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For Your Entertainment
Batman tenses at the sound of footfalls, only to relax a moment later. He'd know Superman's steps anywhere, what with the man still acting like he’s going to turn into a moving target if he doesn't make noise until Batman acknowledges his presence.
Okay, yes, Bruce had thrown a few batarangs—they hadn't even been kryptonite edged—at him after he'd snuck into the batcave. But Clark should have known better, as he'd only found the cave via flagrant misuse of his x-ray vision and wasn't there by invitation. Besides, it had been once. Years ago.
“Batman, it's just me,” Superman says before he undoes the blindfold and removes the fabric from Bruce's mouth. "You okay?"
“I'm fine.”
“Good, good.”
Bruce works his jaw to relieve the stiffness. “Why are you here, Superman?”
“Robin was worried.”
“And you know this how?”
Clark fidgets. “I might have been listening.”
“Hnh.”
“He said getting kidnapped wasn’t part of the plan?”
“Captured,” he corrects. “Batman doesn’t get kidnapped.”
“Right. Of course not.”
“And no, it wasn’t.”
Clark flashes a sunny smile. “So I didn’t ruin anything?”
“No. This time.”
“Just making sure.”
“As thrilling as this conversation is, are you going get me out of these?” Bruce strains against the restraints around his wrists and ankles, which have him effectively secured to the metal chair.
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to besmirch your reputation by not letting you get out of them yourself.”
“Superman,” he says through clenched teeth.
Clark looks wide-eyed at him. “Don’t tell me someone made a set you can’t get out of?”
“Just break the damn things.”
“Hmm…” He taps a finger against his lip. “No.”
“No?”
“That’s what I said.” Taking a step closer, he runs a hand down Bruce’s chest and abs, until he reaches the suit’s codpiece.
“Superman.” This time, it's a threat, not a warning.
Clark drops to his knees without removing his hand. “Problem?”
“So help me, Kal.” Bruce tilts his head up, focusing on the ceiling and not the pressure against his groin, or the fact Clark must be using a pinch of superstrength for him to feel it through his armor.
“Or you'll do what, Batman?” Releasing the latches of the codpiece, he removes it and places it on the floor. Clark leans in, and in a spectacularly cliché move, looks up at Bruce through his eyelashes, before then mouthing at Bruce’s cock.
“You seem to be forgetting that I have kryptonite.”
“That you can’t get to unless I release you first. So...” Clark says, ripping the fabric of the undersuit as if it were tissue paper. He sits back on his heels, openly admiring the sight of Bruce’s half-hard cock.
The tightness in Bruce’s gut increases tenfold as he’s exposed. “Stop this. Now.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t fantasized about this, Batman. About having Superman on his knees for you.”
“Damn it, Kal! The cowl is wired for sound and video,” he hisses, renewing his struggles against the restraints.
“I may not be the team strategist, but I did think this through.” Resting his head against Bruce’s knee, he laughs softly. “I got Robin to deactivate it in exchange for taking him flying.”
Bruce takes in a long, slow breath through his nose as he stares at Superman kneeling between his thighs like it's a normal everyday occurrence. “You were exposed to red kryptonite, weren't you?”
“No,” Clark says with a huff.
“Of course you would say that.” He narrows his eyes. “Prove it. Free me.”
“Not going to happen.” He lets an icey breath ghost over Bruce’s cock before then engulfing only the head. He goes slow, licking and sucking gently at the tip.
Bruce can’t stop himself from inhaling sharply. Clark’s mouth is a slick inferno against cool flesh. “Oh, you bastard.”
“Mmhmm.” He swallows the length of Bruce’s cock with ease, sucking unashamedly, hungrily even, as he draws Bruce out and swallows him again in a steady rhythm. After sucking diligently for a while, Clark finally pulls off with an obscene sounding pop and muses, “What are you going to do about it?”
“You do realize you have to go home at some point?”
“I do,” he agrees with the flash of another dazzling smile. “Now shut up and enjoy, or I swear, I will leave you here to get out of those by yourself, and as I had Robin take the car, you will have to walk home. With no codpiece.”
It doesn’t take the world’s greatest detective to figure out what Clark wants. “You know, Superman, if you wanted to suck my cock, all you had to do was ask.” Bruce shifts on the chair and spreads his legs as much as the restraints will allow.
“Can I suck you, Batman?”
Bruce’s cock jumps in response. Even so, he refuses to make any noise when Clark kisses down the length of his cock, before nuzzling forward to alternate between sucking at his balls and rolling them gently in one hand. With the other, Clark strokes up and down his shaft, working his erection to full hardness. Not that much, or any really, encouragement is needed in that department.
He is definitely hard.
If he has any doubt, it’s gone the second Clark replaces his hand with his tongue and begins running it along the underside of Bruce’s cock, then up and around, tracing along the veins, galvanizing Bruce’s nerves. Clark laps at the slit and swipes down the tip before sucking the head back into his wet, tight mouth. Bruce arches his hips the little he can and watches his cock slide, inch by inch, between Clark's lips, all the way down to the hilt, and this time he can’t hold back his wanton moan.
The heat at Bruce’s center coils tightly and his thighs tense. The sight, the feel of Clark working him so insistently sends electricity shooting straight down his spine to his now painfully hard cock. Bruce tugs on the restraints. He’s already wound tight, and the feeling of that sinful mouth is just too much, making his need all consuming.
The need to touch.
The need to take.
“Superman. Free me,” he demands with all the authority of the Goddamn Batman.
Clark gives a little shudder as he lets Bruce’s cock slide slowly out of his mouth, before rocking back on his heels. "You like that?" he husks.
Bruce’s eyes catch on the wet sheen of Clark’s lips. “Get me out of these fucking things, and I’ll show you just how much I like it.”
Getting to his feet, Clark grabs the utility belt from around Bruce’s waist, unfazed by the security measures, and tosses it aside. “Careful,” Bruce grumbles. “That probably costs more than your rent for the year, so don’t even think about telling me to bill you.”
“Actually, I was going to point out that if you can go into combat with it on, then it’s highly unlikely to be damaged by that.” With a triumphant grin, he grips Bruce’s arms, along with those of the chair, and lifts himself up.
Bruce bites his lip to keep from moaning when he realizes that, at least for the moment, it's Superman's hands restraining him, not the cuffs. The desire to take ratchets up another level. He refocuses in time to watch as Clark spreads his legs wide open and leans back just enough that he'd be offering Bruce an obscene view if—fuck. The suit ripples as it oh so slowly pulls back. Bruce imagines it really is his hands pushing the fabric away to expose corded muscle, a perfect ass, and the most glorious cock he's ever seen.
“Christ."
"Like what you see, Batman?"
There's no possible way Bruce can deny it, considering he's been devouring the sight of Clark like a starving man at a buffet, so he doesn't. "Yes."
Clark settles on his lap, and with one hand gripping his shoulder for support, begins lazily pumping his erection. Finally, Clark moves his hips to rub his cock against Bruce’s, hand wrapping tight around them both. As Bruce thrusts into that over-warm fist, he's never been so happy that Clark can control his suit. And gravity. Because there’s no way he’s not playing with physics to make this happen.
When Clark kisses him, Bruce immediately licks into his mouth, tongue tasting every part of it, filling it, owning it, claiming it. Only to then be denied when Clark breaks the kiss. Bruce growls in frustration. The lack of control driving him crazy, which is no doubt intentional.
“I need your cock in me, Batman."
“And trust me, Superman, I want to give it to you, but not all of us are invulnerable. Fucking you dry won’t be nearly as enjoyable on my end.”
“Which is why I brought lube.” Producing a small tube out of the folds of his cape, Clark grins. “The control-freak I work with is always lecturing about being prepared.”
“I don’t lecture.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Reaching down, he slicks Bruce’s cock with lube, and then lifting up, guides the tip between his cheeks to his hole. Clark applies enough pressure that his rim stretches immediately around the head of Bruce's cock, allowing him to sink down in a single motion until he's fully seated with his weight parked on Bruce's thighs.
Bruce can feel Clark tightening around him, clinging and squeezing, hot and slick and tight. He goes completely still. "People really have...gah...no idea what you're capable of."
"Yes. Rao, yes." Holding onto Bruce’s shoulders, he stretches his thighs wider apart to get Bruce’s cock deeper, then falls into an up and down rhythm. Impaling himself on Bruce’s cock again and again and again, making little needy noises at the back of his throat as he does.
Bruce moans, thrusting up with as much force as he can, given that he’s still strapped to the damn chair. He buries himself in Clark over and over in counterpoint. The feeling of Clark’s ass squeezing his cock is so good, combined with the loud smacking of skin against skin, that he almost tips over the edge. "Fuck, Superman, yes, just like that.”
“Ah! I-I’m…Batman!” Clark cries out his ecstasy, eyes scrunching closed, and comes. He keens, trembling as his cock pulses and spurts long pearly ribbons over Bruce’s chest, letting loose everything Clark has to give. Thighs tensing through the aftershocks, he grinds down hard, the muscles of his hole spasming around Bruce’s cock, milking him.
Bruce only manages two more desperate thrusts before he's coming in long waves of hazy pleasure deep inside Clark, flooding the tight cavity. The fire in Bruce’s belly is an all-consuming inferno. Riding out the aftershocks, he slowly rolls his hips, the motion creating obscene wet noises that threaten to make him hard again.
Bruce grunts when Clark pulls off and floats to his feet. “I knew you were cheating.”
“Of course I was," Clark replies with a roll of his eyes. "How else was fucking on a chair with arms going to work?”
“Hnn." He licks his lips. "But you made such a pretty picture with your legs spread like that.”
"I know. Now get out of those cuffs so we can go home.”
Bruce presses the button inside his gauntlet and all four cuffs disengage. Standing up, he stretches and shakes blood back into his limbs. He looks over at Clark, who is once again fully dressed and pristine. “And I get stuck going home sticky,” he grouses, picking up his codpiece.
The codpiece hits the floor at the same moment Bruce’s brain registers the tingling over every inch of his cock. A glance down confirms the suspicion that he’s been licked clean at superspeed. Bruce adds that to the list of reasons why he loves Clark’s powers. Not that he'll ever admit there even is a list.