Chapter Text
“Well, well…” Ultraman droned, eyeing his weaker alternate. “Of course it’s you. You always crash the party right when it’s getting good.”
Bruce dangled, near unconscious in his grip. His legs twitched.
“Let. Him. Go.”
Ultraman’s gaze didn’t waver. “You haven’t changed a bit,” he said, tilting his head. “Still the obedient hound.”
Superman’s jaw clenched. “Still pretending this is love,” he bit out.
Ultraman’s expression darkened. “I crossed universes to find him.” His grip on Bruce tightened, veins lifting in his forearm. “That’s devotion.”
“That’s obsession,” Superman snapped.
Bruce’s body spasmed. Blood beaded from the corner of his mouth, thick and red. Ultraman looked down at it, completely transfixed. A detail in a painting only he could see. He watched it trail slowly down Bruce’s plump lips… and ran his tongue over his own.
A step forward.
Crack!
The floor split beneath Superman’s boot.
“Put him down, Ultraman.”
“Or what?” Ultraman’s grin spread. “You’ll stop me? Hurt me?” He hoisted Bruce higher, like a trophy. “You always liked him soft.”
Bruce’s chin sagged forward. His lips glistened red.
Ultraman’s voice darkened from the sight. “Me? I prefer him broken.” He turned, eyes gleaming. “Tell me, farm boy… did you ever touch him? Or did you just float in orbit, jerking off to the sound of his heartbeat?”
Superman didn’t speak. His shoulders lifted. Fists flexed.
Then—Ultraman let go.
Bruce hit the floor like a bag of meat.
THUD!
Superman blurred forward—but Ultraman raised a hand, stopping him.
“Stop,” he said. “Why fight over him… when we could just… share him?”
Superman froze mid-step.
“…What did you just say?”
Ultraman shrugged one shoulder. “Look at him.”
They did.
Bruce lay sprawled on the cold floor, dazed, with his cape wrinkled beneath him. He wasn’t crawling away. Not even trying.
“All human,” Ultraman mused. He crouched, hand hovering just over Bruce’s chest, close enough to feel heat. “All helpless. Not resisting. That has to mean something.”
Superman’s eyes flicked down, scanning Bruce’s body. His vision lingered just a second too long on the bruises blooming on Bruce’s neck, the tightness in his shoulders, the pulse hammering at his throat. He could read it all. Pain. Anger. Defiance.
He swallowed hard.
Ultraman’s voice dripped over his shoulder like poison. “You’re thinking it. Just say it. He could’ve tried. He should’ve tried.”
“I don’t agree with what you’re doing,” Superman countered.
Ultraman grinned without turning. “Didn’t say you did.”
Bruce spat onto the floor between them. “Get the hell out of my cave.”
Superman flinched. He wanted to speak, but Ultraman’s voice cut in.
“Hey, Bruce. Did you know that boy blue here’s been watching you too. All night, actually. Isn’t that right?”
Superman’s eyes flicked up sharply. “Stop.”
“Tell him, Clark. Or should I?”
“I said STOP.” Superman clenched his fists. His voice came quieter now, ashamed. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was IT?”
“I wasn’t—” Superman took a breath, trying to steady himself. “I was making sure he was safe.”
“Safe from what? You think you’re the safer option here?” Ultraman smirked.
Superman turned his head away, the heat in his face undeniable. Ultraman chuckled again and slowly leaned down, pressing two fingers to Bruce’s wrist, feeling the pulse thrum under his skin.
“130,” Ultraman smirked, licking his lips.
Superman didn’t want Bruce to know. Not the real truth. Not what he had been doing—the urges, the watches... and if Ultraman knew… if he knew, it wouldn’t just end there. He’d make it impossible to ignore. He’d spill all of his dirty little secrets to Bruce.
So Clark said the words he didn’t want to believe. Said them anyway. “…He’s right.”
Bruce’s reaction was instant. “You’re both psychotic.”
But Ultraman wasn’t fazed. Not even amused. His grip tightened around Bruce’s wrist, hard enough to feel bone.
“And your hands are fucking shaking,” Ultraman snarled. “You keep up this righteous act. But I know what you are in the dark. When there’s no one left to impress. When your pride is gone and your body’s shaking—” His lips brushed Bruce’s cheek, where blood shimmered under the violet light, painting the line of his jaw. “You beg,” Ultraman teased. “You fucking beg for someone strong enough to wreck you. To own you.” His hand moved to Bruce’s jaw, forcing him to make eye contact. Then Ultraman turned to Superman. Not a single inch of contact broken. Still holding Bruce. “Someone like us.”
Clark stepped forward. Or rather—his body betrayed him, because his mind screamed not to move. But his feet disobeyed.
“…Is that true, B?” Blue eyes dropped for just a fraction of a second—to Bruce’s chest. To the pulse hammering beneath Ultraman’s hold.
It wasn’t fear. Clark knew that rhythm. It wasn’t panic. It was… want.
Ultraman grinned like a beast baring fangs. “Oh, it sure is.” He wrenched Bruce’s head up, forced his lips apart with the pressure of one hand. “He wants this. Wants to be bent over and fucked senseless. Stripped. Handled.”
Bruce growled. “Get the hell off me.”
But he didn’t move.
Didn’t fight.
Didn’t resist.
And Ultraman could smell it—the lie in the defiance. He slammed Bruce’s body back into the console. Metal howled under the force. Sparks shot out of it like embers.
“Be careful!” Superman shouted—but didn’t intervene.
Ultraman ignored him, his breath dragging hard from the thrill.
“Say it,” he hissed, mouth pressed so close to Bruce’s mouth he might as well have entered him. “Say you don’t want this. Say it like you fucking mean it.”
Superman stood just behind him now. Close enough to touch. Close enough to stop this. But his hands remained at his sides.
“…We’d take care of you,” Clark spoke tenderly. Apologetic, even. “If you wanted it, B.”
Ultraman repeated himself. “Say it.”
Bruce’s lips parted. “…Go to hell.”
Ultraman’s fist shattered the screen just above his skull. The sound exploded. Glass hailed down over them in a stinging cascade.
“SAY IT!”
Superman didn’t move.
And Bruce…
He still hadn’t tried to stop him.
RIP!
The fabric of Bruce’s suit split in Ultraman’s fists, the black plates and threads parting like wet paper. His chest—now bare and exposed—lay under Ultraman’s rough, uninvited hands.
“Hey—” Superman surged forward and grabbed Ultraman’s wrist in a tight, punishing grip. His eyes burned. “Let me do it.”
“You had years,” Ultraman spat.
Clark was hurled back, boots skidding across the steel floor, and broad shoulders snapping against the wall. Pain flared, but he didn’t cry out. He just stared, stunned by how easy it had been for Ultraman to throw him aside.
“You’ve been jerking off to him for decades,” Ultraman barked. “Watching. Wanting. Always the good boy in the corner.”
Clark brushed himself off. “I respected him.”
“Bullshit.” The word came like a slap. “You were afraid of what you wanted. Of what he needed.”
Ultraman turned back toward Bruce, whose chest still heaved.
“And you’re still too fucking weak,” Ultraman finished.
“If either of you is going to fuck me,” Bruce interrupted, “then do it. Or get the hell out. This isn’t a goddamn pissing contest.”
It shattered the air. All the games.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence.
Then Ultraman smiled, viciously.
“You fucking brat.”
He turned his gaze to Clark.
“Go on,” he said. “Prove it. Prove to him that you’re not just a fucking coward in tights.”
Clark stood motionless, chest rising and falling from the adrenaline rush.
Ultraman reached into his suit. Held something between his fingers. Something… small and round.
A marble. A pink one, to be more precise.
He waved it, eyes locked on Bruce. Then he placed a finger over his lips. “Shhh,” he mouthed.
Bruce’s lips fell open.
Pink Kryptonite.
It meant nothing to Ultraman—he could twirl it between his fingers like candy.
But for Superman?…