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The Man of Steel was holed up in the Fortress of Solitude and was not, apparently, planning to come out for some time.
"Superman?" The bats overhead stirred sleepily as Batman leaned into the computer screen as if he could physically intimidate Superman into responding. "Damn it, Kal-El, I know you can hear this. Answer me." Nothing. Batman yanked off his cowl and banged a fist on the computer console hard enough that the bats scattered, heading for the exits. "Clark Joseph Kent, if you don't respond to this I am coming up there myself. You know perfectly well I have all the passwords into your Fortress of Sulkitude. I will come up there and drag you out of bed or wherever you're hiding and demand--"
The screen flickered into life. "What is it, Bruce?"
Bruce frowned. "You look like hell."
A tired smile. "Nice to talk to you too."
"What's wrong with you?" Clark hesitated, and Bruce jabbed a finger at the screen. "Don't play coy with me. Tell me or I'll come up there and shake it out of you."
Clark's eyes closed for a second and he took a deep breath. "It's personal, Bruce."
"You're Superman. You don't get 'personal.' You locking yourself in the Fortress affects the entire world, and you will at least tell me why you are doing it."
"Has anyone ever told you you're beautiful when you're angry?" Clark bit his lip, then laughed weakly as Batman stared. "You're really not going to leave me alone until I tell you, huh?"
"I'm staying right here and glaring at you until you confess."
"I certainly wouldn't be able to bear that for long," Clark muttered. He started to speak, then stopped again, apparently searching for the right words. "It's a...Kryptonian biology...thing."
"A biology thing. Clark, could you skip the vagueness?"
Superman's eyes rolled slightly. "A male Kryptonian of my age goes through a...time when he..." Clark hesitated, then blurted, "Needs to mate." Batman stared, and Clark went on, averting his eyes from the screen. "It's a rather...imperative need. It makes functioning in society rather...difficult."
"An imperative need," Batman said blankly, and Superman groaned.
"Yes, Bruce. Very imperative. And very distracting."
"You're in heat."
Superman winced. "It sounds so animalistic when you put it that way."
"We're all animals, Clark. And it's not that uncommon among alien races to have a period of intense sexual need that serves to further reproduction or relational bonding. The Gilarians of Marfik Five, for example, pair off and spend five straight days in mindless rutting. And the X'harra of Salm Prime have a requirement that everyone in their species' heat cycle engage in ritualistic public copulation. So it's not--"
"Bruce," said Clark through gritted teeth, "Please spare me the xenobiology lecture."
"Well, obviously we need to provide you with a suitable mate."
Clark's eyes bugged out a bit. "What? No. No. The urge will go away in a few weeks and I'll be fine."
"A few weeks? Clark, it's ridiculous to leave you in pain for a few weeks. Let me talk to Lois or Diana and--"
"No." Clark's eyes might have glinted just a bit scarlet. "They're not-- There's only--" He broke off and swallowed, "There's just no way to explain it in English--in any language. And I wouldn't want to explain it to you if I could." His shoulders sagged and he closed his eyes. "Bruce, I really can't continue this conversation any more, okay? I'm in a relatively coherent phase right now, but it won't last." He grimaced slightly, biting his lip. "It's...you have no idea how much I need to--Rao, I can't think of anything else, I can see it so clearly in my head, how--" He took a long breath. "Ah. How I'd--" He fell silent and stood still, his chest rising and falling quickly, eyes closed.
"Clark? Are you sure there's nothing I can do to help?"
At the sound of Bruce's voice, Superman groaned and opened his eyes. "Leave me alone, Bruce, for the love of God." He lifted into the air very slightly, staring wildly at Bruce from the monitor, and from the side of the screen Batman saw a duplicate of Superman step into the screen. One of the Superman robots.
"Master," said the robot, "You commanded us to restrain you if your heartbeat exceeded certain levels, or if you appeared about to leave the Fortress."
"I have to get out of here," Superman said abruptly. "I have to." Three robots moved forward and grabbed Clark's arms. "Let me go," growled Superman. "I can't stand it anymore, no one could, I have to--have to--" He jolted forward and ripped one of the robot's arms off with a shriek of tearing metal, but they held him firm. To Batman's horror, Clark convulsed in their grip, writhing, and went limp. He panted in silence for a while, but when he looked up his eyes were clear. "I'm sorry," he said to the robot with the missing arm. He looked over at Bruce's aghast face in the monitor. "I'm sorry, Bruce," he said, and cut the connection.
Bruce stared at the black screen for a long time, seeing the afterimages of Clark's agony there. There had to be some way to get Clark out of this, some way to break the cycle of suffering. "Damn it!" He thumped his fists on the console in impotent fury.
Has anyone ever told you you're beautiful when you're angry? Clark's teasing tone mocked his memory.
Then he remembered how Clark's eyes had looked as he said it.
Bruce inhaled sharply. Was it possible that--no. No. But still...
He played back his conversation with Clark, paying careful attention to the Kryptonian's body language, noting pupil dilation, change in voice register, perspiration.
After the third playback his hunch had become a certainty:
Clark Kent was sexually attracted to him.
Bruce sat in the cave, staring at the frozen image on the screen: Clark with his eyes closed, listening to Bruce's voice, his color high.
After a while, he stood up and squared his shoulders. Superman was his teammate and his friend, and it would be inhumane to let him suffer needlessly. Not to mention impractical. The world needed Superman.
He headed for the jet, ready to make the sacrifice.
: : :
"Kal-El?" His footsteps echoed through the Fortress hangar as he headed inward. "Kal?" Only silence met him, and Bruce knew a moment's doubt: maybe he had been imagining it, that reaction to his voice. Maybe he didn't need to be here after all. The flicker of doubt resolved into something like relief, and he turned back--
And ran into Superman's chest.
"What the hell are you doing here, Bruce?" Superman growled, every muscle of his body tense.
Batman recoiled a bit in surprise and involuntary reaction to the menace in Clark's voice, dropping into a combat stance without thinking. There was a tense moment while the two heroes glared at each other, the only sound Clark's rapid breathing. Then Batman relaxed his guard, slowly and deliberately, leaving himself open. "I wanted to help."
He had expected an instant response from Clark, based on the man's desperate struggle just an hour ago--he had half-braced himself to be snatched up in a flurry of motion and--and--
Bruce found he was tensing again, adrenaline pounding through his veins, and he forced himself to relax once more. This is necessary, he told himself. If Superman needs this, it would be foolish not to comply. There's no reason to be...angry or hostile. Oddly, he didn't feel angry or hostile, and yet his pulse was still hammering in his ears, his fists clenched. And Superman was still just staring at him, not moving.
Bruce felt an incongruous stab of annoyance; he was here to do what was necessary, so why was the Kryptonian just standing there? "Clark? I said I wanted to help."
"I heard you the first time," said Clark acerbically. "What did you have in mind?"
Bruce opened his mouth and closed it again. It was surprisingly difficult to say something like "I expected you to fuck me." Not to mention the height of hubris. "I...thought you might want to...talk about it?" he heard himself saying lamely.
A muscle at the corner of Clark's eye twitched slightly. "You flew up here to listen to me talk about my feelings?"
This was the point, Bruce knew, when he should probably growl something sarcastic and stalk away. He had given the Kryptonian the opportunity and he had failed to take it. And yet Bruce felt rather challenged. He was here to do his duty for the sake of the world, damn it, and he wasn't going to let Clark's crazy sense of honor and scruples interfere with that duty.
Besides, he was starting to feel rather irked by the Man of Steel's stoicism. Was this the same man who'd been ripping apart robots in an attempt to get at Bruce? Was the Dark Knight less tempting in the flesh, somehow?
No, he was going to break down that reserve and make the sacrifice he had come here to make.
And yet it was still rather impossible to say "I'm here for the sex."
So instead he smiled, watching Clark's pupils dilate to near-blackness at the sight. "What are friends for, Clark?" He swept past Superman and headed toward the inner sanctum of the Fortress.
Clark growled something under his breath and followed him.
: : :
"Thank you," Batman said politely to a Superman robot as it handed him a sweet of some sort. He licked the icing off delicately with a murmur of appreciation, then popped it in his mouth and licked sugar off his leather-clad fingers. Superman was chewing on his with a sort of grim determination.
Bruce reached up and pulled the cowl off--rather slowly--and ran his fingers through his hair. "So talk," he said.
Superman sighed. "I'd read about this...heat time...before. But I always thought I'd be able to handle it. But the last couple of weeks have been a nightmare." He scrubbed a hand across his haggard face. "It started off with dreams. Incredibly vivid dreams. Always the same. At first they were just of the two of us--me and this other person, I mean--doing friendly things together--talking and so on. But the emotions of the dream--you know how sometimes you can have a dream that doesn't seem to be about anything scary, but you wake up in a cold sweat, your heart pounding?" Bruce nodded. "They were like that, but with...positive emotions."
"Positive emotions?"
Clark looked away from Bruce. "Affection. Joy. And, more and more...passion. I'd dream of just chatting with this person and wake up...aroused."
Bruce started to draw off his gauntlets, finger by finger. "This was someone you'd never thought of that way before?" Of course, since this was artificially-induced arousal, his psyche had picked someone "safe" that he knew he didn't have strong feelings for in reality--
"Well." Superman shifted. "Actually. I mean. I'd tried not to think of them that way as much as possible."
Bruce almost dropped his glove. "Oh?" His voice really shouldn't have cracked on that syllable.
"It would never work. I can't even believe I'm trying to explain this to you--it would never work." For a moment, Clark's face was very bleak. "But the dreams just kept getting more and more vivid. The first time I dreamed of kissing them--God," he muttered, "You can't even imagine how intense it was, how I woke up almost weeping with the need to go and--and do it in reality."
Bruce reached to get another sweet from the robot and took advantage of the movement to get a little closer to Clark. That intense need didn't seem to be translating into direct action anytime soon. "So...why didn't you?"
"I told you, it would never work," Clark repeated, his voice tense. "It would only make things incredibly awkward for them if I approached them. Too much pressure. Things could never be the same after."
"Why not? You just need to blow off some sexual steam, screw around for a while, then everything's back to normal." Bruce frowned. "What, did you think this person was such a jerk that they'd make your life hell or something? Why would you be attracted to an asshole like that?"
Clark looked away, his face sullen. "They're not an asshole. And they're not the kind of person you just screw around with and then ditch, either. They're sort of an all or nothing person. And I--I don't want to ever risk finding out it's nothing."
"So you holed yourself up here to throw yourself a little pity party."
Clark swung to glare at Bruce. "I was doing just fine until you decided to crash it, too."
"Oh yeah, you seemed to be doing great. Ripping your robots limb from limb."
Clark looked deeply shamed. "It comes and goes, the worst of the need. Sometimes it'll stay manageable for hours. Just a desire to hear that voice, to talk, to be near them. Not a whole lot stronger than normal. But not...really...resistable." One hand clenched against the shining cloth of his chair; he didn't seem to notice. "Usually it's a while before it gets really bad, the--thoughts and--and urges." He drew a long, trembling breath. "When it's bad, yes, I have to be restrained. It's better that than...forcing myself on someone. I couldn't bear it, couldn't live with myself after. No matter how much I need it at the moment. How much I need it now."
"You can't be sure you'd be forcing yourself," Bruce said, feeling perversely nettled. He really hadn't expected this level of self-restraint from a man in heat. What was it going to take to get Clark to take some action? "Maybe they'd be willing. Maybe they'd like it. Who knows, maybe you'd find out they'd been wanting it all along and they'd jump your bones in a second." Which was of course not true in this case, but if Bruce was ever going to get this necessary job done, he obviously was going to have to push a bit. "You might find out they were downright eager."
"Would you stop saying that?" Clark swallowed. "Do you think I haven't imagined that? Haven't imagined...having them smile at me, all predatory and pleased, and smirk that I'd finally come to my senses? Having them...touch me because they wanted to, put their--their hands on me..." He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. "But that's just the desire making me rationalize. I can't...can't give in to that kind of thinking."
Privately, Bruce cursed Boy Scouts and Kansas farmboys and noble alien superheroes alike. Why was Clark making this so damn difficult? "Don't be silly, Clark. You're the Man of Steel. Anyone would be honored and delighted to have you show up on their doorstep and announce you were about to rip their clothes off and fuck them like they've never been fucked before." Clark shuddered all over at the crude language but didn't move. "I'm sure you wouldn't be brutal, no matter how much in heat you were."
"Oh God..." Clark muttered. "Bruce, I don't think talking about this is helping at all. It's just driving me down into the worst part of the cycle faster..." He shook his head slowly, his eyes still closed. "And Bruce. God. I can't even be sure I wouldn't be...rough. I'm not feeling like a tender, wooing lover right now." He opened his eyes and looked at Bruce, and there were glints of silver in those blue eyes. "Not at all."
The adreneline was in his veins again like a drug, driving him on, demanding he force this to a crisis. "Maybe they'd like that too. Maybe they wouldn't want a gentle wooing. Maybe they'd like it hard and rough and savage, a fight with no losers, only triumph." He reached out and thumped Clark gently on the shoulder, a brotherly thump. "Don't assume everyone needs romance, Clark."
Clark bit his lip hard at the fleeting touch. His skin had been hot even through the costume, and Bruce could feel the warmth of it on his fingers still, tingling. Clark was staring at him, the hints of silver blazing into actual light, and Bruce knew this had to be it, had to be the moment that steely self-control finally broke and he--
"Go home, Bruce," Clark said, his gaze dropping, the light fading. "Just...go."
Bruce almost moaned in annoyance and frustration. Clark had to give in, he had to pounce on Bruce and make him submit, he had to insist on it. Bruce wasn't sure he was going to be able to hold back much longer from just throwing himself at the Kryptonian to tear his clothes off and kiss him and and...uh, do his necessary, pragmatic duty.
Bruce took a deep breath. "Clark, listen to me." Clark didn't look up. "You have to do this. You have to tell them how you feel and hope they're interested. You can't hide feelings like this forever, and it will just hurt both of you if you do. I'm practically begging you, Clark--" His voice broke just a bit and he hurried on, chagrined, "--you have to just tell that person outright. Go to them and say 'This may sound strange, but just hear me out. I need you. I want you. I've wanted you for so long and I've never let myself admit it but now, today, here, I'm going to be honest--you're the only one for me, and this is my only chance to tell you, and I can't bear to waste it.' You--you tell them that, Clark." His heart rate had picked up distressingly at some point during that speech, and he struggled to even out his breathing. "Tell them that and...well, I guarantee it will all work out."
Clark was looking at him, the silver light back in the sky-blue of his eyes. "You're right, Bruce," he said. "I understand. It will. I''ll do it."
Bruce felt an entirely undutiful triumph singing through him. "Yes," he breathed, and closed his eyes, waiting for the first touch of those alien lips on his.
There was a whoosh.
Bruce opened his eyes. Clark was gone.
Of course he was.
He stood up and pulled his cowl back on, then started to put the gloves back on. One dropped out of his hand and bent down to pick it up, noticing the hand was shaking slightly with a sort of clinical interest. A Superman robot sauntered by with a tray. "Another sweet, sir?"
"No," said Batman. "I think I'm done with sweets."
He was heading for the door when there was another whoosh. Clark was in front of him, holding a ridiculously vast bouquet of sky-blue irises. He had changed into silvery robes as light as gossamer. From the bedroom strains of music filtered out to Bruce's ears: Barry White singing "Let's Get it On."
Clark took a deep breath and held out the garish bouquet. "This may sound strange, Bruce, but just hear me out," he said.
Bruce held up one black-clad hand. "This isn't some kind of dress rehearsal before you go find Guy or Barda or whoever, right?"
"You must be kidding."
"Then what's next? You get me stripped and into bed in the next thirty seconds?"
Clark's eyes sparked. "No."
"No?"
"I was thinking five."
The air was suddenly filled with a tumult of blue flowers and silver light.
: : :
Bruce threw on a light robe but didn't bother to tie it, padding down the corridor to the doorway. The floor was still carpeted with irises; the Superman robots had long since fled and bolted the door behind them. Bruce tinkered with the lock for a bit, enjoying the chance to work on a puzzle.
He hadn't actually thought much for the last six hours or so.
After a moment, he cracked the lock and the door swung open to reveal a Superman robot, waiting politely. "Yes, Master?"
"Can you make us a breakfast? Waffles, pancakes, fresh orange juice?"
The robot looked slightly dubious. "Are you certain you're all right?"
Bruce followed the robot's gaze to his body, noting the impressive set of bruises and contusions. He smiled a bit smugly. If it weren't for the damn invulnerability Clark would have a nicely matched set. "Thanks for your concern, but I've never been better," he said. "Breakfast?"
"Yes sir," the robot said stiffly and headed away down the hall.
Bruce strolled back down the corridor toward the bedroom, taking an inventory of his stiff and aching muscles and whistling slightly. On the bed was sprawled a very naked Superman, his limbs akimbo, eyes closed, a ridiculously happy look on his face.
It rather suited him.
Bruce leaped onto the bed and straddled Clark again; Clark moaned slightly, stirring to life in more ways than one. "Ready for another round?" Bruce said cheerfully.
"I thought I was the one in heat," Clark said, opening his eyes just enough that Bruce could see silver-blue light leak between his lashes.
"I've decided that it would be best to exhaust your libido as fully and as often as possible. It is a sacrifice I'm prepared to make."
He had aimed for a lightly sarcastic tone, but obviously some nuance had failed to get through; Clark eyed the bruises on his arms and grimaced, the light in his eyes dimming. "Bruce...this will only last a few more days, a week at most. Then we'll be back to normal, I swear."
Bruce brought the heels of his hands down on Superman's chest, hard enough to give himself a couple more bruises. "We had damn well better not be," he growled. And just in case Clark failed to get the point, he grabbed two handfuls of silky dark hair and dragged him into a savage kiss.
By the silvered radiance that blazed into being at the kiss, Bruce could see his lover's smile. He could see the future.
He could see everything perfectly clearly.