database. The misplaced hum is however not enough to take Clark out of this fantasy, and eagerly, he pulls down his pants a little. Immediately, Batman starts mouthing along his cock.
He doubts the real Batman would act like this, even if he was interested in Clark at all. But seeing as he is not, and never will be, for now, Clark looks forward to having his way with this version. He pushes his cock into Batman's mouth, two hands on the cowl, groaning at the warmth surrounding his member.
He pistons in and out of Batman's mouth. There is no gag reflex.
Clark doubts he would act like this if he were to ever have sex with anyone, but here, right now, he's free to do whatever he wants knowing that it won't hurt anyone. He grips Batman's cowl a little harder. It would be crushing on anyone else, but here, Clark can close his eyes, and let go.
It doesn't take long at all for him to cum into Batman's open mouth with how pent up he's been. It takes Clark almost by surprise, his orgasm overtaking him as he shakes through it, depositing drop after drop on Batman's warm tongue.
“Sorry, that was too fast. I was supposed to last longer,” he rambles to the android as he lets go of the cowl.
“Hrm,” Batman hums again. “Don't be, Superman. Your cum tastes exquisite.”
Clark feels his cheeks turn a little red. He did want to be complimented but maybe this is a little much. In an effort to get over his embarrassment, he pulls Batman up and back in for a kiss. Now he tastes like coffee and mints and Clark himself. He can't help the moan that escapes him as their tongues tangle again, as he feels up Batman's ass and squeezes it, and as he hears the perfectly calibrated heartbeat increase by ten beats a minute as programmed.
“Now, I will take you to my bed, Batman,” he nearly growls. He picks him up and flies them through the Fortress to the bedchamber, where Clark almost never sleeps except in fire situations. Once there, he kisses Batman up and down as he undresses him gently but eagerly. He's shaped perfectly, as close to the real deal as Clark could get. Except for his cock. He has gone in blind with that one, looked at plenty of specimens on the internet and ended up making it a nice and comfortable size, standing up straight when hard like right now.
He tosses Batman's uniform aside, the immovable cowl the only thing still in place. Then he strips himself completely and watches Batman climb on the bed. Batman gets on all fours, and looks back at Clark. “I'm ready for you, Superman.” He shows Clark his tiny puckered and glistening hole.
Clark's brain leaves the room for a minute as he stares at the Batman presenting himself to him, waiting for Clark to ruin him. He floats over and pushes in in one motion. And on that first heated and tight thrust he knows, he should have done this ages ago.
He bottoms out and stalls to get used to the feeling, to map how perfect Batman's walls feel along his cock. “You feel so good Batman,” he breathes heavily, trying desperately to feel every inch for the very first time.
“So do you, Superman.” Clark places his hands gently on Batman's hips, feeling out how to hold him properly, and how to squeeze his cheeks. And after what feels like a few minutes of pure bliss in which Clark doesn't move, Batman asks: “Would you like me to fuck myself on your cock?”
Clark whimpers. He smiles. He's going to have so much fun with Batman. “Yes, Batman. That's a good idea.”
Clark snakes a hand around to Batman's front, feeling his cock and stroking it in time with their movements. He sighs, he whimpers, he smiles, feeling how incredible it all is for the very first time.
For several hours after that, Clark has his way with Batman in different positions. After only a few rounds, he's already thrusting his hips just right for Batman to bounce off him and stay in sync with him. He pushes Batman down into the mattress. He holds the ears on his cowl. He fucks him so fast that Batman nearly short circuits, but Clark is careful. He doesn't want to hurt him.
He makes Batman ride him so he can watch his cock bounce. It's just a shame he hasn't figured out how to make this Batman able to cum yet, while Clark has already come multiple times inside and on him. At some point in the future he'll have to figure out how to either synthesize semen or store some of his own in the android. There are things to be improved upon, of course. He can't expect it to be perfect the very first time, but it's better than anything else he's ever experienced.
Clark keeps going, making love to his Batman until he's finally, finally satisfied.
More than he ever has been.
He sleeps after that, in the bed in the Fortress. So long and so deep as he has never done before.
When he finally wakes, Batman is gone, and Clark is alone again, like always. But he feels reenergized, ready to face the world again.
It becomes a habit. Clark will retire to his Fortress for an evening every now and then when his needs become too strong. Coincidentally, those moments align almost exactly with Superman and the real Batman clashing in some way. A Justice League meeting. A stakeout where Batman seems unreachable and leaves Clark in the rain. A fight, after which Batman disappears to do whatever is important to him. And whatever is important to Batman certainly doesn't have anything to do with Clark.
Only sometimes, Clark catches a glimmer of impossible emotion in Batman's eyes. It's gone as soon as it appears. He wishes he could remove the cowl and see. And help. And comfort.
But he's not allowed to.
Maybe it's better that he doesn't know. That way he doesn't know who he's really defiling when he uses his self-made toy. There's no ill-intent, he tells himself over and over. It's just a toy.
It's as close to the real man as he'll ever get.
And so he goes to the Fortress where his Batman, always, immovable, waits for him, tethered to the icy palace.
He walks through the massive doorway, boots still crunching lightly on the snowy floor. Batman should be waiting for him, ready for Clark to take into his arms and unwind. But he's not right in front of Clark immediately. This is nothing new. Clark's recalibrating has been quite effective in dialling up the stubbornness he craved to emulate from the real Batman. Now his Batman will often be doing something for himself, discovering the Fortress or reading entries in the Kryptonian database. But he's also still very eager to please Clark.
Clark locates the robot's synthetic heartbeat in one of the science rooms. He smiles. Typical Batman. Leisurely, he makes his way further into the grand hall, to where he has set up a small dining area now that he spends a bit more time here. He unclips his cape.
“Honey, I'm home!” he yells, sitting down on one of the chairs at the dining table. Tentatively, Batman pokes his head out of one of the many hallways, and slowly walks over to Clark after seeing his encouraging nod.
“Welcome back, Superman.” Batman looks at Clark's lap for a moment, but doesn't dwell on any kind of decision for long at all and shakes out his cape before promptly sitting down on Clark's legs. He's positioned sideways, his feet dangling just above the ground to Clark's right. His thighs are warm across Clark's, and Clark wraps his arms around Batman's torso, just loosely.
“Eager today, are we?” Clark grins. He smiles up at his toy, already thinking about all the things he'll do with him that evening.
Batman wraps an arm around Clark's neck. He traces the symbol on Clark's chest with a finger, stopping right over a nipple. “I've been looking forward to this, Superman.”
Clark is already becoming painfully hard in his pants, even without any sort of friction. He palms his cock a little, bringing Batman closer and nibbling on his exposed chin. With one hand, he frees his cock from his uniform, stroking it lightly. Batman hums appreciatively.
“Yeah, you want this, don't you?” Clark asks, letting go of Batman's chin again and directing his attention towards his cock.
Batman licks his lips. “You have no idea, Superman.” He sounds hoarse, and Clark briefly wonders if he maybe should have refreshed the oil in the mechanical vocal chords already, but ultimately decides it adds to the fantasy even more. For now, at least, it's fine.
“Then why don't you tell me exactly how you want it today, Batman?”
Batman swallows. He seems to think a moment longer than his programming deems necessary. “You're supposed to have your way with me,” he says in the end.
Clark chuckles. Maybe he should give him a little bit more free will, instead of liking everything Clark does to him. “I do like to have my way with you. But what do you like the most?”
“I’m not sure.” Batman hesitates. “Will you help me figure it out? Please, I want you to fuck me,” he tags on at the end, making Clark's mouth curl upwards.
“That can be arranged.” He angles Batman towards him again, connecting their lips. Coffee, mints, and a hint of vanilla. Batman's tongue explores his mouth, gently, surely, steady as he grows more pressing in Clark's lap. Clark guides him to stroke his cock at the same slow pace he was going before. He groans at the rough pads of Batman's gloves travelling down his length in featherlight touches.
“Batman… that feels so good,” he loses himself already, eyes closed, feeling Batman, hugging him. Even if he'll never have the real deal, he'll always have this.
“Want to feel you,” Batman moans lowly, barely audible. The static in his voice is still present but it doesn't bother Clark as much anymore as in the beginning.
“Yeah?” He smiles, and pushes off the chair, standing with Batman trapped between his arms and the table. He turns Batman so his back is flush with Clark's chest, and roams his hands over the expanse of the armored suit, pressing so he can feel the very real body underneath his hands.
It's not long before Clark has undone the belt and the cape and thrown both of those aside. With practised ease and while kissing along Batman's jaw he undoes the pants of Batman's uniform, lowering it so his cock and ass are exposed for Clark to feel.
“You like being trapped in my arms? Just like this?” Clark's breath is hot, ghosting over his toy’s mouth as he holds his chest. He's so hard he's about ready to explode. He almost misses Batman's hum of approval. Running his cock along Batman's exposed crack provides momentary relief, but it's not nearly enough. He grinds against Batman, trailing precum, and his right hand trails down to Batman's exposed cock, stroking it lightly, teasingly, more for Clark to just feel than with any other goal in mind, and then–
“uhn.”
Batman whimpers, on a breath out. It's too high. A sound that Clark has never even heard before. And a drop of precum oozes out of the tip of Batman's cock, onto Clark's thumb.
It's warm. It shouldn't be possible.
Abruptly, Clark lets his arms drop and steps back.
“Batman?” This can't be happening. In front of him stands a real man, flesh and blood. The Batman whom Clark has pined and lusted after for so long. He covers his mouth with his hand. “Oh my god! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Oh Rao!”
Batman stands there, still leaning on the table, unmoving. Clark doesn't know if it's more important to cover his eyes or his own cock right now. All he knows is he wants to die of embarrassment or maybe burrow into the ground towards the Earth's core never to resurface again.
But Batman doesn't allow him to think about it.
“Don't,” he growls, pulling on Clark's hand. He doesn't turn around to look at Clark. “Don’t you dare stop.”
“I can't. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have done this. How…?” Clark wants to turn around, pace and think. He's angry. He's embarrassed. No one should have ever found out about this, least of all him.
Batman.
Batman doesn't let him walk away. “Didn't you hear me say I want you fucking me into the mattress?”
“I thought you were–”
But Batman persists. “Pretend. Keep going.” He's just the right amount of stubborn. “Please,” he says, low, pulling Clark right back in.
He's irresistible.
His lips taste like dark coffee and mints. They're slightly chapped. The pads of his gloves are rough on Clark's jaw. His butt is just as round and warm, sliding up along Clark with desperate need. His cock, standing proudly and curving just slightly to the left, now that Clark sees, is much more beautiful than Clark could have ever imagined.
And Clark loses himself in it.
He turns Batman in his arms, wanting nothing more than to kiss him and taste him in abundance now that he's been allowed to. Batman moans into his mouth between the kisses, and the vibrations in his throat are something Clark would never have been able to replicate - let alone what it does to his cock, now grinding along Batman's in a way he's never felt anything before. His nose bumps awkwardly into Batman's cowl a few times in the enthusiasm of their making out.
“Superman… I want you in me,” Batman breathes. It sounds human now, but still tinny.
“Your voice.” Clark is too out of breath to make it a question, but Batman understands anyway. He clicks a button on one of his gauntlets.
“Better?” Batman sounds like gravel, too much coffee on a nightlong stakeout. But his voice is also warm, rich in timbre and vibrations now that Clark focuses. More than ever before, he wonders who hides under the cowl.
And more than ever before, he doesn't want to waste another second before pleasuring Batman.
He flies them to the bedroom, embarrassment forgotten now that he's faced with Batman's obvious - real - arousal. Once there, he deposits the other man on the bed, much more gently than he would have with the robot before. Both of their costumes disappear in a flurry under hands determined to get to their goal, and then finally, indefinitely, Batman is laid out naked before Clark, only the ever-present cowl reminding them exactly how they got here.
Clark covers Batman's scarred body with his own. He strokes down the side of the cowl and onto the exposed skin on his chin. “Would you be willing to…?” Clark trails, touching the cowl. Batman's eyes, brown and deep, bore into his own.
“Not yet.” He wraps one leg around Clark. “Will you fuck me?”
“Not yet,” echoes Clark, in a teasing lilt. Instead, he moves down along Batman's body, starting his path with a gentle kiss right underneath the cowl and just above his clavicle. Clark isn't exactly sure what he's doing here, he's never practiced this with his android, but he has one clear goal: make Batman cum. And preferably give him an unforgettable orgasm.
Batman's skin tastes salty, of sweat and arousal. Clark presses another kiss, now on his sternum. One of Batman's hand tangles in Clark's hair. The scars on his chest feel almost like rubber, raised and tough, but when Clark presses his tongue on one of them, Batman sighs, barely audible. He wants to hear that sound over and over again.
Kissing a path through Batman's chest hair and following his happy trail down his abdomen is easy. But when Clark dips his tongue into Batman's belly button, he doesn't just hear Batman moan in pleasure, he feels his cock twitch against him, leaking precum. Clark feels for it with his hand, thumbing the slit. As much as he likes teasing Batman by swirling his tongue around his belly button, he has a clear goal here.
Clark looks up, right into Batman's dilated pupils, his slightly open and panting mouth. “Can I?” He asks, thumb moving up and down Batman's shaft. “I want to suck you off,” he adds, in case that wasn't clear.
Batman's head drops down on the pillow. “Please,” he pants.
Clark doesn't need any more encouragement. He shuffles down on the bed a little further, still ignoring his own hardness for now. And then Batman's amazing cock is in front of his face. It's quite intimidating, already so hard and leaking for him and now Clark is bound to ruin it, having no clue what he's doing.
He stares at it, between thumb and index finger. “I've never…”
“You’ll do fine,” Batman encourages.
“I'll try,” Clark promises. Tentatively, he brings his mouth to Batman's tip, and kisses it. He tastes with his tongue, salt and musk and arousal. The rewarding groan from higher up on the bed is already worth it. So Clark licks again, just over the slit, gathering up Batman's precum. It's delicious.
He takes the tip in his mouth, and then remembers watching porn where someone would lick up the side first, so he does that, one smooth motion from Batman's balls up to the tip. He sucks on the head.
“Try to go deeper,” Batman encourages. Clark listens, opening wider and taking more of Batman in his mouth. He feels Batman's cock carve a path down his indestructible throat. Somewhere, deep down, he wants to choke on it, even though he knows he can't. He wraps one hand around the base and rhythmically bobs up and down, pulling moan after moan out of Batman.
Both of his hands are in Clark's hair. Maybe one on his cheek. Clark wants to cry. All he's ever wanted is to be loved like this, by this man. He works his throat harder, praying it will last. Praying Batman feels the same.
“I'm… close. Gonna cum,” Batman warns, ten seconds too late, as Clark is already pulling him over the edge, swallowing all of it. It tastes different than his own, more bitter. Not necessarily good, but the sound Batman makes as he keeps swallowing until every last drop is gone is the most beautiful thing Clark has ever heard.
When he pulls off, there are tears in his eyes. Entirely unnecessary with his not needing to breathe, but he can't help himself. “How was that?” Rao, he sounds hoarse.
“Undoubtedly the best blowjob I've ever had,” Batman grins.
“You can be honest. That was my first time doing that.”
“It's also my first… I've never–” Batman closes his mouth. A pink blush spreads from under his cowl, making him look even more delicious than he already did. “So that was definitely the best ever.”
Oh.
He's a virgin, just like Clark.
Clark sits up. He leans closer to Batman's face again. “That's okay. We can… take it slow?”
But Batman touches his arm. “No need. I've prepared.”
“I could hurt you,” Clark says.
“I've used toys before. Nothing as elaborate as your robot but… it did the trick.” Batman's grin is the most beautiful thing ever, Clark thinks. He kisses it, absorbing it, feeling it, drinking up his moans.
He feels down towards Batman's hips again, letting one hand encircle the globe of his ass at the same time that Batman wraps his leg around Clark. He squeezes lightly, and Batman growls.
Clark's cock pulses against Batman's hip, painful and leaking. When Clark sneaks his fingers further towards Batman's entrance, he finds it already wet with lubricant, and opening easily when he pushes one finger inside.
“How does that feel?” He whispers.
“Warm.” Batman ruts against him, pushing back against the intrusion while Clark lets him. “Not enough.”
Stubborn, Clark thinks, and smiles to himself, into their kiss. Batman rolls further, until he's entirely on top of Clark, and sits up, his strong thighs bracketing Clark's hips.
“I'll ride you. That seems best.”
Clark's brain short circuits.
He looks up at Batman, his expansive scarred chest, beautifully strong arms, and into the unknown eyes peeking out from the cowl. He forgets to reply for a moment, running his fingers lightly up thighs that could crush a normal human. “Ahh, yes, okay. I'd like that,” he stammers in the end.
Batman finally, finally touches his cock properly. Clark closes his eyes in bliss. With every move a new milestone is unlocked.
Batman's hand is warm, and rough, full of callouses. He spreads Clark's precum around his shaft, adding some lube after Clark directs him where to find it. They stumble through the motions together, gasping on every new touch, new point of contact and new sound out of each other's mouths.
Clark holds Batman's hips awkwardly and much too light to provide any support as he sits up on his knees to guide Clark's cock to his entrance. The tip breaches with a little bit of effort. Batman pants with it, palms flat and sweaty on Clark's chest.
“It seems I've… underestimated your size in my training, Super– ohh… Superman.” He looks up to the ceiling for a moment. Clark hears him blink away a tear.
He stays still, not wanting to ruin anything as Batman slowly impales himself on Clark. He wants to touch Batman's face, but it's impossible. He wants to wipe away his tears, but he can't. All he can do is whisper: “Breathe, B… relax.”
When Batman is about halfway down, he moves back up, only to sink back faster on Clark's cock. “Rao,” Clark moans. “That feels so good. You feel so good, B.”
“Don't move,” Batman growls.
“Okay,” Clark squeaks. He lies starfished on the bed, only able to watch as Batman works his thighs, slowly moving up and down, taking Clark deeper every time. It takes all his strength not to touch, not to help, not to hold.
Batman puffs some air above him, finally bringing his slow movements to a complete halt when he's taken the entirety of Clark's cock within himself. His hands are warm on Clark's chest, anchor points that threaten to burn a hole straight down to his heart.
He covers one with his own, feeling the twitch in his friend's fingers and its echo in his steady heartbeat. His cock pulses inside Batman.
Batman releases a breath of air, and moves up again, only to drop back down a little faster. He sets a pace, lips clenched in concentration, punching moan after moan out of Clark, his eyes never straying.
“Ahh, does– does it feel good, Batman?” He asks, thumbing the wrist he's been lightly holding onto. Batman nods, expression unwavering, stoic and unfit for someone riding Superman. He clenches on the way up, trapping Clark's cock and hurtling him towards orgasm.
“Yeah? That's good, that's– Ohhh– I'm glad you like– mmm, fuuu…”
He makes Clark make all the noise, huffing and puffing and moaning through gritted teeth as he tries not to cum too soon. It's unfair. Clark wants to hear Batman, that cute whimper that he could have never dreamed of.
He can.
He's Superman.
His hands fly to Batman's hips, grabbing, sinking into the meat there to hold and possess. Preferably never to let go again. “That's enough of that,” he says, his iron grip immobilizing Batman. He pulls him down, bringing his mouth within reach to swallow any protests. He thrusts his hips once, a test. Slow at first. Then again, a little deeper. He finds the right angle, grabbing fistfuls of Batman's cheeks, and snaps.
Batman hides his cowled face in the crook of Clark's neck.
And Clark knows he's on the right track. “Put your arms around me,” he supplies helpfully. He thrusts a couple times. Batman clenches his teeth, breathing heavily. Clark changes the angle, using the air as pushback for his feet to hit that special spot inside of Batman just right.
“Yeahhhh,” Batman whispers hoarsely.
“That's it. You make such beautiful sounds. I want to hear you cum.” Clark gets a hold of Batman's cock bouncing between them, and strokes it in time with his fast-paced thrusts.
Batman whimpers again, quietly, right into Clark's ear. They kiss, stopping the beautiful sounds for a moment but it's so amazingly good. So real. In Clark's arms. He topples fast towards the edge and over it, spilling inside Batman prematurely with an embarrassing cry.
The excess spills between them, sticky and warm and probably disgusting.
“Shit, sorry,” he says in the space between them.
“Doesn't matter. You can cum again, can't you?” Batman sounds wrecked. Clark nods, eagerly. Never had he thought someone could keep up with him, not be disgusted by him and his alienness. But here Batman is, sweating on top of him, thighs trembling with overexertion and still he wants to keep going.
He pounds into the tight heat again, tasting Batman, the sweat on his upper lip.
Batman pushes up against Clark's chest, sitting upright again, rolling with the movements of Clark's hips. He looks down at Clark, fisting his own cock. “Wait,” he says, when Clark grabs at the meat on his hips, wanting to move again.
Clark lets go.
Batman swallows. He licks his lips.
He hesitates. For a terrifying minute, Clark thinks he doesn't want him anymore. That it's over as quickly as it started. He doesn't want it to end.
“Let me make you cum,” he tries, reaching for Batman's cock.
But Batman shakes his head. “No. I…”
Clark wants to scramble up, say something, stop him from leaving, but he's trapped in Batman's heavy gaze.
And then, Batman reaches up. Hands on the cowl.
And he takes it off.
A mop of sweaty black hair is revealed, flat against his head from its prison under the cowl. His eyes are rimmed with smudged black makeup. His cheeks are as red as the flush on his chest.
Clark knows that face.
“Bruce Wayne,” he whispers. He has only seen pictures of the mysterious billionaire. He's a recluse, the media say. And now Clark is the only one who knows why. The corner of his mouth twitches, threatening a smile that might break everything.
“Call me Bruce. I'm Batman,” he clarifies, as if that's still necessary.
And then Clark smiles. “You're Bruce.” Bruce stares at him, eyes unmoving. Clark forgets something. Awkwardly, he holds out his hand. “I'm sorry. Clark Kent. Clark.” Because they can be on a first name basis, with Clark's cock balls deep inside Batman. Inside Bruce.
Bruce's breath hitches. “Clark.”
“You should know. I'm a reporter. Investigative,” he explains, a plea that he doesn't deal in cheap gossip about reclusive billionaires.
Bruce purses his lips. “I'm familiar with your work.”
Clark feels a blush creep up his face. “Y-you are?”
Instead of answering, Bruce rolls his hips, getting ahold of his own cock. Clark groans as he clenches on an upwards motion. Enticingly, slowly, Bruce strokes his cock. He rolls again, more practiced now than when they started. His hips gyrate over Clark, taking his entire length to the base, and out until just the tip remains. The pressure is perfect, all along Clark's shaft. He whimpers, a single breath shaking past his teeth.
Bruce stares him down, moving slowly.
Bruce.
It's just a name, and so much more. This single extra piece of information, that they've never shared with anyone before, tethers them to each other now. What he sees in Bruce's eyes - possessiveness, secrecy - is so strong, Clark knows they'll never be alone anymore. Not truly.
“I want to watch you cum,” he tells Bruce, hands flying back to grab at the other man's hips again. He plants his feet on the mattress and pushes up, into Bruce.
The effect is instantaneous. Bruce's mouth falls open but no sound comes out. He falls forward and catches himself on one hand right next to Clark's head. The other is still on his cock, stroking with the same intensity with which he holds Clark in his gaze.
“Together.”
Batman is a man of few words. It seems Bruce is too. It's enough for Clark. He nods, pulling Bruce down a bit more, and pistons up into him. Bruce strokes himself in time with Clark's thrusts, his eyes never leaving Clark's. His gaze is like a lifeline, tethering them together. It's stronger than anything Clark has ever felt. He watches deep brown irises, black makeup, pink cheeks. He watches Bruce's lips, teeth on it, holding back.
He thumbs at Bruce's jaw, his bottom lip. He feels a warm wet tongue. “Let me hear you,” he coaxes. “I want to see you cum.”
It's Bruce's turn to nod. Promising. He blows a shaky breath between them as Clark increases the speed of his thrusts. He moans. It comes out in cut-off breaths, full of unshed tears. He connects his mouth to Clark's, muffling the sound before it's really started.
Clark isn't sure if he likes hearing Bruce or kissing Bruce more. But he really wants to hear him cum on his cock. So he forces Bruce's mouth open again, one thumb on his chin. Distance between them.
“I want to hear you.”
“I can't,” Bruce says, final.
But nothing is ever final to Clark. “Yes, you can. You can. You sound beautiful.” He holds Bruce's jaw, his chin. He helps him sit up again, riding Clark. Clark pistons up, the pace of Bruce's hips. Bruce strokes his cock until his thighs quiver with his impending orgasm, eyes still on Clark. His breath is labored with whispered moans, the strain on his jaw betraying underlying high-pitched whimpers. Next time, Clark thinks.
He thumbs the head of Bruce's cock between them, punching breathy moan after moan out of him with his thrusts, until one final puff of breath and they're spilling together. Bruce's cum lands on Clark's chest and abs, warm and sticky. The resulting clench is enough to send him over the edge a second time, filling Bruce up with his seed.
He has no intention of letting go of Bruce's ass, rolling his hips a couple more times as his orgasm slowly ebbs away.
Bruce's hands are on his chest, a lifeline as he catches his breath. He's beautiful. He bends forward until they're kissing again, open mouthed. Bruce licks his teeth, and Clark rolls them to the side so he can gently pull out of Bruce.
He smiles. “That was amazing.”
Bruce keeps him close. He nods, pulling Clark in for more kisses. Oh, they're not done yet. Clark's mouth widens with the knowledge that Batman is a post-coital cuddler. Easily, their arms come up around each other. Their legs entangle.
“And you thought you could emulate me. A robot,” Bruce scoffs.
Clark shakes his head. “Never. Your stubbornness, your voice, your warmth. I wasn't even close. But I thought it was all I could have.” Clark lets the rest of his thoughts hang in the limited space between them. The implication that Bruce is his now. At least, he'll gladly be Bruce's, if he asks.
“I want to try so much more with you,” Batman says in the space between them, already two steps ahead again.
And who is Clark to deny him that? He wants to try much more himself. Having sex with Batman has not curbed his obsession in the slightest. Instead, it has opened an entirely new world. One in which he can harness every sound Bruce makes, every whimper, every twitch of his eyelid as he cums, and store it all in his eidetic memory. He wants to experience it all, and savour it forever.
“Next time, I'll make you scream,” he promises Bruce.
Bruce huffs, challenging Clark. Clark has never seen the Batman smile. He traces it with his thumb, immortalizing it in his mind. No one will ever take that from him again. He tastes his thumb, then Bruce's lips. He traces his clavicle, down to his chest. Bruce's heart beats against Clark's palm.
No matter how hard he'll try, Bruce will never be quiet to him anymore. His heartbeat fills Clark's senses, together with the blood his body pumps around.
“I'd like to see you try,” Bruce finally says, hoarse.
“If I don't succeed, there will always be a next time.” He nips at Bruce's mouth before he has a chance to retort. “And a next time… and a next time… and a next time…”
“Clark.”
And that's new. His name on Bruce's tongue. He pushes Bruce into the sheets, and his stringy hair out of his face.
Later, they'll shower. Later, he'll show Bruce the zoo, and Kandor. He'll show Bruce his trophies and his machines. He'll even show Bruce his Batman room. Later.
For now, he dips down to kiss Bruce again. “Bruce,” he whispers. And the resulting increase in Batman's steady heartbeat is the sound Clark will savour most of all.