Chapter Text
On Komochi Mountain
From the time the young leaves sprout
Until they turn red
I think I would like to sleep with you
What do you think of that?
--Anonymous
The call came in as Superman, Flash, and the Martian Manhunter were running some diagnostics on the Watchtower teleportation system. It still wasn't fully reliable--Barry Allen had been forced to hitch a ride with Green Lantern to come up and take a look at it. "Maybe if we--" Barry was saying when Superman's communicator beeped.
"Excuse me," he said politely and stepped to the far side of the room.
Dick Grayson's voice on the other end, words tumbling over each other. "Superman? Clark? You have to get to Japan, Batman's there, at Yoru-sensei's dojo, you need to get there right away!"
Superman was halfway to the door before he cut off the transmission. "Batman's in trouble," he said tersely to the two men still working on the teleporters, "Are you sure they're not up and running yet?"
J'onn shrugged, a fluid alien gesture. "I don't trust them."
"All right then, I'm going. I'll be in touch when I know what's going on." He was at the airlock doors and in space before they could respond.
Superman plunged toward Japan like a falling star, the heat of re-entry blurring his vision and roaring through his hair. He and Bruce had hardly spoken more than a few sentences since their last parting four months ago; the idea that something could happen to the other man with them on less-than-perfect terms was...intolerable. Not that they had argued, Clark thought as the wind screamed through his cloak, the islands rushing up to meet him through the clouds. But Bruce had shrugged him off, told him to go get some more experience before coming to his bed.
Visions of Bruce hurt, bleeding, alone flashed through Clark's mind; he tumbled through a cloud and found himself in front of Yoru-sensei's dojo. The sliding external doors to the room he had shared months ago with Bruce were open, and he was in.
Bruce was there.
Bruce Wayne looked up from his book to find a disheveled, wild-eyed Kryptonian in his room. "Bruce," Clark said breathlessly, "Thank God you're all right, what's wrong? Are you all right? What's the situation, what are we facing?" He stared around the room as if expecting an army of ninjas to appear.
Bruce dropped the book and jumped to his feet, alarmed despite himself at Superman's urgency. "What are you talking about?" Even through his alarm he felt a moment's discomfort at Clark finding him in his light cotton yukata, but he pushed it away.
Turquoise eyes fixed on his like a drowning man catching at a line, and somehow he found himself standing next to Clark, reaching out to take his hands. "Clark, are you all--ow!" He snatched his hands back from skin as hot as an oven. "You're hot," he said stupidly.
Superman looked a bit shamefaced. "Heat of re-entry, sorry."
"Re-entry?"
Clark looked momentarily annoyed. "Not that I'm not very happy to see you safe, but Richard said you were in trouble!"
"Dick said--" Bruce broke off and snorted as realization dawned on Clark's face as well. "Dick," Bruce said again, shaking his head and moving to sit back down. "You'd better contact the Watchtower and tell them it's a false alarm."
Superman touched his ear lightly. "J'onn? There's no problem here, false alarm. I'll--" He glanced over at Bruce for just an instant, "--I'm on my way back." He paused as if listening, then a frown crossed his face. "What? You what?"
To Bruce's surprise, J'onn's response rang in his head as well--telepathy, he'd never get used to it. //I said, I have taken the opportunity to hack into Northwest's systems and give Clark Kent a paper trail leading to and from Japan. You might as well stay there for the next few days. Take a vacation, Kal. Don't think we haven't noticed you're working yourself nearly to death.// J'onn's mental voice was warm, and Bruce saw Clark flush slightly and shoot him another quick glance.
"I can't take time off from Metropolis, I'm needed--"
J'onn cut him off. //I shall cover Metropolis for the next few days. I am a shapeshifter, no one will know Superman is not on the job.// As Superman hesitated, J'onn's "voice" sharpened. //Kal. Take a break. Relax. Spend some time with Bruce and stop giving me headaches.// Then the voice was gone, leaving them alone in a room together for the first time in months.
Superman looked a bit hesitant until Bruce gestured for him to take a seat on the tatami. "Has Richard figured out...?" he asked, waving his hands vaguely as he settled onto the straw matting cross-legged. Just a touch too close to make Bruce happy.
And not close enough to make him joyful.
He shrugged, watching the shining cape spread across the tatami. "He seems to have caught on to something, yes. He seems...unhappy about our break-up."
Superman folded a bit of red cape between his fingers, watching it intently. "It wasn't a 'break-up.' You told me to get more experience." Clark lifted his head suddenly, the look in his eyes both shy and challenging. "And I've gotten all the experience I need to know it's you I want," he said.
The directness almost took Bruce's breath away and he looked away from those cobalt eyes, taking a steadying breath. It had been four months, and Bruce had been painfully aware that Clark had been getting experience. The reporter had dated at least seven different people in those four months--mostly men, a couple of women--and Bruce had researched each of them thoroughly, hating himself for trying to guess which one had done what with Clark, which one would be the one to win his heart.
He supposed he could have bugged Clark's apartment, but even he wasn't quite that masochistic.
His thoughts were broken off by Clark's breath at his ear, a tongue touching his earlobe delicately before he could respond. "Can I show you how much I've learned, Bruce?"
It had been four months, four long months of imagining that mouth under his and that body--he had Clark flat on his back on the tatami before either of them had a chance to think better of it, kissing him, his hands in midnight-dark hair. Clark's hands tugged at his sash with clumsy urgency and Bruce felt his robe fall open; the feel of silky Kryptonian cloth along his whole body, steely Kryptonian muscle under it, enflamed him instantly and he startled himself by writhing against the other man and making a frantic noise he had most certainly not intended to.
"Bruce," Clark breathed, wrapping arms around him and pulling him close, and Bruce should have felt stifled and constricted in that inhumanly unbreakable clinch.
He shouldn't have felt...safe.
Clark's lips were at his ear again, his voice low and husky. "I know exactly what I want from you now, Bruce. I know how much I want you inside me, how good it can feel, I want you now."
Bruce bent his head to Clark's throat, still glowingly warm from the atmosphere, ignoring the pang that went through him at the idea of Clark learning so much without him. It isn't like you saved your virginity for him, playboy, he thought fiercely, his lips on the smooth pale column, Clark's head thrown back in surrender.
"Oh God," groaned Clark, thrusting against Bruce, still fully-clothed, "I can--I know I can make it good for you, Bruce."
It couldn't be anything less than good if it was Clark, but Bruce didn't say that, didn't really want to think it. He slid his hands slowly under the shining symbol, across shining skin, so slowly, and Clark made a choking sound and clasped his hands closer. "Don't tease me, Bruce," he muttered, and Bruce couldn't help but chuckle.
"That's not teasing, Clark. That's enjoying." Warm skin under his hands, so warm, like a fireplace, radiant and welcoming. "When I tease you, you'll know it."
He pulled the shirt off over Clark's head, over black hair already disheveled by his fall from the sky, and went to pull off the pants, but Clark twisted under him and slid Bruce onto the floor next to him. Gently, he lifted the untied yukata from Bruce's body, staring frankly. "You're beautiful," he said, his hands hovering above Bruce's body. "I never thought you'd--I never thought I'd ever see you like this. For me." Warm hands stroked down his body as if Clark were petting something sleek and exotic, and Bruce felt almost like purring at the sensation.
"You have gotten good," he murmured as Clark's hands cupped his erection deftly, and to his surprise Clark blushed crimson.
"Have I? I mean, thank you," the Kryptonian said. An almost sly smile tipped his mouth, but dissolved into a gasp as Bruce could no longer resist pulling down the red and blue tights and taking his turn at cradling the heat there. Clark fell back onto the tatami with a thump, his eyes slitting closed and his hands falling to his sides, clenching spasmodically. "Nnn," he said incoherently.
Bruce drew his thumb down Clark's cock with leisurely enjoyment, relishing the way it strained against his hand, then caressed the other man's balls. Clark whimpered slightly, tossing his head, and Bruce could do little but stare at the abandoned face and tense body. His fingers flickered lower and Clark gasped again, opening eyes heavy with lust and excitement to stare at him in turn. "We're going to do this, right?" Clark said, his voice almost blurry with desire. "We're--" he broke off with a groan and moved against Bruce's hand again, "--You're going to--"
"Yes. Oh, yes," Bruce said. He wasn't sure if he could stop now for anything, he'd wanted it for so long.
"Good." Clark bit his lip as Bruce's fingers brushed him again. "Yes."
Bruce bent to draw his tongue gently across taut, hot skin, mostly to avoid meeting Clark's eyes for a moment. "Do you have a preference about--" Gentle, teasing fingers made clear what he was referring to. "--I can do either, if you don't like to bottom."
Clark made a very small noise. "I like to bottom," he said in a strained voice. "I want to. I want it."
Bruce firmly shelved any thoughts on where Clark had learned he liked that.
He hoped it wasn't that arrogant disc jockey Clark had seen for a couple of weeks.
It didn't matter, he reminded himself as he tasted sunlight and ozone on Clark's skin--Clark was here now and wanted him now, even with the benefit of experience.
It was more than Bruce had dared hope for.
"I--" He stopped and cleared his throat, feeling ridiculous. "Let me get something we can use as lube." He grabbed some unscented hand lotion from his bag; it would do. Clark stared at him, blue eyes huge in the twilight shadows of the room, as he stroked with slick fingers, nudging, slipping in.
Hotter than human; he had known intellectually that Kryptonians had a slightly higher body temperature than humans, but it was another thing altogether to feel that heat caressing his fingers intimately. He looked up to catch Clark's eyes, to share this moment that was making his breath come faster than he'd even expected--and found that Clark's eyes were tightly shut, his face closed and taut.
Bruce felt the other man's thighs trembling slightly.
Bruce moved his fingers cautiously and watched Clark grimace just a little. The other man took a long, deep breath, let it out very slowly...and Bruce could see his expression shift. "Oh," Clark said thoughtfully and then "Oh," surprise and the beginnings of pleasure like the dawn on the horizon. Those amazing eyes opened and Clark met his gaze, smiling.
The smile fell away into chagrin as Clark read Bruce's face. "I'm sorry," he said.
"You told me you got experience," Bruce said, feeling as vulnerable as if he were the one currently flat on his back.
"I said I got as much experience as I needed to...to know you were the one I wanted." Clark made a small noise and shifted slightly, luxuriously against Bruce's hand, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When he opened them again, they were full of plaintive appeal. "I couldn't do it, Bruce. I tried, I swear I tried. But every time I kissed someone, all I could think about was how much I wanted you. I couldn't bear it. I wanted--" He arched his back slightly, his eyes focused inward, "--wanted to get good at it for you, so I wouldn't be all awkward and stupid and wanting it too much, too much." A panting breath, aching with desire. "Wanted to be like you, like you, calm and cool and gorgeous, not shaking and stammering and--and--Bruce, it feels so good, I want more, please."
"Calm." Bruce was amazed to hear his voice so level, not trembling at all. He was so good at controlling himself, so good. "Calm," he repeated as if the word was meaningless, nonsense. He felt a crazy desire to either laugh or weep, but his hands stayed steady, perfectly steady as they made Clark gasp with growing pleasure. "You--" He could think of so many possible ways to end that sentence, but decided to be pragmatic, "--You should keep breathing deeply, it helps."
Clark chuckled and groaned at the same time, pleasure and tension chasing each other across his face. "Thank you, Professor Wayne. Are you planning on--uhmm--taking the next step anytime soon? Because I'm more than ready, if you hadn't noticed."
Poised at the moment before penetration, he looked down at Clark's face, flushed and smiling and tense with delighted anticipation, and he thought, In another moment, nothing in the universe will ever be able to change that we had this. Another moment, and it will be true forever that we were lovers.
The calm of the eye of the hurricane, the calm of ice over a chasm too deep to survive.
He moved forward out of stillness and into heat.
Alien heat, inhuman velvet, unlike anything he had ever known. A memory of Kryptonian cloth, heavy silken velvet, alien crimson--he shuddered and realized he had pushed further than he had meant to. Clark tensed and then relaxed into the sensation, and Bruce couldn't seem to stop moving. He tried to slow down, to let Clark adjust, but the other man made a low noise in his throat and moved against him, and 'leisurely' was no longer an option. Kryptonian physiology seemed just a bit different; Bruce shifted, thrust as gently as he could with his pulse yammering wildly at him, lust unraveling his thoughts. Clark's back arched madly and he stammered something in a jumble of consonants that might have been English or Kryptonian; another thrust and he moaned something like "GodRaoBruce," his erection hard against Bruce's stomach, and came. Orgasm sent a hectic crimson flush to his cheeks and coppery sparks danced in his sightless eyes; the sight was eerie and beautiful at once. Clark's body tensed around him and Bruce felt infinite velvet, the temperature peaking close to unbearable, hot and demanding and irresistible, and found he had neither the ability nor the inclination to resist the rush of climax at all.
Clark felt Bruce tug a blanket over both of them and lie down next to him. He rolled over to loop his legs around the other man's, rest his hands on scarred skin, feeling the heartbeat under his palms. "I didn't even ask why you were in Japan," he said after a moment.
Bruce made a blurry sound and laced his fingers through Clark's, a lattice of sensation. "Yoru-sensei's foster-daughter got married today. I came for that and to check on Katana, but apparently she's in the mountains right now, training to master Soultaker. Not a friendly sword." A pause while Clark slid his fingers back and forth within Bruce's, enjoying the feeling. "If J'onn's going to cover Metropolis, you could stay here for the weekend." Bruce sounded almost reluctant, but Clark knew by now it wasn't for the reasons one might assume. "We can come up with a reason Clark Kent was in the area. I'll take you sightseeing."
"I'd like that." Clark couldn't stop smiling. "Although I've seen the sights I came to see."
A quiet snort. "I can show you more of those, too. If you'd like."
"I'd like that." The tiny square windowpanes cut the moonlight on the wall into little boxes; Clark watched them for a while before speaking again. "I'm sorry I tried to deceive you, Bruce. Don't worry, I'm not going to consider us married or anything." Bruce muttered something that sounded like "make an honest Kryptonian out of you," and Clark laughed. "But...I wanted it to be you," he said softly.
A pause so long that Clark thought maybe Bruce had fallen asleep, and then a low voice: "I wanted it to be me too." He made it sound like a shameful confession, and Clark tightened his fingers very slightly.
Bruce's hand closed warmly around his as well, and somehow it managed to feel almost more intimate than the sex that had gone before, Bruce holding his hand in the moonlit silence.
Clark listened to Bruce's breathing slow, felt the individual muscles of his body, his hands, slowly relax into sleep. What was the phrase, "friends with benefits"? He remembered the burn of arousal all along his body, the sweetly piercing pleasure of it, and smiled into the dark.
The benefits were impressive indeed.
A memory of Bruce's elegant face abandoned in desire, the clear-chiseled lines of it tense with yearning, flickered through his mind.
The friend even more so.