Welcome to OZ
Title: Welcome to OZ
Fandom: DC (Marvel mentioned)
Pairings: Bruce/Clark
Characters: Bruce Wayne/Batman; Clark Kent/Superman
Word Count: 4,605
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: Mild Violence, Language, Cross Dressing *hides*
Synopsis:
“My, my, my…aren’t we a match made in heaven?”
Clark, hat in hand and a glass of punch in the other, turned around at the exclamation thrown in his direction, their direction actually. Bruce was right beside him, his arms occupied with hanging onto Clark’s and feigning innocence when there wasn’t a scrap of it in his body. He spun neatly in his heels towards the mechanical wonder that somehow didn’t make as much noise as he should of in his work clothes. The guy next to him waved hello.
Clark looked down to see if the floor was made of gold bricks.
This is a companion piece to : Make it Believable which was written last year for bradygirl_12's 2011 DCU Fic/Art Halloween Challenge.
There's not really a plot. It's just an excuse to put Bruce in heels. Did I mention I have this...festish now? lol
It might be revised on a later date. :) I might naughty it up.
Welcome to Oz:
“Why did I let you talk me into this?”
The coy look he was getting from the billionaire before him wasn’t fooling anyone. Clark just stared at the man, already uncomfortable enough to keep his arms crossed to keep himself from scratching anymore than he had. His current costume was much worse than the others that he’d tried on, but it was the only one that fit him without threatening to rip in places that didn’t need to be mentioned. He could not help it. He was a big man, and not in the sense that involved cakes, candy, and seven servings of some fast food chain in a day. It wasn’t a bad costume, but the authenticity of it made him remember why it was a bad idea to sleep in hay.
Still…
“Are you ever going to answer me or are you going to make me wait?”
The door to the bathroom closed itself.
Clark sat down on the bed heavily and groaned none too lightly into his hands. He knew who he was supposed to be, but Bruce was hush-hush about his costume. It was supposed to be a companion piece; one that had him trying to guess just who he decided would be worthy to accompany the Scarecrow from the Land of Oz to this year’s Halloween Party.
They weren’t going to the event that had somehow brought them together last year. Luthor wasn’t hosting a party. Well, he wasn’t hosting a party stateside anyhow. After some recent scandals, all of which he was in the center and had caused because of his lack of common sense and will power to stay away from the maniacal madness, he’d decided that a trip to the outer shores of Aruba was as good a time as any. He wouldn’t be back until the fires died down, which was hopefully for another year.
Instead they were going to another party, one being hosted by another familiar acquaintance. He didn’t know the man personally, but Tony Stark was said to have some killer parties when he was behind the wheel. Bruce and Tony ran in the same circles, and it was only natural that eventually the two men would meet, find common ground, and drag their significant others into their upheaval. Thus the itchy costume, the sitting on the bed, and staring balefully at the door when it didn’t open when he willed it too.
Yes, it would be a little much for Superman to have telekinetic powers. Laser eyes were enough, and he’d be killed if he put another set of burn marks in that door.
It wasn’t his fault. Not totally. No one told Bruce to lock himself in there after a particularly ugly fight involving one huge misunderstanding thanks to a meddling Barbara. The girl was too curious for her own good at times. He believed his cousin told her that often, but redheads were impulsive creatures of habit. Bruce in a good mood meant something was up, and it wasn’t beyond his meddling kids to find out just why.
But asking the man if he was happy because Clark was finally getting together with Lois and asking him for love advice?
Suicide Pill Please.
Halloween last year had been a revealing night, opening his brain to a cacophony of changing views and beliefs that left his brain on E for about a week. He seriously had to reevaluate many things in his life, including where a certain billionaire in it stood and what it meant for them in the future as well as the present. The future was more of an immediate worry than anything else, only because of the league, business etiquette, and the fires that would erupt if this went belly up in a not so pleasant way. The eruption of crisis after crisis kept him from wondering about that too much, but the little downtime they did manage to acquire was met with Bruce finding him somewhere in the watch tower and erasing that worry with little gestures.
Well, dragging him into a nearby room and demonstrating his kissing finesse was not a little gesture, but that was aside the point. The man was still interested.
Yay!
From there it had progressed from stumbling in the dark to the easy camaraderie they had before, with the added bonus of having express permission to put his hands on places of Bruce’s body he hadn’t thought about prior to that night. If someone were to ask him why, Clark would openly and honestly say that his brain had been repressed, he’d been borderline asexual, and he was kidding himself when he thought that having a normal love life would occur on his living days here on earth. That would be fun to explain to a potential spouse.
“Oh Honey, by the way, I’m Superman, I have a tendency to fly off at the most inconvenient times, and if we decide to have kids I should warn you that they might fly out of their cribs. Oh, and I can cook bacon with my eyes if the stove breaks.”
Clark covered his mouth with his straw covered hand. It wouldn’t do to laugh. Life was already insane enough without having to explain why he was laughing at himself.
The door opened again.
“Holy shit.”
He wondered if ripping the door from his hinges would get him in too much trouble.
Red Ruby Mary-Jane’s stilettos that were about three inches off of the ground brought forth a set of lean tanned and gorgeous shapely legs that were neither too plain nor too muscular for the garter adorned on the left and the sheer white stockings that melded themselves on that lovely skin. Those came about a six inches shy of the hem of that dress; that plain but slightly frilly blue and white checkered dress with the skirt filled out with whatever people did to make it poof. Clark couldn’t think of what it was, nor did he care. He was too focused on the journey his eyes were taking him on upward, stalling at the promise of something scantily clad to those firm visible fleshy globes he so loved to grab when he was driving himself home.
Clark silently thanked the gods that he was not coerced into truly authenticating his outfit with straw stuffed everywhere. He didn’t think that it would feel the least bit pleasant to have straw pressing against his half hard member straining for the full glory it could be.
He pressed the heel of his palm against his lap. There was still more to look at.
The dress was accompanied with a white shirt underneath it that hid the chest growing with pride and arousal. It was off the shoulder, allowing Clark to have a good long look the shoulders that he spent many nights caressing with his fingers, lips, and tongue, mapping every crevasse and knowing just where to stare to have that body shivering. The pig tails residing-trespassing if you asked Clark right then and there what he thought-on those smooth shoulders were the final touch of the ensemble. The bit of make up on his face may have feminized him some, but not enough to make him look like a drag queen.
Clark’s eyes dropped back down to his favorite part.
“Perv.”
Yes, maybe, probably, most definitely. It didn’t matter. Clark kept staring. Bruce rolled his eyes and headed back into the bathroom to grab something else. He stopped to smooth out a slight bunch in his stockings, bending over and giving Clark a clear view of a white lace thong he was sure a certain brunette from Kansas wouldn’t be caught dead wearing at Auntie Em and Uncle Henry’s house. What she did in her private time was anyone’s guess.
Who ripped them off? Clark could only imagine.
Clark looked at the clock on the dresser. “Damn.” No time to do that. “Who’s driving?”
“You are.”
“Damn.” Now he really didn’t have time. “All right, let’s go.”
“What’s the rush?”
Bruce was a sadist. It went well with Clark’s masochism. It was the only way to explain why he bit his lip and tugged at his pants, hating the straw and everything that was on him as Dorothy, holding a furry little mutt swished past him in those heels like he was made for walking in them.
Best. Birthday. Present. Ever.
“Remind me never to indulge you with shoes again,” Clark grumbled taking the perfectly manicured hand in his gloved one. “And I hate you for wearing my favorite.”
Bruce kissed him on the corner of his mouth and tugged his grumbling scarecrow along, grinning saucily when his free hand flitted under his skirt for a teasing grab.
The night was young and promising, and Clark would hate him right into the mattress when he saw the rest of it later.
“My, my, my…aren’t we a match made in heaven?”
Clark, hat in hand and a glass of punch in the other, turned around at the exclamation thrown in his direction, their direction actually. Bruce was right beside him, his arms occupied with hanging onto Clark’s and feigning innocence when there wasn’t a scrap of it in his body. He spun neatly in his heels towards the mechanical wonder that somehow didn’t make as much noise as he should of in his work clothes. The guy next to him waved hello.
Clark looked down to see if the floor was made of gold bricks.
“I can’t believe you actually did it!” Tony crowed. “And the sad part is that you don’t look half bad!”
“And you’re in your work uniform why?”
The billionaire gestured to his armor and snorted. “Perfect costume…and I had someone to nuke. I figured it would be better to come as is instead of walking in here as a pirate…I heard some pirate dangled some punk over the railing last year…everyone’s a fucking pirate because of it.”
Clark coughed lightly to the side and looked away innocently. “Yeah, well…the jerk probably had it coming,” he remarked. “You never know…stranger things have come about.”
There was nothing innocent or strange about that leer on Tony’s face. It was meant to be there, just as much as Bruce meant to casually press into Clark’s side and ride the skirt of his dress up just enough to Clark’s hand at his hip take notice. If anyone else took notice, they were as good as dead. Clark didn’t share well and he’d made it known quite a few times over the last year.
There was still that one guy at his job that ran when he came around any corner. Really, all he did was put his fist through the wall…near his head…because he might have made a passing comment about Bruce’s delectable ass.
Really, it was nothing serious. Being dead was a privilege!
Or so Clark would tell the demented part of his brain that clung to the one aside him possessively.
Tony’s leer didn’t abate. It got bigger. “You’re not going to cough up straw are you?”
“Only if you promise not to vomit up fur,” Bruce smirked. “Your friend is looking like he needs a shave or ten…”
Tony’s “friend” grumbled under his breath about being coerced into wearing the silly outfit that wasn’t quite that silly for anyone with an appreciation for rock hard bodies. His friend-Steve if Clark remembered right-wasn’t dressed in one of those dinky one suit wonders that one rented and hoped to high hell that it wasn’t infested from the last poor bastard that was in it. He was actually in nothing else aside some furry patches that covered his calves, his forearms, and the very front of his crotch. His bottom torso wore that painted on pair of tan tights like they were meant to. It someone was drunk enough, they would have thought Steve had botched up a tanning job.
His headdress is what took the cake. It was this wild and bushy looking mane type wig that was everywhere and anywhere that man moved. It fell in a messy jumble over his shoulders, bare like the rest of his chest and in plain sight for anyone who had a lick of taste in men to ogle openly at because it was invitation to do so. Touching though…
Clark reached out his hand to Tony. The man in the metal suit grabbed it and shook it in understanding.
They were probably going to kill someone before the night was out.
“You two did not just bond,” Steve said with a grimace. Tony rubbed the bottom of his chin, ignoring Steve’s seething. “You’re the one who came up with this thing!”
“I did it for people to see what they can’t touch,” Tony remarked. “That doesn’t mean I’m above making someone vanish if they mess with the highlight of my party….”
“I’m half naked!”
“You’re hot as hell too. Oh, however will you deal?”
It was rather fascinating to see Steve flushed from his shoulders up. “J-just shut up!”
Clark could see why Bruce liked Tony. He liked him as well, although for different reasons that had his date smirking into his shoulder and Tony’s significant other seething because it was a direct hit to his ego. Steve could take care of himself without the aid of anyone. His muscled frame stated that without it needing to be addressed verbally. Yet, as Clark was finding out, when one had inherited the attentions and affections of the one and only Tony Stark, you were prime meat to be displayed for the world to be in awe and jealous over. Tony was the one parading his prize around and the guard dog protecting it with those teeth that shred anything that came near them.
Clark preferred to punch his opposition in the face.
Or hang them by their foot and drop them repeatedly. That worked wonders last time.
He looked down at his Dorothy, a pleasant sight to behold from three inches above Bruce’s head. He had a clear view of that lovely supple but built body and legs for days in those glittering heels. People didn’t know this-not that Clark wanted anyone else to ever know nor acknowledged that there might be someone that could know because it was justification for murder when he bumped into this person, not if-but Bruce was a rather lean man bulked up by that hunk of armor he wore on his nightly runs. He’d stopped bulking up long ago, focusing on calisthenics and running, ridding himself of the extra mass he had to carry and making himself faster and harder to catch. Clark’s hands had an all access pass and sought entry even now, wanting to caress that body in a way that had Bruce writhing and screaming his name all with that skirt hiked up…
Scarecrows didn’t drool. He subtly wiped his lip and cursed public decency.
“Smile people!”
Flash went the camera that popped up with a bad reincarnation of Catwoman holding it. The sad piece of their lives was that they were ready for it, grinning, posing, or just being so hot that the room sweltered when they moved about. It came with their jobs on the side or their jobs that had paparazzi running up to them snapping photos and asking insanely stupid questions. She vanished with a twirl and one of them was already planning to get her drunk to get that photo back before she realized the gold she harbored.
Chit chat ensued. Nothing really went between them work related unless it was something funny to relay. Tony had some horror stories that had the four of them cracking up sporadically at times, and others that had them cringing in-between giggle fits. Being an avenger was hard work, but funny when things went horribly wrong without the life and death part. He and Bruce could relate to it, albeit silently. Tony’s publicity was not theirs, and the lives they lead in the midst of crisis after crisis was supposed to take away from that Chaos.
If one could call running on coffee and tailgating a trouble magnet not chaos.
Clark was seriously going to have to talk to Lois about her running into the middle of hostile crap. It just wasn’t healthy for him.
“Hey.”
“Hmm?”
“No thinking about her,” Bruce warned. “I still haven’t forgiven her for getting you in the middle of that last scrape.”
If there was one thing that Clark could count on, it was Bruce and his knowing self frowning up at him because he let his mind wander off somewhere it need not be. He was still a puppy in that respect, and still wagged his tail expectantly like the good dog he could be when asked. His reward was a bone melting kiss that had the cat calls coming louder that the music.
A soft finger smeared the bit of lipstick on his bottom lip. Dark eyes glittered with promise, and Clark was suddenly appreciative of his baggy costume tonight.
The straw was still itchy.
It wasn’t even nine yet and already the party was swinging like it had been drinking for hours on end. Tony dragged his lion onto the floor, defying all odds and dancing in that suit like it was made of air. Steve was a little stiff at first, but he did get into the swing of things after a moment or two. The other patrons of the party were on the floor dancing, in various spots of their venue, hidden in the more obscure parts of the large room rented out for the large party this was turning out to be. Most eyes were on the center floor and on Tony grinding himself into his lion’s space and that lion being tamed by the wild man of iron showing off a little more than his dancing skills. Someone was going to find themselves embracing the bedding, and Clark didn’t think Steve would be so cowardly when he made Tony find the sheets edible.
Bruce was too busy making a drape out of him, curled into his side and shamelessly showing off his legs and his ability to strut his stuff in those heels when he led them around saying hello to other party goers.
Clark had leaned down at one point, nose to nose with the saucily smirking billionaire and said, “I’m getting my candy tonight.” To which Bruce didn’t object, but confirmed, kissing him as those sly fingers found the high hem of his thong and tugged lightly.
At one point they had separated, though it was only because Toto had seen the tail end of something that he didn’t like and leapt out of Bruce’s arms to run and bark at it. Whatever it was, it moved through the throng of the crowd and Bruce slipped in and out of people with all intents of getting Toto back. First of all, the dog was on loan and secondly he was not about to lose his prop to some idiot who didn’t like dogs. He quickly found and scooped up his precious bundle, and he was almost apologizing when he realized who or what Toto was barking at.
The fake Joker grinned eerily at him and walked off with a bad laugh. Bruce was tempted to let Toto do more than growl at the jerk dressed in that get up but…
“Whoa…would you get a look of this,” someone murmured. “You need a tin-man sweetheart? Or a man of steel? I’ve got some steel for you to oil down with those legs of yours…”
It was Halloween and there were jerks that were positive that they were the shit in their costumes. Someone who was dressed in some cheap polyester suit resembling a certain man of steel apparently thought he was the shit. Bruce straightened himself out, nearly turned on his heel to walk away when the resounding slap was heard, felt, and left him feeling a little more than undignified and somewhat sorry for the bastard that did that. He ignored the improper sting of his left ass cheek and turned in time to see the jerk dressed as some cheap looking superman find him face to face with an overgrown scarecrow wrapping his gloved hands around his throat. It looked like the original man of steel wasn’t taking kindly to his property being touched.
“I don’t need a tin-man,” Bruce spoke sweetly to the choking man, “I have a perfectly capable scarecrow to do all that for me.”
Clark was all for repeating last year but he didn’t get the chance. A certain Lion was holding his hand to keep him from popping that man’s head off his neck and Tony was standing behind the jerk with a laser hand to his head. “I really don’t see the need to ruin a perfectly good party with blood shed, but to each his own and I could learn to love certain sports,” Tony said. “I was never much of a hunter, but I have relatively good aim. It’s kind of hard to miss at this distance, yes?”
Anyone who knew Tony knew he didn’t have much shame in his tactics. He also didn’t have a tolerance for anyone who stained his carpet with anything that wasn’t alcohol related. “Ugh, for the love of…JARVIS…please escort this man out of my place with the grace and dignity of a man who has earned my ire.”
“Yes, of course Master Stark,” a voice echoed.
“And please…disinfect that spot. No, just replace it. I’d rather not be reminded that someone did that to my floor.”
“As you wish.”
And just like that, the crappy looking Superman was ejected from Tony’s apartment without help from the irritated Scarecrow wishing he’d squeezed just a little harder. Steve let go of him, and Bruce filled his arms, calming him with pleading kisses that eventually calmed him down to a tolerable level. He wasn’t going to pop off that guy’s head but choking him a little seemed more sensible than letting him fall fifty stories several times. If he rubbed the offended cheek possessively, Bruce nor anyone else said much in the way to stop him.
“Your ass is phenomenal,” Tony remarked off handedly. “What do you do? Squats? Lunges?”
“A little bit of everything,” Bruce smirked. “I have to keep him interested completely.”
That wasn’t what kept his complete attention. It was a good part of it, but the whole package, snark included, kept Clark on his toes, interested, and willing to do whatever just to see what Bruce would do next. Clark absently wiped the side of his mouth again. Bruce would have had him completely with those heels alone.
He had it BAD.
Why were they standing here again?
“Where did Jarvis….put him anyhow?” Steve asked.
“Outside.” Steve pointed to the outside of his apartment, out where it was freezing cold, and Thor was busily trying to understand why Superman was outside with pants that smelled like pee. Wolverine seemed to like the idea, and popped up with his claws in time to let that man make another mess of himself.
“Can he at least NOT have that on?” Clark muttered.
“Jarvis!”
“Yes sir.”
Clark really had to watch what he asked for.
Well…at least this Halloween wasn’t boring, especially when that sobered up jerk revealed that he liked wearing iron man underwear. Clark had never seen someone like Steve sputter so bad, or someone like Tony find pleasure in making that man suffer by broadcasting him on the screens all around his building. It was possibly better than dropping that man several times and bringing his face within inches of the concrete ground.
“Clark…NO.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Maybe…but I’m sure you want your candy after the party.”
Toto barked as if to agree and Clark grumbled despite his getting a kiss for his good behavior.
The straw didn’t itch quite so much.
Toto was put outside the room and left to do whatever in the care of Alfred. The door shut itself and Alfred scooped up Toto with plans to spoil him rotten tonight. The little dog didn’t mind it. It wagged its tail and barked happily at the idle scratch of his head, hoping there would be more before the night was over.
Inside the room, Clark quickly shed himself of that costume and brought relief to his oversensitive skin. There were no lasting marks of irritation nor would there be, but it didn’t mean he didn’t feel much better. He shucked the costume into the corner, prepared to call it a night and deal with the straw and jumper in the morning.
Bruce had other ideas.
The party had waned on into the middle of the night, still going strong at one and winding down around two. By then it was more than obvious that the gyrating form of Tony had done what it seat out to do and the bashful but willing Steve was pulled into another section of the apartment where Clark was sure Steve was purring like the big cat he portrayed. He’d tugged Bruce to leave before the roaring could start and the other guest seemed to take the hint when the host didn’t look like he’d be coming back anytime soon.
They’d left, ignoring the weak and protesting cries of that jerk, left to hang from some webbing and poked from time to time by a certain spider who was busily laughing at Wolverine as he tried and failed to ignore a red head in heels easing him from his lonely perch.
Clark barely recognized who it was, but it only brought him back to Bruce and the heels that were on him.
Those red ruby stilettos were replaced with black heels that could barely be heard on the carpeting. The underside were lined with red, designer shoes, but not as breathtaking as the body in those shoes making his way toward him in that white lace thong and a sheer orange cami that looked like spun silk wrapped around that lithe body coming to stand, kneel, and soon curl itself into him. Clark went with the flow, falling back as his hand slid up the front, fingers reaching to pinch those delectable morsels but coming in contact with another.
He slipped his hand loose to find his fingers occupied with a Hershey’s kiss and his lips being teased with that smirk he’d fallen head over heels for. “You’re going to give me cavities.”
“I have a good dental plan.” Bruce ground himself down, savoring the soft moans and said, “It lasts for a lifetime.”
A lifetime? He could live with that. “Nice. So, Dorothy, you ready to go home?”
Bruce yelped and laughed as he was flipped over in the bed, heels clicking together as Clark settled into devouring his treat with relish. That kiss was melting in his mouth in seconds as was Bruce who was already mentally shopping for the next pair of shoes in his mind until Clark brought all Bruce’s thoughts on that talented mouth trying to send him to nirvana and succeeding.
Dorothy didn’t get back to Kansas, but Bruce sure enjoyed the effort with Clark giving a repeat performance.
And when Bruce mentioned switching costumes next year…well…
Bruce pleasantly spent the day in bed with Clark firmly approving of that suggestion.
Now if only he could get away with wearing a red thong instead of the red underwear….
......I'm sequeling it with something naughty. I can't help it now.
Fandom: DC (Marvel mentioned)
Pairings: Bruce/Clark
Characters: Bruce Wayne/Batman; Clark Kent/Superman
Word Count: 4,605
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: Mild Violence, Language, Cross Dressing *hides*
Synopsis:
“My, my, my…aren’t we a match made in heaven?”
Clark, hat in hand and a glass of punch in the other, turned around at the exclamation thrown in his direction, their direction actually. Bruce was right beside him, his arms occupied with hanging onto Clark’s and feigning innocence when there wasn’t a scrap of it in his body. He spun neatly in his heels towards the mechanical wonder that somehow didn’t make as much noise as he should of in his work clothes. The guy next to him waved hello.
Clark looked down to see if the floor was made of gold bricks.
This is a companion piece to : Make it Believable which was written last year for bradygirl_12's 2011 DCU Fic/Art Halloween Challenge.
There's not really a plot. It's just an excuse to put Bruce in heels. Did I mention I have this...festish now? lol
It might be revised on a later date. :) I might naughty it up.
Welcome to Oz:
“Why did I let you talk me into this?”
The coy look he was getting from the billionaire before him wasn’t fooling anyone. Clark just stared at the man, already uncomfortable enough to keep his arms crossed to keep himself from scratching anymore than he had. His current costume was much worse than the others that he’d tried on, but it was the only one that fit him without threatening to rip in places that didn’t need to be mentioned. He could not help it. He was a big man, and not in the sense that involved cakes, candy, and seven servings of some fast food chain in a day. It wasn’t a bad costume, but the authenticity of it made him remember why it was a bad idea to sleep in hay.
Still…
“Are you ever going to answer me or are you going to make me wait?”
The door to the bathroom closed itself.
Clark sat down on the bed heavily and groaned none too lightly into his hands. He knew who he was supposed to be, but Bruce was hush-hush about his costume. It was supposed to be a companion piece; one that had him trying to guess just who he decided would be worthy to accompany the Scarecrow from the Land of Oz to this year’s Halloween Party.
They weren’t going to the event that had somehow brought them together last year. Luthor wasn’t hosting a party. Well, he wasn’t hosting a party stateside anyhow. After some recent scandals, all of which he was in the center and had caused because of his lack of common sense and will power to stay away from the maniacal madness, he’d decided that a trip to the outer shores of Aruba was as good a time as any. He wouldn’t be back until the fires died down, which was hopefully for another year.
Instead they were going to another party, one being hosted by another familiar acquaintance. He didn’t know the man personally, but Tony Stark was said to have some killer parties when he was behind the wheel. Bruce and Tony ran in the same circles, and it was only natural that eventually the two men would meet, find common ground, and drag their significant others into their upheaval. Thus the itchy costume, the sitting on the bed, and staring balefully at the door when it didn’t open when he willed it too.
Yes, it would be a little much for Superman to have telekinetic powers. Laser eyes were enough, and he’d be killed if he put another set of burn marks in that door.
It wasn’t his fault. Not totally. No one told Bruce to lock himself in there after a particularly ugly fight involving one huge misunderstanding thanks to a meddling Barbara. The girl was too curious for her own good at times. He believed his cousin told her that often, but redheads were impulsive creatures of habit. Bruce in a good mood meant something was up, and it wasn’t beyond his meddling kids to find out just why.
But asking the man if he was happy because Clark was finally getting together with Lois and asking him for love advice?
Suicide Pill Please.
Halloween last year had been a revealing night, opening his brain to a cacophony of changing views and beliefs that left his brain on E for about a week. He seriously had to reevaluate many things in his life, including where a certain billionaire in it stood and what it meant for them in the future as well as the present. The future was more of an immediate worry than anything else, only because of the league, business etiquette, and the fires that would erupt if this went belly up in a not so pleasant way. The eruption of crisis after crisis kept him from wondering about that too much, but the little downtime they did manage to acquire was met with Bruce finding him somewhere in the watch tower and erasing that worry with little gestures.
Well, dragging him into a nearby room and demonstrating his kissing finesse was not a little gesture, but that was aside the point. The man was still interested.
Yay!
From there it had progressed from stumbling in the dark to the easy camaraderie they had before, with the added bonus of having express permission to put his hands on places of Bruce’s body he hadn’t thought about prior to that night. If someone were to ask him why, Clark would openly and honestly say that his brain had been repressed, he’d been borderline asexual, and he was kidding himself when he thought that having a normal love life would occur on his living days here on earth. That would be fun to explain to a potential spouse.
“Oh Honey, by the way, I’m Superman, I have a tendency to fly off at the most inconvenient times, and if we decide to have kids I should warn you that they might fly out of their cribs. Oh, and I can cook bacon with my eyes if the stove breaks.”
Clark covered his mouth with his straw covered hand. It wouldn’t do to laugh. Life was already insane enough without having to explain why he was laughing at himself.
The door opened again.
“Holy shit.”
He wondered if ripping the door from his hinges would get him in too much trouble.
Red Ruby Mary-Jane’s stilettos that were about three inches off of the ground brought forth a set of lean tanned and gorgeous shapely legs that were neither too plain nor too muscular for the garter adorned on the left and the sheer white stockings that melded themselves on that lovely skin. Those came about a six inches shy of the hem of that dress; that plain but slightly frilly blue and white checkered dress with the skirt filled out with whatever people did to make it poof. Clark couldn’t think of what it was, nor did he care. He was too focused on the journey his eyes were taking him on upward, stalling at the promise of something scantily clad to those firm visible fleshy globes he so loved to grab when he was driving himself home.
Clark silently thanked the gods that he was not coerced into truly authenticating his outfit with straw stuffed everywhere. He didn’t think that it would feel the least bit pleasant to have straw pressing against his half hard member straining for the full glory it could be.
He pressed the heel of his palm against his lap. There was still more to look at.
The dress was accompanied with a white shirt underneath it that hid the chest growing with pride and arousal. It was off the shoulder, allowing Clark to have a good long look the shoulders that he spent many nights caressing with his fingers, lips, and tongue, mapping every crevasse and knowing just where to stare to have that body shivering. The pig tails residing-trespassing if you asked Clark right then and there what he thought-on those smooth shoulders were the final touch of the ensemble. The bit of make up on his face may have feminized him some, but not enough to make him look like a drag queen.
Clark’s eyes dropped back down to his favorite part.
“Perv.”
Yes, maybe, probably, most definitely. It didn’t matter. Clark kept staring. Bruce rolled his eyes and headed back into the bathroom to grab something else. He stopped to smooth out a slight bunch in his stockings, bending over and giving Clark a clear view of a white lace thong he was sure a certain brunette from Kansas wouldn’t be caught dead wearing at Auntie Em and Uncle Henry’s house. What she did in her private time was anyone’s guess.
Who ripped them off? Clark could only imagine.
Clark looked at the clock on the dresser. “Damn.” No time to do that. “Who’s driving?”
“You are.”
“Damn.” Now he really didn’t have time. “All right, let’s go.”
“What’s the rush?”
Bruce was a sadist. It went well with Clark’s masochism. It was the only way to explain why he bit his lip and tugged at his pants, hating the straw and everything that was on him as Dorothy, holding a furry little mutt swished past him in those heels like he was made for walking in them.
Best. Birthday. Present. Ever.
“Remind me never to indulge you with shoes again,” Clark grumbled taking the perfectly manicured hand in his gloved one. “And I hate you for wearing my favorite.”
Bruce kissed him on the corner of his mouth and tugged his grumbling scarecrow along, grinning saucily when his free hand flitted under his skirt for a teasing grab.
The night was young and promising, and Clark would hate him right into the mattress when he saw the rest of it later.
“My, my, my…aren’t we a match made in heaven?”
Clark, hat in hand and a glass of punch in the other, turned around at the exclamation thrown in his direction, their direction actually. Bruce was right beside him, his arms occupied with hanging onto Clark’s and feigning innocence when there wasn’t a scrap of it in his body. He spun neatly in his heels towards the mechanical wonder that somehow didn’t make as much noise as he should of in his work clothes. The guy next to him waved hello.
Clark looked down to see if the floor was made of gold bricks.
“I can’t believe you actually did it!” Tony crowed. “And the sad part is that you don’t look half bad!”
“And you’re in your work uniform why?”
The billionaire gestured to his armor and snorted. “Perfect costume…and I had someone to nuke. I figured it would be better to come as is instead of walking in here as a pirate…I heard some pirate dangled some punk over the railing last year…everyone’s a fucking pirate because of it.”
Clark coughed lightly to the side and looked away innocently. “Yeah, well…the jerk probably had it coming,” he remarked. “You never know…stranger things have come about.”
There was nothing innocent or strange about that leer on Tony’s face. It was meant to be there, just as much as Bruce meant to casually press into Clark’s side and ride the skirt of his dress up just enough to Clark’s hand at his hip take notice. If anyone else took notice, they were as good as dead. Clark didn’t share well and he’d made it known quite a few times over the last year.
There was still that one guy at his job that ran when he came around any corner. Really, all he did was put his fist through the wall…near his head…because he might have made a passing comment about Bruce’s delectable ass.
Really, it was nothing serious. Being dead was a privilege!
Or so Clark would tell the demented part of his brain that clung to the one aside him possessively.
Tony’s leer didn’t abate. It got bigger. “You’re not going to cough up straw are you?”
“Only if you promise not to vomit up fur,” Bruce smirked. “Your friend is looking like he needs a shave or ten…”
Tony’s “friend” grumbled under his breath about being coerced into wearing the silly outfit that wasn’t quite that silly for anyone with an appreciation for rock hard bodies. His friend-Steve if Clark remembered right-wasn’t dressed in one of those dinky one suit wonders that one rented and hoped to high hell that it wasn’t infested from the last poor bastard that was in it. He was actually in nothing else aside some furry patches that covered his calves, his forearms, and the very front of his crotch. His bottom torso wore that painted on pair of tan tights like they were meant to. It someone was drunk enough, they would have thought Steve had botched up a tanning job.
His headdress is what took the cake. It was this wild and bushy looking mane type wig that was everywhere and anywhere that man moved. It fell in a messy jumble over his shoulders, bare like the rest of his chest and in plain sight for anyone who had a lick of taste in men to ogle openly at because it was invitation to do so. Touching though…
Clark reached out his hand to Tony. The man in the metal suit grabbed it and shook it in understanding.
They were probably going to kill someone before the night was out.
“You two did not just bond,” Steve said with a grimace. Tony rubbed the bottom of his chin, ignoring Steve’s seething. “You’re the one who came up with this thing!”
“I did it for people to see what they can’t touch,” Tony remarked. “That doesn’t mean I’m above making someone vanish if they mess with the highlight of my party….”
“I’m half naked!”
“You’re hot as hell too. Oh, however will you deal?”
It was rather fascinating to see Steve flushed from his shoulders up. “J-just shut up!”
Clark could see why Bruce liked Tony. He liked him as well, although for different reasons that had his date smirking into his shoulder and Tony’s significant other seething because it was a direct hit to his ego. Steve could take care of himself without the aid of anyone. His muscled frame stated that without it needing to be addressed verbally. Yet, as Clark was finding out, when one had inherited the attentions and affections of the one and only Tony Stark, you were prime meat to be displayed for the world to be in awe and jealous over. Tony was the one parading his prize around and the guard dog protecting it with those teeth that shred anything that came near them.
Clark preferred to punch his opposition in the face.
Or hang them by their foot and drop them repeatedly. That worked wonders last time.
He looked down at his Dorothy, a pleasant sight to behold from three inches above Bruce’s head. He had a clear view of that lovely supple but built body and legs for days in those glittering heels. People didn’t know this-not that Clark wanted anyone else to ever know nor acknowledged that there might be someone that could know because it was justification for murder when he bumped into this person, not if-but Bruce was a rather lean man bulked up by that hunk of armor he wore on his nightly runs. He’d stopped bulking up long ago, focusing on calisthenics and running, ridding himself of the extra mass he had to carry and making himself faster and harder to catch. Clark’s hands had an all access pass and sought entry even now, wanting to caress that body in a way that had Bruce writhing and screaming his name all with that skirt hiked up…
Scarecrows didn’t drool. He subtly wiped his lip and cursed public decency.
“Smile people!”
Flash went the camera that popped up with a bad reincarnation of Catwoman holding it. The sad piece of their lives was that they were ready for it, grinning, posing, or just being so hot that the room sweltered when they moved about. It came with their jobs on the side or their jobs that had paparazzi running up to them snapping photos and asking insanely stupid questions. She vanished with a twirl and one of them was already planning to get her drunk to get that photo back before she realized the gold she harbored.
Chit chat ensued. Nothing really went between them work related unless it was something funny to relay. Tony had some horror stories that had the four of them cracking up sporadically at times, and others that had them cringing in-between giggle fits. Being an avenger was hard work, but funny when things went horribly wrong without the life and death part. He and Bruce could relate to it, albeit silently. Tony’s publicity was not theirs, and the lives they lead in the midst of crisis after crisis was supposed to take away from that Chaos.
If one could call running on coffee and tailgating a trouble magnet not chaos.
Clark was seriously going to have to talk to Lois about her running into the middle of hostile crap. It just wasn’t healthy for him.
“Hey.”
“Hmm?”
“No thinking about her,” Bruce warned. “I still haven’t forgiven her for getting you in the middle of that last scrape.”
If there was one thing that Clark could count on, it was Bruce and his knowing self frowning up at him because he let his mind wander off somewhere it need not be. He was still a puppy in that respect, and still wagged his tail expectantly like the good dog he could be when asked. His reward was a bone melting kiss that had the cat calls coming louder that the music.
A soft finger smeared the bit of lipstick on his bottom lip. Dark eyes glittered with promise, and Clark was suddenly appreciative of his baggy costume tonight.
The straw was still itchy.
It wasn’t even nine yet and already the party was swinging like it had been drinking for hours on end. Tony dragged his lion onto the floor, defying all odds and dancing in that suit like it was made of air. Steve was a little stiff at first, but he did get into the swing of things after a moment or two. The other patrons of the party were on the floor dancing, in various spots of their venue, hidden in the more obscure parts of the large room rented out for the large party this was turning out to be. Most eyes were on the center floor and on Tony grinding himself into his lion’s space and that lion being tamed by the wild man of iron showing off a little more than his dancing skills. Someone was going to find themselves embracing the bedding, and Clark didn’t think Steve would be so cowardly when he made Tony find the sheets edible.
Bruce was too busy making a drape out of him, curled into his side and shamelessly showing off his legs and his ability to strut his stuff in those heels when he led them around saying hello to other party goers.
Clark had leaned down at one point, nose to nose with the saucily smirking billionaire and said, “I’m getting my candy tonight.” To which Bruce didn’t object, but confirmed, kissing him as those sly fingers found the high hem of his thong and tugged lightly.
At one point they had separated, though it was only because Toto had seen the tail end of something that he didn’t like and leapt out of Bruce’s arms to run and bark at it. Whatever it was, it moved through the throng of the crowd and Bruce slipped in and out of people with all intents of getting Toto back. First of all, the dog was on loan and secondly he was not about to lose his prop to some idiot who didn’t like dogs. He quickly found and scooped up his precious bundle, and he was almost apologizing when he realized who or what Toto was barking at.
The fake Joker grinned eerily at him and walked off with a bad laugh. Bruce was tempted to let Toto do more than growl at the jerk dressed in that get up but…
“Whoa…would you get a look of this,” someone murmured. “You need a tin-man sweetheart? Or a man of steel? I’ve got some steel for you to oil down with those legs of yours…”
It was Halloween and there were jerks that were positive that they were the shit in their costumes. Someone who was dressed in some cheap polyester suit resembling a certain man of steel apparently thought he was the shit. Bruce straightened himself out, nearly turned on his heel to walk away when the resounding slap was heard, felt, and left him feeling a little more than undignified and somewhat sorry for the bastard that did that. He ignored the improper sting of his left ass cheek and turned in time to see the jerk dressed as some cheap looking superman find him face to face with an overgrown scarecrow wrapping his gloved hands around his throat. It looked like the original man of steel wasn’t taking kindly to his property being touched.
“I don’t need a tin-man,” Bruce spoke sweetly to the choking man, “I have a perfectly capable scarecrow to do all that for me.”
Clark was all for repeating last year but he didn’t get the chance. A certain Lion was holding his hand to keep him from popping that man’s head off his neck and Tony was standing behind the jerk with a laser hand to his head. “I really don’t see the need to ruin a perfectly good party with blood shed, but to each his own and I could learn to love certain sports,” Tony said. “I was never much of a hunter, but I have relatively good aim. It’s kind of hard to miss at this distance, yes?”
Anyone who knew Tony knew he didn’t have much shame in his tactics. He also didn’t have a tolerance for anyone who stained his carpet with anything that wasn’t alcohol related. “Ugh, for the love of…JARVIS…please escort this man out of my place with the grace and dignity of a man who has earned my ire.”
“Yes, of course Master Stark,” a voice echoed.
“And please…disinfect that spot. No, just replace it. I’d rather not be reminded that someone did that to my floor.”
“As you wish.”
And just like that, the crappy looking Superman was ejected from Tony’s apartment without help from the irritated Scarecrow wishing he’d squeezed just a little harder. Steve let go of him, and Bruce filled his arms, calming him with pleading kisses that eventually calmed him down to a tolerable level. He wasn’t going to pop off that guy’s head but choking him a little seemed more sensible than letting him fall fifty stories several times. If he rubbed the offended cheek possessively, Bruce nor anyone else said much in the way to stop him.
“Your ass is phenomenal,” Tony remarked off handedly. “What do you do? Squats? Lunges?”
“A little bit of everything,” Bruce smirked. “I have to keep him interested completely.”
That wasn’t what kept his complete attention. It was a good part of it, but the whole package, snark included, kept Clark on his toes, interested, and willing to do whatever just to see what Bruce would do next. Clark absently wiped the side of his mouth again. Bruce would have had him completely with those heels alone.
He had it BAD.
Why were they standing here again?
“Where did Jarvis….put him anyhow?” Steve asked.
“Outside.” Steve pointed to the outside of his apartment, out where it was freezing cold, and Thor was busily trying to understand why Superman was outside with pants that smelled like pee. Wolverine seemed to like the idea, and popped up with his claws in time to let that man make another mess of himself.
“Can he at least NOT have that on?” Clark muttered.
“Jarvis!”
“Yes sir.”
Clark really had to watch what he asked for.
Well…at least this Halloween wasn’t boring, especially when that sobered up jerk revealed that he liked wearing iron man underwear. Clark had never seen someone like Steve sputter so bad, or someone like Tony find pleasure in making that man suffer by broadcasting him on the screens all around his building. It was possibly better than dropping that man several times and bringing his face within inches of the concrete ground.
“Clark…NO.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Maybe…but I’m sure you want your candy after the party.”
Toto barked as if to agree and Clark grumbled despite his getting a kiss for his good behavior.
The straw didn’t itch quite so much.
Toto was put outside the room and left to do whatever in the care of Alfred. The door shut itself and Alfred scooped up Toto with plans to spoil him rotten tonight. The little dog didn’t mind it. It wagged its tail and barked happily at the idle scratch of his head, hoping there would be more before the night was over.
Inside the room, Clark quickly shed himself of that costume and brought relief to his oversensitive skin. There were no lasting marks of irritation nor would there be, but it didn’t mean he didn’t feel much better. He shucked the costume into the corner, prepared to call it a night and deal with the straw and jumper in the morning.
Bruce had other ideas.
The party had waned on into the middle of the night, still going strong at one and winding down around two. By then it was more than obvious that the gyrating form of Tony had done what it seat out to do and the bashful but willing Steve was pulled into another section of the apartment where Clark was sure Steve was purring like the big cat he portrayed. He’d tugged Bruce to leave before the roaring could start and the other guest seemed to take the hint when the host didn’t look like he’d be coming back anytime soon.
They’d left, ignoring the weak and protesting cries of that jerk, left to hang from some webbing and poked from time to time by a certain spider who was busily laughing at Wolverine as he tried and failed to ignore a red head in heels easing him from his lonely perch.
Clark barely recognized who it was, but it only brought him back to Bruce and the heels that were on him.
Those red ruby stilettos were replaced with black heels that could barely be heard on the carpeting. The underside were lined with red, designer shoes, but not as breathtaking as the body in those shoes making his way toward him in that white lace thong and a sheer orange cami that looked like spun silk wrapped around that lithe body coming to stand, kneel, and soon curl itself into him. Clark went with the flow, falling back as his hand slid up the front, fingers reaching to pinch those delectable morsels but coming in contact with another.
He slipped his hand loose to find his fingers occupied with a Hershey’s kiss and his lips being teased with that smirk he’d fallen head over heels for. “You’re going to give me cavities.”
“I have a good dental plan.” Bruce ground himself down, savoring the soft moans and said, “It lasts for a lifetime.”
A lifetime? He could live with that. “Nice. So, Dorothy, you ready to go home?”
Bruce yelped and laughed as he was flipped over in the bed, heels clicking together as Clark settled into devouring his treat with relish. That kiss was melting in his mouth in seconds as was Bruce who was already mentally shopping for the next pair of shoes in his mind until Clark brought all Bruce’s thoughts on that talented mouth trying to send him to nirvana and succeeding.
Dorothy didn’t get back to Kansas, but Bruce sure enjoyed the effort with Clark giving a repeat performance.
And when Bruce mentioned switching costumes next year…well…
Bruce pleasantly spent the day in bed with Clark firmly approving of that suggestion.
Now if only he could get away with wearing a red thong instead of the red underwear….
......I'm sequeling it with something naughty. I can't help it now.