Superman/Batman Smut

Another stab of mine into the realm of fan fic. This I believe is categorized as slash. It was inspired by the tension I have been picking up on between these two characters (Superman and Batman) from recent books and movies (of the animated variety). "Doom" in particular.

If you are overly attached to the heterosexuality of your childhood super heroes then you may want to just skip this. If you don't like man sex you probably don't want to read this either.

It's long.



A tall man with perfectly coiffed black hair and broad shoulders was wedged into a tiny kitchenette. His massive arms flexed putting strain on the slightly too small shirt he wore as he stirred a large silver pot of bubbling red liquid. He lifted the wooden spoon from the sauce and raised it, past his square smooth jaw to his firm rosy lips.

‘More thyme.’ The man thought to himself. He turned and grabbed a small ceramic jar from the sideboard. Or at least what he used as a sideboard. It was barely the size of a butcher block but it was all that would fit in the tiny space so he made it work. At least most of the time he did. In the process of reaching for the herb jar he knocked his elbow into a binder which was propped up on a neighboring jar. He felt his stomach lurch. He reached out and grabbed the binder long before it hit the ground. In fact it had barely fallen at all but still he flipped through the pages furiously and confirmed that no damage had been done. Not that much could have happened to his mother’s hand written recipes. He had given each page a meticulous base bath to remove any acids left upon the paper by her skin. Then he had cleaned each page before laminating it in a resin plastique of his own invention. Her recipes would stand the test of time.

Instead of replacing the binder on the sideboard he opened the highest cupboard and put it away. He hadn’t needed it. He knew all of her recipes by heart. But he always got it out when he was cooking. Seeing his mother’s handwriting was a balm to the never ceasing pain of his homesickness. Cooking from her recipes conjured her presence across the miles. It reminded him of when he helped her in the kitchen when he was a boy. He thought of how she would laugh to see him so ungainly in his micro kitchenette. So small he couldn’t turn around without knocking something over. Trying to make gourmet meals on an electric burner with 3 settings: Low, Med and High. He chuckled as he snapped the cabinet shut. Maybe tomorrow he would dash home and pay her a visit. It had been a few weeks and dad could probably use help with the farm. Yes, he decided, tomorrow he would make an impromptu trip home. If tonight went as he anticipated then perhaps he could tell his mother, finally. And if it didn’t go according to plan then…well…his mother had always knew what comforting words would reach him when nothing else could.

Well, nothing except him.

If he was really honest with himself he could admit that he may well need his mother’s sympathy tomorrow. But nothing ventured, nothing gained after all. So he left tomorrow for tomorrow and focused on the task ahead of him.

He looked at the clock on the wall. 10:53. He stopped moving and listened. It took a few seconds to sort through the din but before long he heard the familiar rustle of fabric that he was listening for. The subtle sound of wind resistance. He opened his eyes. He only had 3 minutes. Three and a half if the wind coming off the river created a decent drag.

He popped off the top of the jar and pulled out a sprig of thyme. He smelled it, pinched off 2/3rds and crumbled it into the sauce. He stirred and took another taste. ‘Perfect’ he thought as he closed and replaced the jar.

He picked up a handful of noodles and threw them into the water before stared at the water intently. A second later the water began to boil. He placed the pan of noodles on the stove’s surface and walked the 4 steps to the living area. The apartment was tiny. There was only one room, apart from the miniscule bathroom, that served as bedroom and living space combined. As there was also no wall to divide the kitchen from the living area he had done what he could with the space that he had. There was a small 2 person table that acted as a partition between the two areas. A large comfortable deep red leather couch was pushed up against a faux bookcase which concealed, amongst other things, a Murphy bed. The pale blue the walls were painted was their only adornment. No pictures, no television, no anything marred their smooth surface. A tiny mahogany dresser so dark it was almost the same red of the couch was tucked away in the far corner by the door. In truth the room was too small for anything else. Or else he was too large for it. He never knew which. If he wanted to pull down the bed he had to push the couch against the door. If he wanted to take a shower he had to put the bed away and move the couch again. The only reason he kept the place was because of the balcony. He crossed to the glass sliding door and pulled it open.

The sound of Metropolis invaded. All around him cars honked, trains clacked, people bustled. He took a deep breath and pushed it all away.

There it was. The woosh that told him he had less than a minute. Less time than he had expected. He left the door open and went back to the stove and checked the noodles. He pulled the colander out of the cabinet and drained the water into the sink. He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of white wine which he uncorked and was decanting into a glass jar when he heard a sound so quiet it even he, who was expecting it, almost missed it. He smiled to himself.“You took 32nd. I thought you preferred coming via the Battery.” He said turning around.

What he saw almost took his breath away.

Standing in the frame of the glass door was a strangely glorious sight. A big man by most standards with shoulders almost as broad as his own but with tighter, more compact muscles. His own came naturally and had a languid firmness but this man had worked for every chiseled line. They could be seen even beneath the Kevlar mesh suit and armor he wore. Everything about the man radiated power from his stance which suggested he was ready to spring out the window at a moments’ notice to the way the cape he wore hung from his broad shoulders almost regally. His face was shrouded in the darkness from the doorway but the silhouette he cast on the floor showed two point ears on the top of his head. When he spoke his voice was gravely, deep and guttural. “You said you could hear me coming that way.”

“The rusty flag pole.” Clark said.

The man in the dark suit nodded. “I tried a new route.”

He considered this. True the rusty flagpole was a dead giveaway that he would soon have a visitor on his balcony but Bruce was mistaken when he believed that Clark knew of his approach because he listened for him landing on objects. In truth that had nothing to do with it. Every second of every day an infinite number of sounds reached his ears. Most of which were the mundane sounds of life, of the city. From 30 miles away the sound of a man landing on a rusty flag pole sounds shockingly similar to a minor fender-bender, of which there were hundreds each day. So Clark had to listen for distinctive sounds. Sounds that were unlike any other. In reality it was the sound of a man flinging himself through space that Clark heard. But he didn’t feel the need to correct Bruce’s mistaken belief. He knew that if Bruce knew there was no way for him to sneak up on Clark, he would not even try.

“Alfred told me you needed me. I’m here. What are we doing?” Bruce asked, his stance shifting slightly suggesting he was impatient to get to work.

‘No.’ thought Clark ‘Not Bruce. Not yet anyway.’ Still he pressed forward. Clark picked up the pot of noodles and dumped them in the waiting colander. He turned to the table where he held his hand out indicating the beautifully set table for two. “Having dinner.” He said with a smile.

Not a single muscle in the masked man’s face flinched. “I don’t have time for jokes.”

Clark began scooping out the noodles onto the awaiting plates. He looked up and said “I’m not joking. I want you to have dinner with me.”

No change in expression but Clark knew that behind the cowl an eyebrow was being arched. When he spoke his voice was exasperated. “Like I said, I don’t have time for…”

But Clark cut him off. “In actual fact, you do. Lex is out of town stirring up trouble in Uzbekistan. Nothing I can do about that until he returns and in the meantime Metropolis is rather quiet. You put The Joker back in Arkham and none of the others have plans which will come to fruition imminently.”

If possible the man in the balcony doorway became more rigid. “Been watching over my shoulder again? Metropolis not big enough for you?”

A shiver ran down Clark’s neck but he ignored it. He had known pulling this off wouldn’t be easy. And of all the plans (and hopes) he had for the evening, this would be the most difficult; convincing him to stay. So he faced the wall of hostility and said “Gotham is different from Metropolis, Bruce.” The man in the doorway flinched at the name. “Here Lex and the others are all about spin. They present the good face to the public. They don’t show their cards until the last second. But your group are different. Maybe it’s because of the mad house, I don’t know, but they all are rather up front about their intentions. I don’t claim to know the details and specifics but it isn’t that hard to get a general idea. And none of Gotham’s underworld are making any moves, at least not right now. Not tonight.”

“So I should let my guard down.” He almost spit the words.

A subtle shifting of his weight toward the open door told Clark he had to work fast to keep him here. “Would you come in and close the door?”

The man’s feet stood rooted to the ground, his arms crossed over the black symbol of a bat that adorned his chest, awaiting a response.

Clark heaved a sigh and then moved as fast as he could to the door and slid it shut before returning to the sink to retrieve the colander of noodles. He had moved as fast as he could which meant that even Bruce couldn’t see him move. But he was too well trained not to sense movement. Clark watched as Bruce strafed left, away from the rush of movement that had been Clark, and further into the room.

“Don’t DO THAT!” The Bat said firmly, almost yelling. A flash of silver as he reholstered a batarang.

“I’m sorry” Clark said as if nothing had happened “but no one is asking you to be less than vigilant. What we are saying is that you need a night off.”

“We?” Batman barked instantly suspicious. “Who is we?”

‘Damn!’ he thought to himself. This wasn’t going well. He took a deep breath and put his cards on the table. “Don’t be angry but I coordinated with Alfred. Dick is in Gotham tonight keeping an eye on things, just in case. And Oracle is online. Gotham is protected so you don’t have to worry. Just for one night we, all four of us, want you to relax.”

“So you have all been talking about me behind my back?” the whites of his eyes flashed as he spoke.

It figures that he would seize on that point. “We only talked about how you need a rest. You have been going full out since Bane….” But the look in his eye was so cutting that Clark changed tactics immediately. “We all just thought perhaps you could use a rest. Dick said I should grab you and fly to Maui. He thinks that you need a vacation.” He flashed his most winning smile.

“Nightwing,” The Batman said pointedly “has responsibilities of his own. You had no right to pull him from Bludhaven! He has left his city unprotect…”

“Bludhaven is not unprotected. Dick would never do that. He was too well trained to do something that stupid. Bludhaven, like Gotham, is being looked after.”

Seeing the logic in this the vigilante shifted tactics. “I still don’t like you having secret conversations with Alfred about me.”

“And I don’t like that you have a stock of kryptonite bullets.” Clark said with a smile. His attempt at a joke fell dead in the air between them. So Clark tried again. He looked deeply into those dark eyes and said “Alfred is worried about you Bruce. Terribly worried.”

The fire in his eyes died down, dampened by his love for Alfred. “He hasn’t said anything to me.”

“Hasn’t he?” Clark said, his eyebrows raised skeptically. In the silence that followed Clark could almost hear Alfred’s many admonitions to Bruce about his eating, sleeping and work habits. He let them linger before saying “He says you haven’t been sleeping. That your Wayne functions get you up first thing in the morning and your work as The Batman keeps you out all night. He says that you are burning your candle at both ends and he is terribly afraid that you will burn yourself out.”

“I…I…I can’t afford to take a night off.” The Bat said, but this time his voice was less dark. It rang less with steely resolution. There was doubt.

Clark struck. “I think we have already established you can. At least for tonight. At least for dinner. Sit.” he said.

The man’s eyes, though darkened to black pools by the shadows he hid in, narrowed alertly. Clark added “Please Bruce.”

But The Bat was looking through him, off into space. Clark watched those eyes as they evaluated the situation, while they calculated tall he factors and came to a conclusion. After a full minute of ringing silence the man took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. He paused and then turned to the balcony door.

Clark’s felt his heart plummeting. He was going to leave. He wouldn’t stay. All the planning was wasted. His hopes, dashed. But then suddenly his heart swooped upward again in dizzying joy as he heard the lock on the sliding door sliding shut. He watched as the man reached out an arm and drew the thick maroon curtains which blocked out the balcony and the city, entirely. As he turned around he pulled the black cowl from his head. As he faced Clark he ran a hand through his thick black hair, which despite being plastered to his head by the cowl moments earlier floofed right up into a short elegant style. The darkness of his hair brought focus to the deep blue pools that were Bruce’s eyes. When the cowl concealed his face there was no light to those eyes. Only shrewd, calculating cunning. But as soon as the mask came off there was a spark. A glint. An easing of a burden which allowed him no light or respite. The symbol came off and the man emerged.

Clark couldn’t contain the smile which stretched his face ear to ear.

Bruce flashed his own dazzling smile. “I yield. I assume since you and Alfred are such accomplished masterminds, he figured I wouldn’t want to have dinner in my suit.” He said slapping the symbol emblazoned on his chest.

Clark grinned still wider. “He sent over something for you to wear. Second drawer.”

Bruce nodded briefly and crossed to the dresser. Clark turned back to the noodles still smiling. He poured the noodles into the sauce pan and stirred it all together. It was going better than he imagined. He had thought he would have to talk a great deal more. As if Bruce could be talked into anything. But once presented with the facts at hand he made a decision. And once that decision had been made he was able to almost instantly relax. A great deal of his worries had come off with that cowl. Clark envied him this kind of control.

He tried to focus on these thoughts and not the sounds of Bruce undressing in the small bathroom. And when the doorknob turned and Bruce reentered the room Clark made sure he was busy mixing the noodles.

“So do you have a place I can hang this up?”

Clark turned around. Despite mentally preparing himself for it, he still felt like he had taken a blow to the stomach. Bruce stood there wearing dark grey workout pants and a blue hoodie so dark blue it might have been black. The sleeves were pushed half way up his forearms and his feet were bare. Clark could tell by the plunging V of the hoodie’s neckline and the way the material, whatever it was, was so thin it clung to his frame, that he was wearing nothing under the soft looking shirt. His right arm was raised holding up his Batsuit which was hung on a thick hanger.

When Clark didn’t respond Bruce repeated “I assume you have some place I can hang this.”

Clark was so taken by the strikingly handsome figure Bruce cut that he didn’t attempt to speak. He just nodded and crossed to the far wall. He grabbed the back frame of the couch and swung it up into the air. He held it there while he pushed a concealed button on the frame of the bookcase. Clark could tell by the look in Bruce’s eyes that he expected the Murphy unit to swing down but instead there was a clang of a lock being released and the front of the bookcase swung open like a door. Lights inside the bookcase flickered on and illuminated the bright red and blue of Clark’s own suit. The red “S” emblazoned across the field of blue shone in the light.

Still holding the couch aloft with one hand Clark took the black and grey suit from Bruce with the other and hung it on the wall facing his own. He then swung the door back closed. As it shut Bruce nodded approvingly as heard the whir of the lock being reset.

Bruce backed up and Clark repositioned the couch in front of the bookcase. When he had it straight he turned around to find Bruce looking at him appraisingly.

“Impressive.”

Clark felt blood rushing to his face. He turned away to hide the blush he couldn’t stop. He crossed to the pan and stirred the noodles yet again. He heard a chair slide out and Bruce settle himself at the table.

“What is for dinner? I’m starving.”

Hoping that the calming breaths he had taken had taken the red from his cheeks Clark turned around with the pan. “Spaghetti.”

“I’m not sure Alfred would approve. He had me on a strict diet.” Bruce said only half jokingly.

Clark ladled out a tangled mass of noodles and sauce onto their plates. “I already cleared it with him.”

Bruce chuckled. “Of course you have. Well then, I suppose that wine has been cleared as well so you might as well pour me a glass.”

As Clark poured the wine he had to concentrate extra hard. For some reason his hands were the tiniest bit shaky. As soon as he had finished pouring Bruce snatched up the glass and drank the contents down. He then held out the glass to Clark who refilled it. This time Bruce took a deep sip and sat the glass back down and dug into the pile of food before him with gusto. He was 5 giant bites in before he surfaced to say “This is delicious!”

“Thank you. It is my mother’s recipe.” Clark said.

“Your mother could give Alfred lessons. And that is no small fete, I assure you.” Bruce said between mouthfuls.

Clark tried to keep his face calm but inside he was glowing. “Well I will be sure to tell her the next time I see her.”

Bruce shoveled a few more mouthfuls in before he asked if Clark minded if he put on some music. Clark was just saying that he didn’t actually have a radio when Bruce waved him down. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped its surface. A second later a rich dark beat expanded into the room.

They talked as Bruce ate his way through 2 plates of spaghetti and Clark pecked at his. Bruce telling him about the fundraising he had been doing to renovate Gotham’s slums. He was telling Clark a funny story about a woman who had propositioned him at a gala.

“So then she slips on the napkin and slaps her hand on the table.” As he said it he slapped his hand down on the table's surface. His pinky finger hit the fork which was resting on a last bite of spaghetti. The fork and spaghetti went flying into the air, both coming to rest on the front of Bruce’s shirt. Clark burst out in laughter.

Bruce stood up and shook the noodles from his front. “Oh man… this is cashmere!”

Clark said still laughing. “I am sure you can buy yourself a new one.”

“You don’t stay a billionare by buying a new outfit every time you get a stain. But I will admit that I don’t have a clue on how to clean it. Do you have something I can wear?”

Still laughing Clark stood and crossed to the drawer. From the top drawer he pulled out a blue sweater. It was a dark blue but a bit more vivid than the one Bruce was wearing. He turned around just as Bruce was pulling his hoodie off.

His chest was perfectly smooth and exquisitely cut. Every muscle was magnificently defined and moved just below the skin as he folded the hoodie and hung it on the back of his chair. He thanked Clark as he pulled the shirt from Clark’s slack grip. Bruce slid it on and for a split second Clark wanted to stop him. His body was just too perfect to cover up. That feeling was immediately followed by more laughter. Clark’s shirt was several sizes too big on Bruce. The sleeves fell past his hands and hung well down to his thighs.

Bruce looked down and laughed a deep rich laugh. He looked ridiculous in the overlarge shirt. But the sight of Bruce in his shirt caused a swooping sensation somewhere south of his belly followed by a tingling throughout Clark’s body. He turned back around and looked pointlessly through the near empty drawer. “I’m sorry. It’s all I have here.” He said facing Bruce who was trying to push the sleeves up past his elbows and having a difficult time of it.

“It’s not a problem. Though I don’t often find clothes that are too big for me. It’s nice though. I like the color.” Bruce said appraisingly.

“Thanks.” Clark said. “Lois got it for me.”

He wished he could take back the words the moment they were out of his mouth. The smile dropped from Bruce’s face like a stone. His lips tightened and his eyes narrowed. Clark could see the shadow of the cowl upon his face.

Bruce didn’t like Lois. Sure a long time ago they had had a fling. A fling which had torn Clark up inside in more ways than he realized at the time. But it had ended. Not badly by all accounts but definitively. For a long while Bruce was cooly neutral whenever Lois’ name was raised but lately things were different. It seemed the more that he and Bruce worked or spent time together the less tolerant of Lois Bruce was becoming. Her name was enough to make Bruce leave in some circumstances. Or as it was currently, to kill all conversation immediately. He could not figure out why Bruce was openly hostile towards Lois. But right now he was not going to attempt to sleuth it out.

Bruce continued shooting daggers at Clark while he pulled the overlarge shirt off over his head. Then he dropped it on the floor and turned around and walked back to the table , finishing off what was left in his glass.

“I’ll get another bottle.” Clark said awkwardly.

He hurried around Bruce and pulled open the fridge. He pulled out another bottle. When he turned around he found Bruce leaning against the wall. One hand propped on his hip and the other slung across his stomach. “So what did you have in mind after dinner?”

“I thought maybe we could sit… and talk.” Clark wasn’t entirely sure why his words were coming out slowly and clumsily but he had a shrewd idea that it had something to do with Bruce’s half naked form. A form which was now feet away from him. He had gone over tonight time and time again in his mind. He knew what he wanted but he had no idea how to go about getting it. And now what he wanted was right there. He just had to close the few feet between them. Unfortunately his feet appeared to unable to do anything other than stand stock still.

“Are you sure that is what you had in mind?” Bruce asked, his head tilted slightly, his thumb hooking into the drawstring at his waist.

“I… I…” Clark sputtered as Bruce began walking toward him. He managed another “I… I…” before Bruce was directly in front of him. He felt the heat from Bruce’s naked torso, he heard the beating of his heart.

All at once their lips were smashed against each other. Their mouths and tongues working against one other, kissing each other ravenously. Clark felt Bruce’s hands encircle his waist, grasping his hips and his head began to spin. He closed his eyes and kissed Bruce with a passion that had been pent up and denied for far too long. A passion which had been building over countless nights. He wrapped his own massive arms around Bruce’s shoulders and the world fell away. He was floating in a sea of pure happiness.

He felt Bruce moving. A shifting and then suddenly he wasn’t floating. He was flying, backward. And then he smashed into a wall. His eyes snapped open. Bruce was standing in front of him smiling up into his bewildered face.

“What happened?” Clark asked.

“You started floating. So I kicked off the fridge which sent us flying into the wall.” Bruce said matter-of-factly, still grinning. He was leaning against Clark, pinning him against the wall.

“Oh.” Was all Clark could manage.

Bruce leaned in again and kissed Clark deeply. When he broke the kiss he looked deeply into Clark’s bliss sodden eyes. “No flying, you hear me?”

“Yes.” Clark half breathed, half moaned. He wasn’t really listening. He would agree to anything as long as it ended with Bruce’s mouth on his.

He was not expecting the stinging SLAP that followed. His eyes snapped open only to find Bruce’s smiling face once again peering up at him. “I am not like the girls you give aerial tours of the city to. I want my feet firmly on the ground, do you hear me?”

Clark swallowed and nodded.

“Good.” And Bruce was kissing him again, this time his hands found Clark’s wrists and pushed them roughly against the wall. He pressed his body against Clark's, positioning his hips in line with Clark’s. Clark felt a wonderful hardness against his stomach. While they had been only kissing Clark had been so engrossed in the ecstasy of the moment to realize what effect the moment was having on him. But the second he felt the solid mountain against his stomach he became immediately aware of his own rock solid cock.

He moved his hips and felt their shafts brush against each other, separated by 2 tiny sheets of material. Chills raced up and down the length of his penis.

Bruce’s grip on his wrist tightened. He broke the kiss but clamped hungrily on Clarks neck. Clark moaned and let his eyes flutter back in his head as Bruce bit the surprisingly tender flesh at the base of his neck. Clark began rocking his hips back and forth, rubbing the bulge in his pants against Bruce’s but Bruce shifted his hips moving his cock out of reach.

It was frustrating, maddeningly so. He wanted to feel Bruce’s body against his. He wanted to feel Bruce’s cock. Not just vaguely through their pants, but unfettered and unsheathed. He wanted to see Bruce’s cock. He wanted to touch it. To taste it.

Taste it.

The idea was heavenly. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to taste Bruce’s cock. He wanted to be on his knees before this perfect specimen of manhood. Though Bruce was holding his wrists against the wall it was no effort to reverse the grip and spin him around. He was already sliding down the length of his body when he felt the world spin and a colossal SLAM!

Though he had moved in the flash of an eye Bruce had been ready for it. When Clark had begun to spin them around Bruce had his legs up and the moment they made contact with the wall he launched off it, sending them flying across the room and sending the couch skittering away from the wall. They slammed into each other on the wall by the bathroom door. Somehow now it was Clark against the wall and Bruce was once again pinning him to it.

“I said Earth physics, farmboy!” Bruce said, only this time his voice was ragged. If Clark didn’t know better he would say Bruce was out of breath. But he knew it wasn’t from the exertion. Bruce ran 20 miles a day when he was sick. Something else was constricting his breath. Something more primitive lit his eyes so wildly. Bruce kissed Clark again, deeply searching his mouth with his tongue. He released Clark’s wrists and took hold of his shirt. In one movement buttons were flying and the remains of the shirt felt in pieces to the floor. He traced his finger over Clark’s massive chest, teasing his nipples. He watched Clarks face as he pinched his nipples and said “Now what is it you want so badly you made me repeat myself?”

Clark was choking on his own desire. “I…I want….”

Bruce’s hand ran down his stomach and fluttered across his aching cock. “What do you want?” Bruce whispered in Clark’s ear.
“You. Your….”

“My what?” Bruce growled.

Clark blushed bright red. He swallowed and said “your cock.”

Bruce bit his earlobe hard and growled. His hands grabbed Clark’s swollen dick through his pants. He squeezed hard. Clark’s nerves were so on edge that he almost sobbed in pleasure. He felt Bruce’s hand release his shaft and travel upward over his chest to his shoulders. He felt pressure on his shoulders and responded instantly by sliding to his knees.

Bruce repositioned himself against the wall looking down at the enormous man on his knees before him. Clark wanted to look up at the handsome man but all he could see was the massive bulge in the warm up pants. Clark reached forward and with shaking hands began to pull on the tiny bow on the draw string.

A second later the pants were sliding down the length of his perfectly toned legs and leaving Clark face to face with Bruce’s enormous dick. It was 8 and a half inches, thick, straight and cut. It looked like heaven to Clark. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth.

The smoothness of Bruce’s head came as a surprise to Clark. He had not known what it would feel like on his tongue but he had never expected the skin to be so smooth. He ran his tongue around and around the head, exploring the velvety softness. He sucked on Bruce’s mound which produced a loud moan. The moan was the spark Clark needed. He plunged Bruce’s cock into his mouth.

He marveled at the way his mouth wrapped around the long shaft. The way he could massage the length of meat with his tongue and lips at the same time. He bobbed his head up and down glorying in the way Bruce’s cock filled the entirety of his mouth. He plunged lower and lower, thankful he didn’t need to breathe at the moment, feeling Bruce’s dick sliding further and further down his throat.

Bruce moaned as Clark felt his fingers twining into his hair. He pulled backward on Clark’s hair, pulling him off his prick. Clark looked up and locked eyes with Bruce whose own eyes were brimming with lust. The look drove Clark wild. He kept eye contact and began to bob up and down the entire length of Bruce’s enormous dick. And he could see the excitement building each time he swallowed the entirety of his cock.

Bruce tightened his grip on Clark’s hair and for a moment Clark was afraid he would try to pull him off again but instead he felt Bruce begin to buck his hips. The long piece of meat slammed forward, down his throat. Pressure and then release as Bruce slid his cock back out. Then again and again until Bruce was fucking Clark’s mouth with wild abandon. It was an amazing feeling, being invaded and filled. He began wondering what it would feel like if Bruce came with his cock 4 inches down his throat. Instantly he wanted to feel that explosion. He wanted to choke on it. He started swallowing again and again in time with Bruce’s thrust.

And then emptiness. Bruce had pulled his cock from Clark’s hungry mouth. Clark had an impulse to leap back onto it. In reality Bruce could not hold him back, both of them knew it, but the look in Bruce’s eyes stilled him. The look said: No. Not even for a second did Clark think of disobeying.

Without a word Bruce pulled Clark up by the hair. A difficult task as Clark was significantly taller, but somehow Bruce maintained his grip with grace and poise leaving no doubt in Clark’s mind who was in charge. Bruce guided Clark a few steps away from the wall and then released his grip. He pointed to the bookcase and Clark understood. He pressed on a particular book and the frame detached from the wall. Clark guided it down but found he could not lower the bed to the floor as the couch was in the way. He pushed the couch out of the way. In his impatience he had not reigned in his considerable strength and as a result sent the couch flying through the bathroom wall. A cloud of dust and chunks of plaster splattered the room as the couch came to rest half through the wall and propped up on the toilet.

Bruce’s eyes lit up as he looked from the wreckage to Clark. “Oh, farmboy!” and then he pounced. Though he was called the Batman there was something particularly feline about the way he attacked Clark, sending him flying into the bed which Clark had dropped.

Clark was not often taken off guard so he thrilled at the way his stomach flipped over. He felt the weight of Bruce’s body crash into his. Bruce was a top him, straddling him. Clark became very aware that though Bruce was entirely naked, he still was wearing his pants. They kept him from feeling the warmth of Bruce’s balls against his own. He shifted to try to somehow extricate them but Bruce said “No!” sharply. Then he leaned over, kissed Clark deeply and said “Don’t move a muscle. Lay there and take it.”

He was sliding down, down, down. Clark watched as Bruce slowly pulled the end of his belt through his belt loops. Once free he yanked on it and the buckle gave way. In one quick, fluid motion the belt came away. Smiling the million dollar Wayne Foundation grin he fed the end back through the buckle making a loop. Though he obeyed Bruce’s command to lay still his heart raced as he watched his own hands be fed through the loop. Another yank and the belt constricted pinning his wrists to each other.

Clark felt his cock throb mightily.

Once he was satisfied the belt was secure Bruce placed Clark’s bound hands above his head and then turned his attention to Clark’s pants. Clark wanted him to rip the pants off him as he had done the shirt but instead was forced to endure the slow process while Bruce meticulously unbuttoned his jeans. Why had he decided to wear a button fly today? One by one the buttons gave way and when the last one was undone Bruce gave the waistband a yank. Out sprung Clark’s own cock like a perverted jack-in-the-box. Bruce skinned the senseless pants from Clark’s legs. Then Bruce bent over and clearly examined Clark’s cock.

Once again Clark blushed only this time as deeply crimson as his cape. He could barely stand to look at Bruce whose eyes once again had that distant, calculating quality. He looked at his own hard penis. Unlike Bruce he was uncut and he wasn’t quite as large. 7 inches to Bruce’s 8.5, thick and slightly curved at the end. His head was poking out from its shelter. Not a single hair obscured him from Bruce’s searching stare. An unfamiliar sensation of humiliation blossomed in his chest. He felt terribly exposed and it took all of his concentration to lay stock still. He stared at the ceiling.

He saw Bruce move in his peripheral. Movement and then warmth. A wonderful, heavenly feeling enveloped his cock. He felt Bruce’s mouth wrap around his head and begin to lick feverishly. Clark’s eyes slid back in his head. He had never experienced anything like this before. Each time Bruce’s tongue fell he felt waves of electricity coursing through his body.

And then it was gone. It was strange that he felt the same emptiness as when Bruce had pulled his own cock out of Clark’s mouth. Though his sadness was soon mitigated as he felt Bruce’s strong hands grasping his waist. He applied pressure and Clark found himself being flipped over. His brain was so saturated with lust that he did not understand how it had happened. All he knew was that he was now on his knees. His wrists were still bound by the belt so he way laying on his forearms, ass in the air.

He wished he could see what was happening but he could not. So he closed his eyes. He concentrated on the feeling of Bruce’s hands which were gliding over his back and ass. Everywhere they touched was like fire to his skin. He concentrated as a hand traced the circle of each ass cheek. He felt Bruce’s fingertips skimming across the crack of his ass. He felt one finger being placed at his tailbone and then run down. The moment it touched his hole Clark shuddered. Bruce held his finger over Clark’s hole. Clark moaned and shifted his weight back, against it.

SMACK!

He felt the sharp swat against his ass and then Bruce’s hands were once again in his hair pulling his head up.

“Don’t. Move.” He hissed.

Clark didn’t dare even nod. This must have been the right move as Bruce released his hair and slid back down his aching body. Only this time it wasn’t his finger which teased Clark’s hole. He felt the moist warmth of the tongue which had teased his head now exploring his hole. He nearly screamed with the overwhelming pleasure of the foreign sensation. An entirely different feeling of invasion as Clark’s tongue probed him. Clark’s cock hung free and rigid as a board. He wished his hands weren't tied as he wanted to stroke his angry dick and soothe it. The feel of Bruce’s tongue fucking his asshole was…amazing. He felt as if every nerve in his body was on fire.

Bruce pulled back. He positioned himself behind Clark’s wet ass. He pressed his head against the slick surface and said “Now relax, or you may well squeeze my dick off!” His tone was ragged and primal.

With difficulty Clark took a deep breath but before he had even released the breath he felt Bruce’s cock sliding home.

Bliss.

He felt Bruce’s cock inside of him. He felt Bruce’s hips flush against his ass. He felt Bruce’s balls slapping against his. All as if it were in slow motion. He experienced every single ecstatic second of Bruce’s cock stretching him, forcing its way deep, deep, deep inside of him. He could not contain himself and cried out. This seemed to excite Bruce who began riding his ass harder. He would pull out and then slam back into him making Clark feel every single inch of his formidable prick.

Tension was mounting. Clark’s balls were tingling and though his cock was hanging free, not even touching the bed, it was throbbing in time with Bruce’s thrusts.

“Do you like that?” Bruce’s husky voice asked.

“Yes!” Clark said, choking on his own pleasure.

Another slam of the hips.

“Louder!” Bruce commanded.

“YES!” Clark yelled.

Harder. Deeper.

“Tell me what you like.” Bruce ordered, riding Clark’s ass still harder. “Tell me what you WANT!”

“YOUR COCK! YOUR COCK!!” Clark half moaned, half screamed.

He couldn’t breathe. He could barely think. Clark was now in real danger of blowing his load. His cock, though completely without stimulation, was ready to explode. He cast his mind wide, trying to think of something, ANYTHING, that might divert some of his attention so he could remain in control of his dick but he couldn’t think of anything but the way Bruce’s cock was buried to the hilt in his ass.

“I…I’m…going…to….” Clark choked out but Bruce cut him off.

“Not yet you aren’t.” he said and once again he pulled out.

Another swirl of movement and Clark was once again lying on his back on the bed. Bruce parted Clark’s legs and hooked one knee over his shoulder. He moved up so that they were face to face. He repositioned Clark’s bound hands over his head and then kissed him deep as he slid his cock back inside of Clark.

Clark moaned against Bruce’s mouth. His cock was sandwiched between their bodies and as Bruce began thrusting his body moved up and down Clark’s shaft. It was too much.

“I….I….” he moaned but Bruce clamped a hand over his mouth.

“You will cum when I say you can, Clark.” Bruce’s words were heavy.

“Kmmmpmm..” Clark said behind his hand. Bruce moved his hand and Clark said “K…Kalel…. Call me Kalel!”

Bruce’s rhythm increased in the tempo he was pounding on his ass. He rode him viciously. Ferociously. Kalel knew that he couldn’t take it. He was going to cum. Just as he was about to open his mouth to tell Bruce, Bruce locked eyes with him and commanded “KALEL! CUM! CUM WITH ME!”

He felt Bruce erupting inside him, filling him with his seed. The feeling pushed him over the edge and his own cock exploded. His white load sprayed out between them, coating their stomachs and chest. Bruce continued to pump inside him until he was exhausted but Kalel barely felt it. He had never cum so hard in his life. His cock was so swollen and sensitive that he was almost grateful when Bruce finally had enough of his ass and pulled out.

They both fell onto the bed and laid there panting. Eventually Bruce caught his breath enough to climb over to Kalel. He placed a hand on his cheek and kissed him deeply. When the kiss finally ended he said “Kalel.” He loved the sound of his name on Bruce’s lips. His real name. His secret name. Kalel looked in his eyes and said “Bruce” and again their lips met in a tender kiss.

Bruce grabbed the sheet and wiped down his chest and stomach. A dark blossom was spreading across Bruce’s skin. He looked down at it and said “I think you bruised me!” He laughed and lay down beside Kalel and threw his arm over the larger man’s chest. Kalel scooted his body so he was being spooned. His mind raced over what had happened.

Behind him Bruce asked “Was that your first time?” he stifled a yawn. “With a man, I mean.”

Grateful that Bruce couldn’t see him or the blush he answered “Yes.” And then driven by curiosity he asked “What about you?”

Bruce yawned loudly and mumbled “No.” He shifted his arm and gave Kalel’s chest a small squeeze.

A moment passed while Kalel enjoyed the afterglow before he heard Bruce’s breath coming in the steady rhythm of sleep. Kalel smiled and closed his eyes, absolutely content.

When he woke Clark was sticky, naked, and alone. The curtains were drawn back and the morning light flooded the room. Clark raised a hand to shield his eyes and saw the door was open. He sat up and looked around. On the table was a folded piece of paper. Clark got out of bed and crossed to the table, picking up the note.

It read:
“Kalel,
Thanks. Next time, no need for the cloak and dagger.
B”

He looked out the window and smiled.