FIC: Crossing Lines (with Rai_Daydreamer)
Title: Crossing Lines
Challenge prompt: 12. "You are the last line drawn in the sand" --![]()
20_inkspots (Dark set-- full table here)
Which came first: Story
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3000Summary: Reporter Clark Kent is locked in a cell with the Dark Knight. When sex pollen is thrown into the equation, the game gets more complicated.
The world was wobbling. Everything was swaying and wavering and it hurt.
Clark Kent struggled to orient himself, to push the darkness back, feeling the dim green burn of Kryptonite in his lungs and muscles. He was dangling over someone's shoulder, he realized as his glasses slipped down his nose--his glasses? If he was fighting Kryptonite poisoning, why was he wearing Clark's glasses?
"Can I come with ya?" The chirpy voice could only belong to Harley Quinn.
"I'd never turn down a chance to walk with a pretty girl." The rough chuckle had a tang of metal to it, and Clark identified John Corben's voice. Metallo.
Quinn's voice was cold. "You better hope my puddin' doesn't hear you talking like that, mister. I just want to check on Ivy. Poor Pammie, stuck on guard duty." Clark was slung over Metallo's shoulder, the exposed Kryptonite heart just inches away from him. He fought the acid waves of paralyzing pain and struggled to piece together what had happened.
A press conference on the revamped Watchtower--a rare P.R. opportunity to keep ties with public opinion strong. Clark Kent had been assigned to cover it, so J'onn had taken "Superman duty."
Then all hell had broken loose.
Somehow the latest iteration of Luthor's gang had used the conference to infiltrate the Watchtower--Bruce was going to have words with him about that later, Clark thought wretchedly as he dangled. A hostage situation had ensued, with Clark stuck among the hostages. The JLA had fallen back to regroup, and Clark couldn't see what happened to them, although from Luthor's dire chuckles as he checked on the hostages, it hadn't gone particularly well. Clark had asked a few too many questions, and Luthor ordered the pesky reporter tossed into one of the JLA detention cells. Which would have been all right with Clark, except that the person available to "escort" Clark there had been Metallo.
Clark's knees had buckled when Metallo came too close. Jeering laughter at his cowardice had been the last sound he had heard until now.
"I hear Grodd captured Batman trying to infiltrate, get to the hostages," Metallo grated.
Quinn's voice was contemptuous. "He got lucky. No one but Mista J's good enough to take down Bats mosta the time."
Corben merely snorted.
Batman captured...the Kryptonite pain along his nerves seemed to intensify. "Hey, the schmoe's awake," Harley pointed out, and Clark realized he had groaned aloud. He moved his head feebly to meet Quinn's brightly manic smile, her face upside-down to his vision. Quinn's eyes darted past him to something unseen. "Pammie!" she exclaimed, her tone torn between indignation and glee. "Why are you kissing Batman?"
Metallo's steady gait came to an end and he dropped Clark onto the floor unceremoniously. Clark blinked as the world righted itself and he saw Batman hanging in force-field restraints, being energetically kissed by Poison Ivy. His uniform was singed and frayed, and as Ivy pulled away, licking her lips, Clark could see dark bruises along his jawline. A thin trickle of blood trailed from under the cowl across one cheekbone, and Clark felt his heart turn over. How badly was Bruce hurt?
Ivy finished disentangling herself from the Dark Knight, who was gritting his teeth almost audibly, and waved to Harley. "Oh hi, Harley. Luthor told me to find some way to distract him, said it was my specialty." Her smirk was smug as she walked out of the cell, her hips swaying. "You brought someone else, good," she cooed. "This is a lot more fun with an extra."
The force field wall snapped back into place and Clark immediately felt the pain of Metallo's Kryptonite heart fading. Through the hazy light of the field Clark saw Corben roll his eyes. "You girls have fun," he growled. "I'm off to go hunting for Superman."
Clark allowed himself to enjoy the irony of that statement as Metallo's treading steps faded away. Harley's voice snapped him back to the present. "Whatcha doing, Red?"
There was a buzzing noise as Ivy worked the control panels, and the restraints holding Batman faded away. The Dark Knight dropped to the floor gracefully...and ignored Clark entirely as he swept to examine the force field, his cape swirling. Clark blinked and felt the glasses resting solidly on his nose again. That's right, Batman had no particular reason to acknowledge a random civilian reporter. He coughed. "Excuse me, Batman--"
Batman whirled and pointed at him. "You. Stay in that corner. You don't move. You don't talk. Do you understand me?" His voice was sharp and angry.
"Gotcha," Clark stammered, raising up his hands placatingly, playing up the scared civilian. Batman glared at him for a moment, then went back to staring at the field, tracing it with careful hands.
Ivy smiled and waved at Batman as he paced along the force field wall. "I'm testing out a new lipstick," she explained to the rapt Harley. "Super-strength sex pheremones, should have even the Bat so horny he can't think. Let's see him weasel his way out of this when he can't think of anything but sex." The two women stuck their tongues out at Batman simultaneously and laughed. "The way I see it," Ivy continued, "It isn't much different from the normal state of the human male anyway."
Harley looked wistful for a moment. "I might need to borrow me some of that later," she said. She tilted her head to the side as Batman finished a long pace of the wall. "Will it make him horny enough to want that guy in there with him?"
Ivy laughed. "It'll make him desperate enough to hump a camel if that was all that was available...and whether the camel liked it or not." She tossed her head, flame-colored hair tumbling. "It'll take him down a few pegs, Mr. High and Mighty Moral Crusader, Protector of Mankind."
Batman's strides remained even, but Clark could hear his heartbeat racing. Anger, or the pheremones affecting him? Clark prayed some emergency would call the two women away--without them watching, it would be an easy matter to get through the force field. But with four sharp eyes on the two of them, it was going to be difficult to get away. He watched Batman pace, his stride getting quicker with every pass along the wall. A normal civilian locked in a cell with Batman and told to shut up would keep quiet, so he said nothing, his mind working furiously.
Batman stopped suddenly and slammed one gauntleted hand against the force field, causing buzzing feedback that made the two women jump and giggle. "Stop watching me," he gritted, not looking at Clark. "I can feel you watching me."
Clark dropped his eyes hastily to the gray cell floor, hearing the scrape of boots on metal. "Damn it," muttered Batman. "Damn it, damn it." The rhythmic footsteps stopped, and Clark looked up without thinking--only to find Batman staring directly at him. "I told you not to look at me," Batman graveled.
Clark looked down again quickly. "I'm sorry," he said, and heard Batman's breath hiss inward.
"I told you not to say anything," Batman said, his voice like steel on stone. There was a long silence in which Clark heard Bruce swallow once, then twice. "Tell me your name."
Clark couldn't help but smile just a little. "I thought you told me not to speak," he said, but the last word faltered as Bruce's jaw tightened. "Kent," he said, with a feeling that with every word he was failing some test more and more. "Clark Kent."
"Clark Kent," Batman said, clinically, as if committing it to memory. "Clark," he repeated, his tone even. He looked at Clark and bit his lip, very slightly. "Clark," he breathed for a third time, and Clark remembered some saying that there was magic in threes, because the last time his voice had suddenly gone redolent and heavy, like musk and yearning, like no way Bruce had ever, ever said his name before.
Outside of certain dreams that Clark usually tried very hard to forget in the morning.
He should probably look down, or away, or anywhere rather than at the flat white lenses of Batman's eyes. Batman bit his lip again, harder this time, hard enough to make it redden. He swayed forward as if he were about to take a step toward Clark, but caught himself. "Don't worry, Mr. Kent," Batman said, voice completely flat again. "I won't--I won't do anything to you. Won't cross...that line." He seemed perfectly still, but the black silk of his cape rippled as if in an unseen breeze. "I won't--won't--" He inhaled slowly, carefully. "I want--won't," he corrected himself, a slight groan in his voice. He shifted his stance very slightly, the strong thighs under gray cloth tightening, and one hand strayed to touch his hipbone. Batman hardly seemed to notice it, still staring at Clark, his fingers almost touching his own groin, splayed against the cloth, trembling.
"Batman," Clark said, trying to sound reassuring while still sounding meek. "It's okay. You can fight this off. You're strong."
Bruce was still worrying his lower lip; it was reddened and swollen now as if bruised with kisses. "Strong," Batman whispered. "I am. Stronger than you."
There didn't seem any transition at all between the echoes of that statement and Clark's hands being pinned to the wall with a sharp noise, and Batman was kissing him, forcefully and desperately. Bruce was making a rapturous groaning noise and--no, Clark realized confusedly, that was him, that was Clark making that sound as he leaned in hard to the kiss, sucking on that swollen lower lip as if he could somehow catch some residue of Ivy's lipstick. Anything to explain why he was responding like this, anything...but there was no taste of lipstick, no foreign pheremones, no excuse at all for the noises he was making.
What he was feeling.
No excuse.
"Fight me, damn you," Bruce was groaning in his ear, his hands shaking as they held Clark against the wall. "Don't just give in, don't give them this, tell me--tell me you'll hate me forever if I do this to you. Push me--" his voice broke off into wordless gasping as he shoved his knee between Clark's legs and felt Clark's arousal, "Push, push, push me away, Clark. Fight me."
Over Batman's shoulder, Clark could see the shocked and delighted faces of Harley and Ivy, looking forward to the struggle, the fight any mild-mannered reporter would lose. "No," he whispered, arching his body against Batman's, tightening his legs around Bruce's knee. Batman was being forced into this, coerced against his will into an act he'd find repugnant, and there was no way Clark was going to let him believe it was rape on top of that. Bruce would never forgive himself. "I've dreamed of this, Batman. Of the chance for this. That I'd be in Gotham and you'd save me and...and..." He leaned forward, straining against Batman's pinning hands to kiss the purpling bruises on Bruce's jaw. "I'd have a chance to thank the Dark Knight." He grinned briefly into Batman's shocked stare. "Come on, who wouldn't dream of it?"
He felt the smile slip away into yearning and he let it, willing himself to be vulnerable, to let Bruce see the naked longing on his face. "I mean it. With all my heart. I'm just--" he swallowed hard, "--just sorry it's been forced on you."
For a long, frozen moment Batman stared at him. Then he released Clark, buried his hands in Clark's hair, and pulled him close for a kiss that Clark sank into with abandon. Enjoying this was the gift he could give Bruce. He'd deal with the terror of knowing he'd revealed himself later. For now...his freed hands wandered down to Batman's belt, then lower, and Bruce made a desperate rattling sound and thrust against his hands. "Clark. Clark." The breath hissed between his teeth as Clark eased his cock from his pants, keeping Bruce's back to the watching villains; Harley pouted at him over Batman's shoulder and Ivy sucked on a finger speculatively.
Batman's head was thrown back; his hands clenched in the air. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," he said suddenly. "I was--gods, oh gods, I was going to woo you, win you, not take you against a wall like a trick."
Clark stared at him. Behind them, Harley complained, "Red, what's he sayin'?"
"I don't know, Harl," Ivy said. "Maybe it's a side effect of the lipstick--temporary aphasia?"
"It's not much fun if he's just talking gibberish," pouted Quinn, and Clark realized with a shock that Bruce had spoken in Kryptonian.
"Don't," groaned Bruce in Kal's language as Clark opened his mouth. "You don't understand anything I'm saying. You can't show you do." He leaned forward to smother any possible response with his mouth. "I've wanted you so long," he said when he pulled away, "But not like this, not like this, not when you've got no choice, I wanted--" His voice broke off into a small laugh, threaded with pain, "--wanted you to love me."
Clark's knees almost gave out at the effort to keep his face uncomprehending; instead of speaking he fumbled with his belt buckle, yanking at his pants in clumsy desperation that was for once entirely unfeigned, thanking Rao his costume was compressed into a pocket instead of under his clothes. Bruce pressed against him, heated flesh against flesh, and Clark sighed and pushed back. Batman pulled his cape around them both; Clark was enfolded in rustling silk like sheltering wings, shielded from prying eyes as their bodies moved together.
"Beautiful, my beautiful friend--" Bruce's Kryptonian was taking on more and more lascivious overtones, slipping from the formal language used between friends into something more, something that made Clark's blood sing, "--I wanted it to be perfect when I fucked you the first time, when I felt you around me, as perfect as you deserve, as perfect as we deserve together..." Clark felt slippery heat sliding between his legs, wet with pre-come, and Bruce groaned. "I can't even call you by name, by any of your names. I can't..." Bruce's movements were clumsy and jolting with urgency; Clark's body was tense, and nothing managed to fit together quite right, and it didn't seem to matter at all. It didn't matter at all, because Bruce was using the most intimate forms of Kryptonian, forms that promised and implied so much more than a quick fumbling fuck, verb endings rich with fidelity and ardor. "Wanted to call you by name, the first time," panted Bruce. "The first time I, I'm going to, going to--"
Bruce's voice broke off into something that was neither English nor Kryptonian, a growling, stammering collection of harsh consonants that never quite became either "Kal" or "Clark" but hovered nearby and in between them both. He leaned against Clark, panting with release, and Clark held him up, hoping that their guards didn't notice he was using more than ordinary strength--
Over Bruce's shoulder he saw the hall was empty. "They're gone," he said in surprise.
Bruce stared at him as if he wasn't sure what Clark was talking about. Then he said, "Oh." Clark saw the shields snapping back into place, saw the strategist re-emerge, and felt a moment's regret that they couldn't stay like this a little longer. But there were hostages to be freed and comrades to be aided, and no time for things like afterglow. "You can usually count on Harleen and Pamela to...get distracted and go off somewhere alone eventually," Batman noted cooly, adjusting his belt. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small remote, pressing a button on it. "There. I've jammed the cameras in this cell. Let's get out of here and help our friends."
"You're--"
"--I'll be okay. I'm still a little...distracted," Batman said. "But then, I got used to that side effect of being around you a long time ago."
Clark stared at the flat white ovals of Batman's eyes, feeling an insane impulse to laugh. Then he shifted into full costume in a blur of speed, stopping with a gasp as Bruce laid a possessive gauntlet on the still-aching bulge in the shorts.
"I'm afraid you're going to be left unsatisfied," Bruce noted.
Superman flashed him a grin and stepped through the force field with a grunt of exertion, sparks flying everywhere. Batman waited politely until he brought the field down, and they took off down the corridor together. "There'll be time for that later," Superman said as they ran.
"Indeed," Batman said as emotionlessly as if he were discussing battle plans, but Clark heard the tiny stutter in his heartbeat.
They rounded a corner and heard the first signs of a battle. "But I'm going to have to insist on that wooing first," Superman added. "I'd hate to go unwooed."
Solomon Grundy appeared at the end of the corridor, spotted them, and began to lumber in their direction; two exploding batarangs and a burst of super-cold breath staggered him and he shook his massive head, gathering himself. "How about dinner on Friday?" Batman said, readying another batarang.
Grundy decided retreat was a better option and disappeared down the hall. "Sounds good. Bring flowers," suggested Superman. "I'm partial to daisies."
"Duly noted," Batman said. The main melee was just around the next corner, from the sound of it. "So it's a date?"
"It's a date," Superman said.
Batman flashed him a knife-edge of a grin and they charged ahead, side by side.
Challenge prompt: 12. "You are the last line drawn in the sand" --
20_inkspots (Dark set-- full table here)
Which came first: Story
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3000Summary: Reporter Clark Kent is locked in a cell with the Dark Knight. When sex pollen is thrown into the equation, the game gets more complicated.
The world was wobbling. Everything was swaying and wavering and it hurt.
Clark Kent struggled to orient himself, to push the darkness back, feeling the dim green burn of Kryptonite in his lungs and muscles. He was dangling over someone's shoulder, he realized as his glasses slipped down his nose--his glasses? If he was fighting Kryptonite poisoning, why was he wearing Clark's glasses?
"Can I come with ya?" The chirpy voice could only belong to Harley Quinn.
"I'd never turn down a chance to walk with a pretty girl." The rough chuckle had a tang of metal to it, and Clark identified John Corben's voice. Metallo.
Quinn's voice was cold. "You better hope my puddin' doesn't hear you talking like that, mister. I just want to check on Ivy. Poor Pammie, stuck on guard duty." Clark was slung over Metallo's shoulder, the exposed Kryptonite heart just inches away from him. He fought the acid waves of paralyzing pain and struggled to piece together what had happened.
A press conference on the revamped Watchtower--a rare P.R. opportunity to keep ties with public opinion strong. Clark Kent had been assigned to cover it, so J'onn had taken "Superman duty."
Then all hell had broken loose.
Somehow the latest iteration of Luthor's gang had used the conference to infiltrate the Watchtower--Bruce was going to have words with him about that later, Clark thought wretchedly as he dangled. A hostage situation had ensued, with Clark stuck among the hostages. The JLA had fallen back to regroup, and Clark couldn't see what happened to them, although from Luthor's dire chuckles as he checked on the hostages, it hadn't gone particularly well. Clark had asked a few too many questions, and Luthor ordered the pesky reporter tossed into one of the JLA detention cells. Which would have been all right with Clark, except that the person available to "escort" Clark there had been Metallo.
Clark's knees had buckled when Metallo came too close. Jeering laughter at his cowardice had been the last sound he had heard until now.
"I hear Grodd captured Batman trying to infiltrate, get to the hostages," Metallo grated.
Quinn's voice was contemptuous. "He got lucky. No one but Mista J's good enough to take down Bats mosta the time."
Corben merely snorted.
Batman captured...the Kryptonite pain along his nerves seemed to intensify. "Hey, the schmoe's awake," Harley pointed out, and Clark realized he had groaned aloud. He moved his head feebly to meet Quinn's brightly manic smile, her face upside-down to his vision. Quinn's eyes darted past him to something unseen. "Pammie!" she exclaimed, her tone torn between indignation and glee. "Why are you kissing Batman?"
Metallo's steady gait came to an end and he dropped Clark onto the floor unceremoniously. Clark blinked as the world righted itself and he saw Batman hanging in force-field restraints, being energetically kissed by Poison Ivy. His uniform was singed and frayed, and as Ivy pulled away, licking her lips, Clark could see dark bruises along his jawline. A thin trickle of blood trailed from under the cowl across one cheekbone, and Clark felt his heart turn over. How badly was Bruce hurt?
Ivy finished disentangling herself from the Dark Knight, who was gritting his teeth almost audibly, and waved to Harley. "Oh hi, Harley. Luthor told me to find some way to distract him, said it was my specialty." Her smirk was smug as she walked out of the cell, her hips swaying. "You brought someone else, good," she cooed. "This is a lot more fun with an extra."
The force field wall snapped back into place and Clark immediately felt the pain of Metallo's Kryptonite heart fading. Through the hazy light of the field Clark saw Corben roll his eyes. "You girls have fun," he growled. "I'm off to go hunting for Superman."
Clark allowed himself to enjoy the irony of that statement as Metallo's treading steps faded away. Harley's voice snapped him back to the present. "Whatcha doing, Red?"
There was a buzzing noise as Ivy worked the control panels, and the restraints holding Batman faded away. The Dark Knight dropped to the floor gracefully...and ignored Clark entirely as he swept to examine the force field, his cape swirling. Clark blinked and felt the glasses resting solidly on his nose again. That's right, Batman had no particular reason to acknowledge a random civilian reporter. He coughed. "Excuse me, Batman--"
Batman whirled and pointed at him. "You. Stay in that corner. You don't move. You don't talk. Do you understand me?" His voice was sharp and angry.
"Gotcha," Clark stammered, raising up his hands placatingly, playing up the scared civilian. Batman glared at him for a moment, then went back to staring at the field, tracing it with careful hands.
Ivy smiled and waved at Batman as he paced along the force field wall. "I'm testing out a new lipstick," she explained to the rapt Harley. "Super-strength sex pheremones, should have even the Bat so horny he can't think. Let's see him weasel his way out of this when he can't think of anything but sex." The two women stuck their tongues out at Batman simultaneously and laughed. "The way I see it," Ivy continued, "It isn't much different from the normal state of the human male anyway."
Harley looked wistful for a moment. "I might need to borrow me some of that later," she said. She tilted her head to the side as Batman finished a long pace of the wall. "Will it make him horny enough to want that guy in there with him?"
Ivy laughed. "It'll make him desperate enough to hump a camel if that was all that was available...and whether the camel liked it or not." She tossed her head, flame-colored hair tumbling. "It'll take him down a few pegs, Mr. High and Mighty Moral Crusader, Protector of Mankind."
Batman's strides remained even, but Clark could hear his heartbeat racing. Anger, or the pheremones affecting him? Clark prayed some emergency would call the two women away--without them watching, it would be an easy matter to get through the force field. But with four sharp eyes on the two of them, it was going to be difficult to get away. He watched Batman pace, his stride getting quicker with every pass along the wall. A normal civilian locked in a cell with Batman and told to shut up would keep quiet, so he said nothing, his mind working furiously.
Batman stopped suddenly and slammed one gauntleted hand against the force field, causing buzzing feedback that made the two women jump and giggle. "Stop watching me," he gritted, not looking at Clark. "I can feel you watching me."
Clark dropped his eyes hastily to the gray cell floor, hearing the scrape of boots on metal. "Damn it," muttered Batman. "Damn it, damn it." The rhythmic footsteps stopped, and Clark looked up without thinking--only to find Batman staring directly at him. "I told you not to look at me," Batman graveled.
Clark looked down again quickly. "I'm sorry," he said, and heard Batman's breath hiss inward.
"I told you not to say anything," Batman said, his voice like steel on stone. There was a long silence in which Clark heard Bruce swallow once, then twice. "Tell me your name."
Clark couldn't help but smile just a little. "I thought you told me not to speak," he said, but the last word faltered as Bruce's jaw tightened. "Kent," he said, with a feeling that with every word he was failing some test more and more. "Clark Kent."
"Clark Kent," Batman said, clinically, as if committing it to memory. "Clark," he repeated, his tone even. He looked at Clark and bit his lip, very slightly. "Clark," he breathed for a third time, and Clark remembered some saying that there was magic in threes, because the last time his voice had suddenly gone redolent and heavy, like musk and yearning, like no way Bruce had ever, ever said his name before.
Outside of certain dreams that Clark usually tried very hard to forget in the morning.
He should probably look down, or away, or anywhere rather than at the flat white lenses of Batman's eyes. Batman bit his lip again, harder this time, hard enough to make it redden. He swayed forward as if he were about to take a step toward Clark, but caught himself. "Don't worry, Mr. Kent," Batman said, voice completely flat again. "I won't--I won't do anything to you. Won't cross...that line." He seemed perfectly still, but the black silk of his cape rippled as if in an unseen breeze. "I won't--won't--" He inhaled slowly, carefully. "I want--won't," he corrected himself, a slight groan in his voice. He shifted his stance very slightly, the strong thighs under gray cloth tightening, and one hand strayed to touch his hipbone. Batman hardly seemed to notice it, still staring at Clark, his fingers almost touching his own groin, splayed against the cloth, trembling.
"Batman," Clark said, trying to sound reassuring while still sounding meek. "It's okay. You can fight this off. You're strong."
Bruce was still worrying his lower lip; it was reddened and swollen now as if bruised with kisses. "Strong," Batman whispered. "I am. Stronger than you."
There didn't seem any transition at all between the echoes of that statement and Clark's hands being pinned to the wall with a sharp noise, and Batman was kissing him, forcefully and desperately. Bruce was making a rapturous groaning noise and--no, Clark realized confusedly, that was him, that was Clark making that sound as he leaned in hard to the kiss, sucking on that swollen lower lip as if he could somehow catch some residue of Ivy's lipstick. Anything to explain why he was responding like this, anything...but there was no taste of lipstick, no foreign pheremones, no excuse at all for the noises he was making.
What he was feeling.
No excuse.
"Fight me, damn you," Bruce was groaning in his ear, his hands shaking as they held Clark against the wall. "Don't just give in, don't give them this, tell me--tell me you'll hate me forever if I do this to you. Push me--" his voice broke off into wordless gasping as he shoved his knee between Clark's legs and felt Clark's arousal, "Push, push, push me away, Clark. Fight me."
Over Batman's shoulder, Clark could see the shocked and delighted faces of Harley and Ivy, looking forward to the struggle, the fight any mild-mannered reporter would lose. "No," he whispered, arching his body against Batman's, tightening his legs around Bruce's knee. Batman was being forced into this, coerced against his will into an act he'd find repugnant, and there was no way Clark was going to let him believe it was rape on top of that. Bruce would never forgive himself. "I've dreamed of this, Batman. Of the chance for this. That I'd be in Gotham and you'd save me and...and..." He leaned forward, straining against Batman's pinning hands to kiss the purpling bruises on Bruce's jaw. "I'd have a chance to thank the Dark Knight." He grinned briefly into Batman's shocked stare. "Come on, who wouldn't dream of it?"
He felt the smile slip away into yearning and he let it, willing himself to be vulnerable, to let Bruce see the naked longing on his face. "I mean it. With all my heart. I'm just--" he swallowed hard, "--just sorry it's been forced on you."
For a long, frozen moment Batman stared at him. Then he released Clark, buried his hands in Clark's hair, and pulled him close for a kiss that Clark sank into with abandon. Enjoying this was the gift he could give Bruce. He'd deal with the terror of knowing he'd revealed himself later. For now...his freed hands wandered down to Batman's belt, then lower, and Bruce made a desperate rattling sound and thrust against his hands. "Clark. Clark." The breath hissed between his teeth as Clark eased his cock from his pants, keeping Bruce's back to the watching villains; Harley pouted at him over Batman's shoulder and Ivy sucked on a finger speculatively.
Batman's head was thrown back; his hands clenched in the air. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," he said suddenly. "I was--gods, oh gods, I was going to woo you, win you, not take you against a wall like a trick."
Clark stared at him. Behind them, Harley complained, "Red, what's he sayin'?"
"I don't know, Harl," Ivy said. "Maybe it's a side effect of the lipstick--temporary aphasia?"
"It's not much fun if he's just talking gibberish," pouted Quinn, and Clark realized with a shock that Bruce had spoken in Kryptonian.
"Don't," groaned Bruce in Kal's language as Clark opened his mouth. "You don't understand anything I'm saying. You can't show you do." He leaned forward to smother any possible response with his mouth. "I've wanted you so long," he said when he pulled away, "But not like this, not like this, not when you've got no choice, I wanted--" His voice broke off into a small laugh, threaded with pain, "--wanted you to love me."
Clark's knees almost gave out at the effort to keep his face uncomprehending; instead of speaking he fumbled with his belt buckle, yanking at his pants in clumsy desperation that was for once entirely unfeigned, thanking Rao his costume was compressed into a pocket instead of under his clothes. Bruce pressed against him, heated flesh against flesh, and Clark sighed and pushed back. Batman pulled his cape around them both; Clark was enfolded in rustling silk like sheltering wings, shielded from prying eyes as their bodies moved together.
"Beautiful, my beautiful friend--" Bruce's Kryptonian was taking on more and more lascivious overtones, slipping from the formal language used between friends into something more, something that made Clark's blood sing, "--I wanted it to be perfect when I fucked you the first time, when I felt you around me, as perfect as you deserve, as perfect as we deserve together..." Clark felt slippery heat sliding between his legs, wet with pre-come, and Bruce groaned. "I can't even call you by name, by any of your names. I can't..." Bruce's movements were clumsy and jolting with urgency; Clark's body was tense, and nothing managed to fit together quite right, and it didn't seem to matter at all. It didn't matter at all, because Bruce was using the most intimate forms of Kryptonian, forms that promised and implied so much more than a quick fumbling fuck, verb endings rich with fidelity and ardor. "Wanted to call you by name, the first time," panted Bruce. "The first time I, I'm going to, going to--"
Bruce's voice broke off into something that was neither English nor Kryptonian, a growling, stammering collection of harsh consonants that never quite became either "Kal" or "Clark" but hovered nearby and in between them both. He leaned against Clark, panting with release, and Clark held him up, hoping that their guards didn't notice he was using more than ordinary strength--
Over Bruce's shoulder he saw the hall was empty. "They're gone," he said in surprise.
Bruce stared at him as if he wasn't sure what Clark was talking about. Then he said, "Oh." Clark saw the shields snapping back into place, saw the strategist re-emerge, and felt a moment's regret that they couldn't stay like this a little longer. But there were hostages to be freed and comrades to be aided, and no time for things like afterglow. "You can usually count on Harleen and Pamela to...get distracted and go off somewhere alone eventually," Batman noted cooly, adjusting his belt. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small remote, pressing a button on it. "There. I've jammed the cameras in this cell. Let's get out of here and help our friends."
"You're--"
"--I'll be okay. I'm still a little...distracted," Batman said. "But then, I got used to that side effect of being around you a long time ago."
Clark stared at the flat white ovals of Batman's eyes, feeling an insane impulse to laugh. Then he shifted into full costume in a blur of speed, stopping with a gasp as Bruce laid a possessive gauntlet on the still-aching bulge in the shorts.
"I'm afraid you're going to be left unsatisfied," Bruce noted.
Superman flashed him a grin and stepped through the force field with a grunt of exertion, sparks flying everywhere. Batman waited politely until he brought the field down, and they took off down the corridor together. "There'll be time for that later," Superman said as they ran.
"Indeed," Batman said as emotionlessly as if he were discussing battle plans, but Clark heard the tiny stutter in his heartbeat.
They rounded a corner and heard the first signs of a battle. "But I'm going to have to insist on that wooing first," Superman added. "I'd hate to go unwooed."
Solomon Grundy appeared at the end of the corridor, spotted them, and began to lumber in their direction; two exploding batarangs and a burst of super-cold breath staggered him and he shook his massive head, gathering himself. "How about dinner on Friday?" Batman said, readying another batarang.
Grundy decided retreat was a better option and disappeared down the hall. "Sounds good. Bring flowers," suggested Superman. "I'm partial to daisies."
"Duly noted," Batman said. The main melee was just around the next corner, from the sound of it. "So it's a date?"
"It's a date," Superman said.
Batman flashed him a knife-edge of a grin and they charged ahead, side by side.