zeegoeshere

Out of the Rain

Clark doesn't just drop by to chat very often. NC-17.

Disclaimer: Not mine, am poor, don't sue.
Notes: Yesterday I found scans of Bruce and Clark's conversation from Superman 210 (which I've uploaded here, here, here and here), and... yeah. I pretty much *had* to write porn. Humina. Thanks to petronelle for audiencing.




As always, Clark doesn't even try to hide his presence. It's something that used to bother Bruce, grate on his nerves like everything Clark did, and it's still...

It changes the atmosphere of the cave, shifts it subtly away from something Batman can control and predict, to something else. Usually, Clark is oblivious, doing it completely by accident.

He isn't tonight.

Bruce doesn't turn from the screen. "Well?"

"Well, what?" Bruce can't possibly calculate all the different emotions in Clark's voice: caution, suspicion, hope, uncertainty, possible anger...

He's not sure who Clark might be angry at. "What do you want, Superman."

"Heh." And just like that, Clark is behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. His whole body wants to react, but he holds himself still. "Maybe I dropped by just to chat."

"Maybe." Clark does do that, on occasion. Just not lately.

Bruce can feel the heat radiating from behind him. It's uncomfortable.

"Conner's human donor was Lex Luthor."

Which we all found out when Luthor seized control of the clone and tried to kill everyone, all to hurt *you.* "I'd heard."

Clark's hand tightens on his shoulder until it's painful even through the armor of his suit. "Did you *know?* Before... before it happened?"

Bruce stands, removing himself from Clark's grip. "Why do you think I did?"

"*Robin* did."

I never would have kept that from you. "No. I didn't know."

Clark's eyes look simultaneously confused and hard, and Bruce wonders if the red glint there is just his imagination. "Let me get this straight. Robin knew--for who *knows* how long--and not only didn't tell you about this possible threat, but actively managed to *keep* this information from you?"

Bruce doesn't let himself scowl. "The clone... they were close. Very close."

"*Don't* call him that." And now the red glint is impossible to ignore, and Clark turns away, his jaw working.

"Luthor erased his free will with a word, Superman. He tried to *kill* Robin--"

Clark's hands are on him just that fast, shoving him back against the computer. "*Don't,* Bruce. Don't--damn it, I know *just* how much you've tolerated Red Hood, so *don't.*"

He looks pissed off and frustrated and Bruce can tell that Clark's a few seconds away from doing him some serious bodily harm. He doesn't think Clark's ever looked more human, and he has to clench his fists to keep himself from reaching out.

He focuses on a point past Clark's shoulder. "It's not my business how you handle the situation from here, though I trust you'll handle it well. But if I'd known... there's no reason I would have kept information of that magnitude from you, Clark."

Clark snorts. "But you might have if there *had* been a reason," he says, but lets Bruce go. He doesn't bother to step back, and it makes Bruce feel exactly as uncomfortable (invaded) as Clark intends.

He can feel it when Clark's demeanor... shifts. And then he can feel Clark's lips on his neck through the material of the cowl, strong and insistent *licking* him through his costume, and Bruce bites down on his bottom lip.

And grabs at Clark blindly, pulling him closer, getting his hands on his ass and shoving his thigh between Clark's legs. Clark groans against his jugular and Bruce feels Clark's hand on his face, mapping out his features. It makes him want to be naked.

"God, *Bruce*--" Bruce reaches up and yanks his cowl back, hears fabric rip but doesn't care. Clark's tongue is tracing his jawline, and then Clark is finally kissing his lips, his mouth. Bruce grabs a fistful of his hair and moves him until he can get the right angle, until he can shove his tongue inside Clark's mouth and taste it when he whimpers.

Clark's hips thrust against his thigh, *humping* him, and Bruce can't imagine a universe where he can keep himself from shoving Clark far enough away and dropping to his knees. Clark cries out like Bruce is hurting him when Bruce drags his tights down, and again when Bruce sucks the leaking head of his dick into his mouth.

"Fuck, Bruce, *please*--" Bruce wants to record Clark saying fuck almost as much as he wants to record Clark begging. He sucks hard and goes down until he can feel himself trying to gag, and then he goes a little bit father. Choking himself on Clark's dick and digging his fingers into Clark's thigh, and in some distant part of his mind he thinks that this shouldn't feel as right as it does.

He can feel Clark's fingers digging into his shoulders, clutching at his hair, and he knows he will have bruises in the morning.

It's childish, petty and irrational, but he wishes he could bruise Clark in the same way.

He comes up for air and lets Clark's spit-slick cock rub against his cheek. The noises Clark makes fall somewhere in between whimpers and pants, and when Bruce presses a kiss to the base of his cock Clark calls his name, low and guttural in his throat like it hurts to say.

"Kal," Bruce mutters and takes him down again, all of him, and Clark's fingers on his head are ripping strands of hair out. Bruce growls around his dick and Clark comes, shooting against the back of Bruce's throat, and Bruce swallows it all.

Clark doesn't let him stand. He drops to his knees, instead, and his kiss feels like an assault, yet another invasion from the alien who has always refused Bruce any kind of privacy. Clark's tongue in his mouth, deliberately tasting himself, and Clark's hand in his lap. Just--just barely *touching,* doing nothing to help Bruce's own erection, and it makes Bruce bite down on Clark's lip and buck his hips.

Clark *still* doesn't do anything--the man is a fucking tease. Bruce grabs his hand and moves it, gets his own tights down and wraps Clark's hand around his dick, thrusting hard into it. The farmboy finally gets with the program then, and it's--it's everything Bruce is afraid to need, it's all that terrifying superhuman strength wrapped around him--

"Fuck, God, Bruce I l-*love* you--" Bruce yanks Clark's head back down to him, crushes their mouths together, and refuses to think about the fact that he makes Superman stutter. Instead he fucks his cock against Clark's hand, makes Clark's stupid strong fingers slippery with pre-come, and bites Clark's tongue when Clark tries to moan.

*That* makes Clark laugh against Bruce's lips, which is one more thing not to think about.

Clark squeezes hard enough to hurt, and Bruce closes his eyes and lets himself come, ejaculating all over Clark's hand and his own tights.

Clark's hand drags up Bruce's chest, and Clark breathes against his neck--nuzzling him. Bruce grits his teeth.

"Bruce," Clark murmurs against his skin, and it makes him cringe. This is all going to be very sticky and uncomfortable in a few moments; they should move, get cleaned up.

"Batman," an electronic voice says, and Bruce looks up--Oracle's mask is lit-up on the computer screen.

"Batman here. What is it?" Bruce ignores the way Clark tenses against him, looking up at the screen in alarm.

"We've discovered some new information on the Bateman case. Batgirl is holding the new player at the warehouse on 25th."

A brief pause. Then, "I would caution against bringing Superman with you; this guy's skittish around metas. Oracle out."

It's... interesting to hear a robotic voice sound amused. Beside him, Bruce can almost feel the heat coming off Clark's blush. "Do you think she--"

"Probably. It doesn't matter," Bruce says. Barbara will undoubtedly harass him about this later, but it's not something Clark needs to know about.

Clark is eyeing him like he heard everything Bruce actually meant, and Bruce looks away and stands. He'll need to change his costume before going out, which is irritating and a waste of time. "You need to go."

Clark is giving him a very narrow, calculating look; there aren't very many people alive in the world who know that Superman is even capable of looking like that.

"Bruce."

Bruce does *not* grind his teeth. Or tense. "Clark, get--"

"I might come by again. Just... to chat."

He really is infuriating sometimes. "How nice of you to inform me ahead of time. Now, if you could *excuse* me."

Another look that would take hours to decipher correctly, and then Clark is gone.

Bruce goes to change his uniform.