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Zatanna blows out a breath and sits back on her heels, no longer staring at the mark on Bruce's abdomen. The swirling gold lines have spread past their origin right below his navel, and have begun to twine both toward his chest and down to his pelvis.
“Don't sugarcoat it, Zee,” Bruce tells her as she looks at him glumly.
“It's pretty much what we thought. You've been feeling weaker, right? Tired? Aching in particular ways?” She smiles wryly on that last one, and he returns it; no use in hiding anything from her.
“Taking care of it myself hasn't been successful, if that's why you were asking.”
“I figured as much. It's a classic fuck or die spell, except it's specifically designed to force the victim to choose between their virginity or their life.”
“Commonly used to break vows of chastity?”
“Sure, or anyone who might need their virginity as a bargaining chip, or a tool in their belt. My guess is that your caster was inexperienced, and dredged up the first spell of its type they could find, not realizing its specific use. Unfortunately for you, you fall in the target demographic.”
Bruce runs a hand across his face and sighs. “I...might have put myself between the enemy and a teammate. Who is unlikely to be a virgin.”
“Bruce!”
“To be fair, said teammate tends to mix poorly with magic.” It had been instinct to block Clark from harm. It was simply the most logical course of action. Even if he’d wanted to think it through further, his body had moved too quickly.
Zatanna comes to sit next to him on the couch, and pushes him down gently to relax against the cushions. He allows it, because it's her, and she leans her head against his shoulder, just like she used to do when they were kids. “I'm really sorry to say that there's nothing I can do for you in this case. I think you're really going to have to go through with it this time.”
He nods, having come to the same conclusion a day ago, when the marks started spreading. It isn't like he's opposed to having sex. He isn't even asexual, but no amount of attraction had ever been enough to win over the vulnerability and trust he felt he needed to have in order to share his body with someone else. Any physiological need he could deal with in a satisfactory manner on his own. There was also a kind of enjoyment in keeping up his reputation through nothing but lies and word of mouth. Everyone thinks they know someone who slept with Bruce Wayne, and that's enough to keep up the playboy image.
At a certain point, it was easier to just continue not fucking anybody, especially since his status was of some occasional help to Zatanna.
“I'm sorry I won't be of use anymore.”
She gives him an incredulous look. “You’re sorry? Bruce, you're the one who has to go get down and dirty with someone. There are plenty of virgins lying around that I could ask. Honestly, I just come to you as an excuse to see you, most of the time.”
“So you don't need me for my body.”
“No, I stick around for the sparkling personality,” she laughs. “Do you have someone in mind to help you deal with this? If not, I know that J-”
“I am not losing my virginity to John Constantine,” Bruce says firmly, and she puts up her hands in surrender.
“Fair enough, I told him that's what you would say.”
“Before I go rope someone into this mess, what are the parameters? Do I need to fuck somebody? Does somebody need to fuck me?”
“Actually, the conditions are fairly broad. You need to penetrate somebody and be penetrated by somebody, but what goes where is up to you, as long as you reach an orgasm under each condition. So if sticking your hand in someone's mouth gets you off, that'd be half the battle.”
Huh, it's more lenient than he expected. “That's easier than I thought. It should be feasible.”
“But you'd better get a move on. My guess is you've got five days left at most, and each day you're going to become weaker and more desperate. If I don't hear from you in three days, I'm coming back to check on you and jamming my fingers down your throat myself. If you're okay with it.”
“I won't let it come to that, but I appreciate the willingness to help.”
“For you, always.” She hops off the couch and pats the wrinkles out of her outfit; the familiarity of the motion gives Bruce a rush of fondness. “And if you do get horizontal but the marks don't disappear, call me immediately. It shouldn't be likely, but I don't want to take any chances.”
“I promise I will. You're sure you don't want to stay for dinner? Alfred is making the lemon chicken you like.”
“Sorry, I've got a job to get to in another dimension. But as long as the invitation stands, I'll be around again.”
“Of course.”
He walks her to the door, and she pulls him into a hug goodbye.
“Try to find someone who'll make it a nice experience, okay? This isn't the time to punish yourself. Having sex doesn't have to be a big deal, but neither should you use it as a way to castigate yourself for anything,” Zatanna says after letting him go.
“Fine,” he agrees as she stares into his eyes, waiting for an answer. “I'll even give you the mission report if you're so concerned.”
“You would write one up, wouldn't you?” Shaking her head, she laughs, before teleporting out of sight.
The League asks Bruce about it the next day, of course. They all saw him get hit with the spell, but none of them, besides Diana, have any inkling what its side effects might be. He manages to get away with telling them that his magic consultant told him how to resolve the problem, and they move onto other business.
After the debrief, everyone breaks to go their separate ways until the next major crisis or monthly meeting. Bruce bids them each farewell, but Clark lingers in the doorway, a question on his face.
“Clark. How can I help you?” Bruce asks, striding over. There’s a spot of grease on his arm from working on the batmobile before everyone else arrived, and he rubs at it with a rag as he waits for Clark to speak. He’ll have to scrub it later.
“You missed a spot,” Clark says. He reaches out and for a moment Bruce thinks he’s going to try and wipe the grease away himself but he just points to a splotch on Bruce’s collar.
The near contact causes sparks in Bruce’s stomach regardless, and he ignores them. Wretched curse.
“Good thing this is an old shirt. You should stop wearing your good boots when you help me lift or they’ll get stained too.”
“And walk around barefoot instead? What if I step on a rusty nail? I could sue you for unsafe workplace conditions.”
Bruce rolls his eyes, trying not to dwell on the amused twinkle in Clark’s eye. He’s always so boyishly charming. It would be nigh infuriating from anyone else, but Clark’s natural affability is utterly disarming. “How would tetanus even enter your body?”
“Theoretically, if I ate the rusty nail-”
“I think your digestive system would win.” Bruce tosses the rag onto a chair, and gestures back into the cave. “If you want to talk, come back in. Is there something you wanted to discuss without the rest of the league around?”
In recent memory, they’ve spent more days like that: sitting around and talking, just the two of them, about serious and frivolous matters alike as they multitask. Often they work on their own projects, but Clark has been known to help Bruce with his exercises or ask for his input on the daily crossword. Bruce is afraid he’s begun to cherish these moments too much. It isn’t that he doesn’t enjoy the company of the other Leaguers as well, but there’s a subtle kind of serenity he derives from his time spent solely with Clark. A contentment that he covets, craves, like a cat seeking out the sunlight.
It’s too dangerous to continue, but too enticing to stop. Bruce’s weak willpower and the excuse of building camaraderie are winning for now, but for his own sanity he knows it can’t last forever. It feels like his affections have already grown too obvious.
“It isn’t a secret. Just more of a priv-” Clark cuts himself off when he notices that Diana is waiting for Bruce. She twiddles her fingers in their direction, and he nods back. “Sorry, I didn’t know you and Diana had plans.”
“They aren’t plans so much as a debrief. We can speak afterwards?”
Clark looks at Bruce for a moment, as if searching his face for an answer, and then gives him a half-smile. A distance has stretched between them, but Bruce is at a loss for how to close it. He doesn’t think he’ll ever have the right to do so on his own terms. “That’s alright. I’ll follow up with you next time.”
“If you’re sure.”
Clark refuses once more, telling Bruce that the matter can wait, and heads out alone. With that settled, Bruce meets Diana upstairs for a cup of coffee, figuring they might want to have this conversation somewhere a little more civilized.
“Is it what we suspected?” Diana asks, resting her hand near his in a show of comfort. Her steady, grounding presence is always appreciated.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Ah. Well, if need be, Bruce, I am happy to assist you.”
He hadn't expected her to offer, and it stuns him into momentary silence. Diana is strikingly, startlingly beautiful, and although he’s never felt any particular lust for her, it wouldn’t be any hardship to have her help him through this. “That...is very kind of you, Diana.”
“However,” she says, smiling at him, “perhaps there's someone better suited to the job than I am?”
He stiffens under her gaze, his mouth drawing flat, but there’s not really any point in denying her implication besides his own embarrassment. She, of all people, is well aware of his secret.
“That would be an obvious mistake.”
His feelings for Clark are something that he’s learned to live with, but he’s not stupid enough to stoke the flames any further on purpose. Being near Clark with as much frequency as he is already proves to be temptation enough; entangling him in this mess would be tantamount to self-destruction.
“Would it? You’re no fool, Bruce, you must have noticed the way he looks at you.” Her dark eyes look through him, knowing that he can’t deny it. Sometimes he does see Clark watching him with undisguised interest after he takes down an enemy or he rolls back out from under the Batmobile, covered in grease. There’s a heat in his eyes when he sees Bruce strip off pieces of the batsuit or work the room, his hair and tie askew.
Bruce can acknowledge that Clark feels some measure of attraction to him, and would possibly be soft-hearted enough to offer to help Bruce out of his predicament.
But Bruce is too old and tired to subject himself to a one-off fling with someone who he already feels too strongly about. Zee had expressly asked him not to use this situation as a way to harm himself, and he knows without a doubt that it would hurt to know how Clark’s body fits against his own with the understanding that he would never experience it again. Even a heart as scarred as his would suffer.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t it?” Diana’s tone is pointed, but not unkind. “I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t agree. It isn’t just attraction.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Then prove me wrong. Ask him. Watch the way he gladly offers to help.”
“Are you holding your offer hostage if I don’t?”
“Of course not. In fact, we can get started right now, if you’d like. But you aren’t ready to accept yet, which is fine. Come see me tomorrow if you haven’t chosen anyone else.”
She stands before Bruce can psych himself into accepting sheerly to be contrary, leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek.
“For once, Bruce, give yourself a chance.”
Diana smiles, a bit tender, a bit exasperated, and then takes her leave. After her departure, Bruce stares at her empty cup, trying to will himself into seeing her point of view, but the vision never comes.
Bruce can’t bring himself to mention it to anyone else.
Old friends, people he would trust this with, are few and far between. In another life, he might have gone to Harvey. Called Zatanna again and taken her up on her offer. None of the other members of the League would make this any less awkward. As it stands, Diana is his current best option.
A day later, the symptoms have worsened, and he wakes sweating, his breath coming quick and labored. His whole body burns, aching for the touch of another body, the relief of someone else’s hands on his skin. It’s hard to think straight, not when his mind is clouded with need. He takes a shower in hopes that it will help, but the relief doesn’t last for long. Alfred gives him a pointed look when he sees Bruce languishing in the kitchen, and asks when Diana will arrive, but Bruce continues to hold out.
It takes a great amount of energy to drag himself down to the cave, and after half an hour of wasted effort unable to keep his mind on anything he’s reading, he finally gives in. He calls Diana.
He’s lying on a cot in the cave absently looking at the ceiling and trying to mentally catalog which of his rogues have been too quiet for too long when somebody enters the cave from the outside entrance. Diana must be here.
“I know I called you here but-” Bruce starts to say until he realizes his visitor is in fact not Diana.
“So, I finally got to that croissant place before they sold out and I thought you might want to try the pistachio-”
Clark stops short when he sees Bruce sitting mutely on the cot in the middle of the cave.
Bruce knows he looks like a mess. His skin feels hot and flushed, and his hair is mussed up because he kept pushing it away from his sweaty forehead. He has no shirt on because he thought the cool air of the cave would help give some relief, but it just left his nipples painfully hard. The gold swirls on his skin have wandered up his ribs and under the waistband of his pants. Clark’s eyes dart all around his body as if he doesn’t know what to concentrate on, but a frown starts to develop.
“Clark,” Bruce finally says after clearing his dry throat. He needs water. He needs something else entirely. He needs Clark to be anywhere but here right now. “Let me put on a shirt.”
“No, wait.” Clark sets his bag of pastry aside on a table before dragging a chair right next to Bruce’s cot so he can better examine him. He’s too close and it’s making Bruce’s head feel faint. Zee was right. It’s getting worse by the day.
The furrow in Clark’s brow deepens as he bends down to look closer at the spell painted on Bruce’s skin. “This is the spell that got you, isn’t it? I thought you took care of it.”
“I’m in the process. It’s being dealt with.” Why is his voice so hoarse?
“Is it really, or are you saying that to get rid of me?”
“A mix of both,” says Diana as she walks in. Bruce is irrationally annoyed she didn’t arrive two minutes earlier and spare him this unnecessary encounter with Clark.
“What is this sigil?” Clark asks, reaching out but catching himself before his hand brushes against Bruce’s bare skin. Bruce still has to suppress a shiver at the close call. His hands clench in the fabric of the cot and he has to compel himself to release his grip.
“The mark of a sex curse,” Diana says frankly, and the news causes Clark to visibly startle.
“…this is what you were hit with?” he asks, scanning Bruce clinically with his x-ray vision, despite knowing that Bruce never approves.
“So it seems.”
“Magic,” Clark says derisively, his expression turning sour.
“Magic,” Bruce agrees.
Clark finishes staring at Bruce’s abdomen, choosing to meet his eyes instead. “Okay, so what do we have to do?”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Bruce tells him, and Clark’s expression grows more severe.
“I find that hard to believe. You’ve been shiftier than usual, and your symptoms have apparently worsened. If you could handle this on your own, it would already be dealt with.”
“You’re right, which is why I’ve found someone to assist me.”
Diana says, “I have offered to take Bruce’s virginity,” and the metal arm of Clark’s chair bends like putty into the shape of his fingers as he gapes at her. Bruce muses absentmindedly that the chair likely isn’t worth trying to fix.
“I- sorry, let me digest this. You’re a virgin,” Clark says, pinching the bridge of his nose. He takes a long breath that Bruce doesn’t know how to interpret. “And in order to break this curse, that’s something that needs to no longer hold true.”
“Yes. My magic expert confirmed that there’s no other way out.”
“And if you continue to ignore it?”
“I die.”
“So, yet again, you put yourself in danger without knowing the consequences, and now you could die? This is why I keep telling you not to take hits for me, Bruce-”
“Arguably this is better than any of the previous injuries-”
Clark throws his hands up. “That isn’t particularly reassuring! If you hadn’t intercepted the spell, we wouldn’t have an issue on hand, because the curse wouldn’t have affected me!”
The frustration in his voice is evident, but Bruce doesn’t have the bandwidth to address it or even think about it at the moment. “I’m not going to apologize for making a strategically sound decision. Besides, this problem is only temporary, and Diana was kind enough to offer her help.”
Clark’s eyes flash, a clear sign he isn’t done with this argument but he eventually nods, looking unsettled. “Of course. You and Diana- that makes sense. It’s, um. A good choice.”
“But,” Diana breaks in, “I made this offer as Bruce’s ally. As his friend, I would like to propose a different solution.”
“Diana,” Bruce says sharply, but she ignores him, openly addressing Clark. She was just watching their back-and-forth with a stoic expression, but Bruce can see a devious light in her eyes now.
“While I care about Bruce enough to undertake this task and hope to make it an enjoyable experience, I would be doing so as someone who wishes to help her friend. Perhaps you know somebody who would be a better candidate.”
Clark glances up at her, his head lifting, eyes widening.
“Someone who would gladly seize the opportunity to be intimate with Bruce-”
“Diana,” Bruce barks. “That’s enough.” He keeps his eyes on her face, unable to look at Clark and see the pity there. He’s worn so thin at the moment that it wouldn’t take much to fray him completely.
“Is it?” She turns toward Bruce, head tilted in curiosity. “Are you ready for us to start, then?”
She takes a step forward, and from the corner of Bruce’s eye he can see Clark flinch.
“Yes.” No. Bruce swings his legs over the side of the cot and stands, willing his heartbeat back to resting rate. This isn’t going to be a big deal. Just a silly milestone, a social construct. It isn’t like his virginity means anything to him. It’ll be like any other moment where he has to rely on a teammate. It’s practically no different from the time Arthur gave him field surgery under his supervision. It’s fine.
Clark shifts in his chair, looking uncomfortable. It is awkward to know that two of your friends are about to engage in intercourse, but he’s too polite to extricate himself. Bruce should give him an easy way out.
“Thanks for the croissant. I’ll repay you with baklava next time.”
Bruce has barely enough time to register Clark’s weak attempt at a smile before Diana is in his space, almost close enough to kiss. At least that’s something he has experience with. He can’t decide if kissing Diana would make the experience more or less strange. She would surely be a good kisser, and a good lover too. This is the best solution. It has to be.
“Bruce,” Diana says softly, her hand resting on his arm. He can’t tell if he wants to lean into her touch or shake her off. “Are you certain this is what you want?”
No, but it isn’t like he has any choice. Nor can he tell her this when she’s been kind enough to help. “Yes. Let’s get it done.”
Her gaze flits away from his for a nanosecond, and then her posture straightens. “Okay. To your bedroom, then.”
Right. That would be the obvious place to take this. He nods curtly and moves to lead them to the elevator, but a sudden restraint around his arm pulls him short.
“Wait.”
It’s Clark’s hand, looped around his wrist. The skin contact makes his heart jump in his chest. This is too much. He’ll burn alive.
Clark doesn’t stop Bruce from tugging himself free, away from his light, his heat, but he does stand, leaving him also too close. Bruce feels trapped, flanked by both Diana and Clark. Sensing his discomfort, Diana takes a step back, but Clark remains where he is.
“Bruce, can you look at me?” he asks, so gently that it breaks Bruce’s heart.
The only reason Bruce turns is because he still has a hard time saying no to Clark. An indulgence he’ll take with him to the grave. Bruce doesn’t know what expression he expects to see, but the determined light in Clark’s eyes isn’t it.
“Is it too late to offer my help?”
The words stick like honey in Bruce’s throat. What is he supposed to say to this? How is he supposed to respond when Clark is looking at him like that? Does he refuse? Can he accept? Any answer feels like too much to give.
“Diana is…”
“If you want to choose Diana, I won’t take offense. But it could be me. I want it to be me. I want you, sex curse or not. I’ve wanted for so long to- this was supposed to be more eloquent — more meaningful — but your life is on the line, and when faced with that, I know my feelings should have no bearing on the situation. But at the very least, you should know that I’m more than glad to offer my help. I would happily divest you of your virginity.”
Bruce can’t think straight. His mind is fogged, his skin hot and tingling, his emotions in erratic flux, and now, on top of all this, Clark is telling him something he’s never dared to hope would come to fruition. It can’t possibly be true.
But Clark would never lie about something like this.
“It’s hardly going to be a good time,” Bruce says, stupidly, unable to conjure up anything meaningful, neither acceptance nor denial, because both options would shatter him.
“Well, it would be my job to remedy that,” Clark says, a tentative smile curving his lips. “The point of having a more experienced partner is that they make things as best as they can be, under the circumstances.”
“It sounds like we’ve reached a consensus, then.”
Diana’s voice pulls Bruce’s attention back to her.
“Have we?” he asks blankly.
“Yes.” She steps forward and rests her hands on his shoulders. “Bruce. We both want this to be as positive an experience as possible. And I think we all know that that would be with Clark. So I’m going to politely withdraw my candidacy as a partner.”
There’s no time to protest before she gives him a brief embrace and strides away. It would be odd to chase after her, so Bruce lets her depart, and now he’s alone with Clark, his whole body yearning to get closer, as it always does.
This is going to ruin him, Bruce knows. But what other choice does he have?
Into the fire he goes.
“Okay,” he says, quietly, pretending that his emotions aren’t whirling themselves into a summer storm. “Please help me.”
Clark takes the request as permission to touch, and he takes Bruce by the hand, leading him out of the cave and back into the lake house. Clark’s skin coming into contact with his own almost makes Bruce gasp, but he suppresses the reaction, allowing Clark to tug him into his bedroom. He begins undressing to buy himself a few more seconds of time, rotely relaying what Zee told him. When he turns, now nude, he sees Clark seated on his bed, shirtless.
“Got it,” Clark says, gesturing for Bruce to come join him. It’s ridiculous to feel self-conscious when Clark has seen him in various states of undress before, but his heart speeds up anyway with Clark right next to him. Clark can surely hear it, based on the way his gaze falls to Bruce’s chest. Slowly, he reaches out, and when Bruce doesn’t move away, he rests his palm over Bruce’s heart. Bruce tries and fails not to shiver with relief at his touch, causing Clark’s eyes to darken.
“Your pulse rarely gets this elevated,” he murmurs.
“Physiological reaction to an unfamiliar situation.”
“Basic biology, you’re saying. Well, my heart is racing too. Feel it.” His other hand lifts Bruce’s hand to his throat, pressing Bruce’s fingers gently to his pulse point. Clark is so warm under Bruce’s hand, and indeed, his heartbeat is faster than its usual sedate and steady rate. It shouldn’t be as comforting to Bruce as it is. But everything about Clark is a comfort.
Now that Bruce sees him, knows him, how could he ever associate Clark with anything but safety?
“Clark, I-” He draws to a stop, unsure of what he’s even trying to say. His hand is still pressed to Clark’s throat, his own body bare and exposed and absurd under the dim lights of his room. He’s already vulnerable. When else but now will he ever have the courage to be honest with Clark?
“I didn’t want it to happen like this,” he finally confesses, because he owes Clark that much truth. “I’ve never really entertained it as a real possibility, but in my thoughts I always pretended that I knew how to craft the perfect turn of phrase to make you understand the depth of- of your significance to me.”
Such a long sentence to avoid the three words he actually wants to say.
Clark, in his infinite patience, only nods. He takes Bruce’s hand from his neck, holding it in his own carefully, delicately. It would feel almost chaste if Bruce weren’t stark naked.
“When you thought about it before, did we kiss? Because that’s how my daydream starts.”
For once, Bruce doesn’t feel the instinct to flee when Clark leans in. When their lips meet another surge of need pulses through Bruce, and he gasps. It gives Clark the chance to deepen the kiss, stealing all remaining reason from Bruce’s mind.
Clark, Clark, Clark, is all he can think as he’s tipped gently down into the bed, his hands gripping Clark’s shoulders. All the sensory input is too much for his over-sensitized body; every inch of his skin marked by the spell sparks with heat as he drowns in Clark’s presence. He feels stupid and light-headed when he breaks the kiss for air, and Clark looks down at him with such open wonder that it makes his heart beat even faster.
“Was that okay? Not too much?” Clark asks, dispelling Bruce’s haze.
“I’ve kissed people before. I’ve been caught on camera doing so a thousand times,” he says, and Clark laughs at his indignation.
“Right. I’ve seen the pictures. I never would have guessed that- I mean, your reputation as a playboy precedes you.”
“It seemed like a good cover story when I was young. It was surprisingly simple to establish despite it being a complete falsehood. Inertia made it possible to maintain, but I’m not so young anymore.”
“Still beautiful, though,” Clark says, smiling when Bruce puts his hands over his face in embarrassment.
“Clark.”
“What?”
“There’s no need for lines like that once you’ve already gotten me in bed.”
“I thoroughly disagree. I need you to understand that this isn’t just a responsibility to me. Can I show you? Will you let me?”
Bruce uncovers his face to look at Clark, this literal gift from the stars. The sunshine of his life. He would refuse if he thought it in Clark’s best interests, but if he lets himself die for this reason, he imagines the league will be unfathomably irritated with him.
“What if I want too much?” The question itself already gives him away.
Clark is so painfully tender as he draws Bruce’s hand to his face, wrist to cheek, Bruce’s pulse a tremulous, restless, yearning thing under his touch. There's no truth more obvious than Bruce's own heart.
“That’s an impossibility.”
“Is it? My feelings for you are- they’re more than superficial. I would do anything for you.”
“Then let me take care of you,” Clark says softly, his palm curving around Bruce’s hipbone. His fingers splay wide, his grip steady and possessing. “That’s all I want.”
Even in the face of his instinct to self-sabotage, Bruce can only find himself agreeing. “Okay. Show me.”
The joy that lights Clark's face is enough to leave Bruce dazzled. Clark gives him another brief kiss on the lips before his mouth begins traveling lower, down the line of Bruce's jaw to his throat. Bruce tries not to shiver too much under each feathery kiss, but curse has left him so responsive to even the barest touch. Every one of Clark's kisses is like a brand on his skin, heating him all the way through. A hiss of breath escapes when Clark teases at one nipple with his teeth, and his cock reacts with much vigor as Clark continues to amuse himself with Bruce's chest.
“What are you doing,” Bruce grumbles as Clark pinches and rolls his pert nipples with his fingers until Bruce's cock is throbbing. He feels ridiculous, but Clark looks very pleased with himself.
“Next time, I'm going to see if your chest is still this sensitive.”
“Next time,” Bruce gasps in a query as Clark grasps him by the hips and moves to kneel between his parted thighs. He can feel Clark's hands searing into him, the sensation so right. Distantly, he hopes Clark is holding him hard enough to bruise, though he can tell the grip is likely too gentle.
“Of course. We're on a tight schedule here, so I really can't make this as good as it should be. But afterwards, we'll have all the time in the world to enjoy ourselves. I'll take you apart until I figure out exactly what you like best.”
“Awfully cocky for someone who hasn't cured me yet.”
“Perhaps,” Clark says, smirking when Bruce's hips buck upwards at the first contact of his hand around Bruce's cock. It's a little embarrassing, especially since it isn't like he's never handled his own dick before. But Clark's touch is so much better than his own, his hand so warm around Bruce's length. Clark experiments with his grip and his speed, clearly taking note of what causes Bruce to rut into his palm faster. Bruce supposes he isn't surprised that he likes it most when Clark is more firm with him. At the moment, he doesn't really want to read too much into why Clark's strength gets him so excited. He can worry about his weird sexual hangups about Superman later. But before Bruce can really find any rhythm, Clark releases him, and shifts backwards.
“Hm?” Bruce blinks at him, too lost in the last several minutes of pleasure to understand why he stopped.
“As much as I'd like to get you off with your first handjob, we have some things on our checklist to get to first.” Clark looks sly as he rests his hands on Bruce's hipbones, holding him down without much effort.
Before Bruce can think to inquire for more details, the tip of his cock is sliding into the wet heat of Clark’s mouth, and then there are really no thoughts in Bruce’s mind at all. By instinct, he tries to thrust upward, but Clark easily suppresses him, keeping him in place as he continues sinking down.
“Jesus fucking- Clark, wait-”
Clark does not wait, evil as he is, and instead takes Bruce all the way to the base, and Bruce has never felt anything so perfect as that slick velvet warmth, and he thinks he might be babbling pure nonsense in response. And then, in his delirium, when he meets Clark’s gaze, the brat has the gall to wink at him and swallow around the tip of his dick, and Bruce arches half-off the bed despite Clark still holding him in place. Is sex with another person supposed to be so torturous? Or is this how Clark is finally getting his revenge?
Not content with knowing he’s driving a tired old man to the brink of his sanity, Clark begins to bob up and down, keeping his own merry pace even as Bruce curses him for it. Motherfucking insolent little— Bruce is going to kick him off the team if he doesn’t start moving faster. He tells Clark as much.
Clark just laughs even with his stupid pretty mouth still wrapped around Bruce’s dick, and the vibration makes Bruce jolt. Pleased with his ability to play Bruce like the world’s most tightly strung violin, Clark finally starts moving faster, while his hand toys with his balls. Meanwhile, that tongue is doing something that has Bruce’s eyes rolling back in pleasure. He'll need to ask Clark to teach him when he gathers up the remaining pieces of his mind later, but right now—
It’s all too much. Bruce thinks he might die, and the intensifying glow of the gold painted across his skin seems to agree. His legs clamp tight around Clark, whose invulnerability is the only reason Bruce isn’t worried about crushing him between his thighs. This is why he can never sleep with a normal person. It would end in tears.
Currently, Bruce is the one who’s on the verge of some kind of breakdown because after a few minutes he’s so close, but Clark’s damnable pace just won’t push him over.
“Clark- please, I need to- god, Kal- let me come-”
Clark hums in response, but the hot suction of his mouth seems to tighten when he hears his Kryptonian name. Bruce, always one to capitalize on a weakness when he finds it, changes tack to begging Kal for mercy instead, and Clark’s grip around his hips tightens at the same time his mouth does. At the thought of seeing the bruises of Clark’s desire printed into his skin like a brand, Bruce’s orgasm hits him like he’s just been kicked off a building. There’s no time to save himself; it’s just the drop and the impact.
He didn’t realize how tense his whole body was until it relaxes, his legs unclenching from around Clark and his fingers releasing their death grip on his sheets as he takes in the sight of his ceiling in a blissed out daze. Holy shit.
When Bruce finally gathers his wits and looks down, he sees Clark swiping a thumb at the corner of his mouth, looking smug. Belatedly, he realizes that Clark must have swallowed down his load without missing a beat. He’s staring at Bruce from behind his glasses with an unfamiliar, ravenous expression. Bruce’s heart hiccups in some mix of fear and anticipation.
Jesus Christ. There’s no way he’s going to survive this.
“There we go. That’s half the battle,” Clark says, sounding self-satisfied. He strokes down the glittering marks on Bruce’s abdomen, his hand following the path down to the crease of Bruce’s thigh. “Once you’ve recovered, we’ll move on to step two.”
“I’m not going to recover. I’m dead either way. Just kill me now,” Bruce groans, curling up onto his side to protect himself from Clark’s wandering hands. Any skin on skin contact makes him feel drunk with need, Clark’s fingertips drawing hidden lines across his body like he's some kind of obscene cartographer.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Clark says, spooning Bruce from behind when he refuses to leave his shrimp-like position. His hands find their way to Bruce’s chest, squeezing and fondling him again until his nipples are hard and a burning swoop of arousal courses through him again. But his dick isn’t quite up for the task yet, which means Clark gets to continue caressing Bruce. He seems to enjoy mapping every scar, and takes particular interest in the handprint bruises that have begun to flower on Bruce’s skin. It looks like Bruce isn't the only one who likes that Clark has marked him up.
“Not on purpose, but I can’t see any way of getting through this night without you thoroughly ruining me by the end.”
“Oh, well, that might be true,” Clark admits. He shifts, and for the first time, Bruce can feel the bulge in Clark’s slacks pressed up against him. The physical reminder that Clark wants him in return is like a jolt of adrenaline back to his drifting system, and he half-turns to try to reciprocate. It's hardly fair that Clark is still partially clothed, and Bruce hasn't yet gotten his hands on him.
“Let me return the favor,” he demands, reaching back toward the Clark’s pants, but Clark blocks him.
“Not yet. Not until I know you’re safe.”
“That isn’t usually how sex goes.”
“It can be,” Clark says with a shrug. “I don’t mind.”
“But I do,” Bruce says. Clark cannot possibly defeat him in a battle of stubborn will.
“Okay, I promise I’ll let you get me off after we’ve solved your curse issue. The mission comes first.” He gives Bruce a crooked grin when Bruce scowls at his logic.
“Fine. Don't try to wriggle out of it.”
“Bruce, there's no world in which I want to avoid letting you touch me when you're ready and willing, but we have more important things to deal with first. Now, can you please unfold yourself so I can see you?”
Bruce, unfortunately, can't as easily resist Clark's requests when they're not in the field, so he reluctantly lets Clark spread him across the mattress again, stomach-down. Clark is far too happy to explore Bruce’s back with his hands and lips, wandering his way down to the small of his back.
“There's lubricant in the drawer over there,” Bruce says, in hopes that it'll get Clark moving. The all-encompassing need has lessened after his first orgasm, but he's starting to ache again, the heat building with each mark Clark leaves on his skin. He assumes the intensity of the situation is due to the curse, because he has no idea how people can handle fucking so often if it always feels like this.
Clark does take the hint, but not before leaving several bruising kisses on Bruce's tender inner thighs.
“This might feel strange, at first,” Clark warns as he warms up the lube in his hands.
“It's not completely unfamiliar to me. But it's been a while. I don't usually go to such lengths when I masturbate.”
“No? Not even when you think about me?”
He eases one finger into Bruce as he asks this, a smirk curled around his words, and Bruce can't help but laugh. Menace. “I plead the fifth.”
Clark tries for another few minutes to wheedle Bruce’s secrets out as he slowly opens him up. Bruce evades with ease at first, but his breathing becomes more labored as Clark stretches him further, until he’s panting faintly while three fingers work in and out of him.
“How are you feeling? Can you handle a second orgasm yet?”
“Getting there.” His cock is slowly starting to fill again, and the steady pace of Clark fucking him open on his hand is helping, even without direct stimulation to his dick.
Clark suddenly brushing against his prostate causes Bruce to buck forward, the jolt of unexpected pleasure nudging Bruce’s cock into getting with the program.
“Is this okay? We can keep it slow if-”
“No, do it again. Like you said, we’re on a time limit here, and I’m ready for it.”
Clark does as he’s told, and the sparks light Bruce from the inside. God, he can only imagine what it would be like to have Clark’s cock inside him instead, his weight holding Bruce down from above as he fucks in slow and deep.
“Faster, Clark.”
“Alright, steady now.”
A hand comes to hold Bruce at the waist as Clark’s pace increases, his hand now thrusting into Bruce at a pace that has Bruce’s cock at full attention. He’s pretty clearly aiming for that sweet spot every time he slots his fingers back in, and Bruce wonders hazily if he’s using x-ray vision to cheat, or if he’s just that skilled.
“Why are you so good at this,” he asks, arching his back and lifting his hips to meet Clark. “Is it another one of your powers?”
“Maybe. Not very useful for Superman’s day to day life.”
“I would hope not. I- I’d hate to have to give a press conference about p-public indecency- wait, shit- Clark, don’t-”
Clark stops vibrating his fingertips when he sees Bruce writhing under his touch with tears in his eyes like the overwhelmed virgin that he is. “Sorry, wanted to give it a try. We’ll loop back to that another day.”
“Superpowered sex demon,” Bruce hisses, and Clark kisses his cheek in apology. “How am I supposed to make it to the main event if you pull stunts like that?”
“This is the main event.”
“What do you mean? You haven’t fucked me yet.” He turns his head to stare at the large bulge still tenting Clark’s pants. He assumed Clark just wanted to thoroughly prepare Bruce for his size.
Clark’s eyes seem to darken behind his frames, and he smiles, leaning down to leave a kiss against Bruce’s throat as he agrees, “As much as I’d love to, I’m not going to tonight. Next time, I’ll open you up until you’re good and sweet and ready for me, and then I’ll give you exactly what you want. But not today.” His fingers start plunging in at a faster pace, filling Bruce so well.
“Why- why not today,” Bruce moans, rocking helplessly back onto Clark's hand. He feels so right inside Bruce, but it would be even more perfect if he was stuffing Bruce with his fat cock instead. Bruce has brought himself off with toys before, but it's completely different when the unyielding pleasure is out of his hands, held solely in Clark's control. It's so much, but he wants more. He wants Clark as close as he can possibly get.
“Because I don't want to overwhelm you during your first time.”
“Is it really that much more-”
“A little bit. But the real reason is because if you let me start, I won't be able to stop. And you,” Clark says, very deliberately massaging Bruce's prostate with his thick fingers, “you're soft enough to let me have my way with you. As many times as I want. And I won't be satisfied until I've marked you completely, inside and out. Do you understand, Bruce?”
“Fuck.” Bruce is whining, making useless hitching sounds as Clark relentlessly strokes inside him. His body is surging with heat, his cock hard and leaking against the sheets; he can't decide if wants Clark deeper inside or if he wants to escape his touch completely, so that he doesn't break to pieces. He tries to hold his ground, pushing back against Clark's hand to prove he can handle it. “I can take it-”
“Maybe once or twice, sure. But that won't be enough for me. When I told you I wanted you, I don't think you realized the extent to which I meant it. I'm not letting you go until I’ve fucked you twice against every surface of this room. The downside of you being a minimalist.” Clark smiles at the almost anguished sound that image wrenches out of Bruce.
Clark pinning Bruce down to the bed and claiming him again and again until there's no doubt who he belongs to. Strong enough to take Bruce up against the windows without letting him touch the floor, sweet enough that he would hold Bruce close while fucking him nigh into unconsciousness.
“Every surface of the cave, too. Bend you right over the hood of your precious car, make you ride me while you’re sitting at your computer…”
With Clark laying out so matter-of-factly everything he wants to do to Bruce, combined with that constant pressure thumping up against his prostate, it only takes Bruce several jerks of his aching cock before he’s coming all over his hand and sheets. This orgasm is less of a thundershock, but Bruce feels it coursing through his whole body, as if he’s been lit aflame from the inside out. Clark continues fucking him through it until he’s groaning from exhaustion. Bruce feels both a little empty and utterly satisfied when Clark pulls his fingers out; once it’s possible, he twists so he can pull Clark in by the neck.
The angle is awkward, but Bruce is able to steal a kiss from Clark’s lips before he turns to flop down on the mattress away from the spill of his own semen. “Next time, I want to see your face while we do this. Wherever it happens.”
“I can work with that,” Clark says, smiling. He comes to sit between Bruce’s legs again after cleaning his hands. “Look, it’s clearing,” he says with relief as Bruce’s gilded lines turn faint. He runs his thumb along the path of the fading swirl, until it vanishes completely.
Bruce still feels altogether too warm, and still too needy for Clark and over-responsive to his touch, but that seems to be his own personal problem, and not the fault of the magic. “That...was an experience. Thank you. For helping me through it. I'm happy that you were the one to take my virginity.”
Clark's hand on Bruce's abdomen tightens briefly before he coughs. “I’m sorry. I know it’s ridiculous to care, but to know that I was your first- Bruce, you don’t know what you do to me.”
“It can’t be half as bad as how much you affect me. Sometimes, even being in the same space as you- I wanted more than I could have.”
“Well, now you know that's the farthest thing from the truth. You can have anything you want.”
“Yeah? Are you finally going to let me touch you?”
“I did promise you could.” He clears his throat as he pulls off his pants and boxers, finally revealing his cock, which looks as impressive as Bruce expected. Bruce sits up, wrapping his hand around Clark's length when he gets the go-ahead; Clark releases a soft sigh when he begins stroking. Clark's skin feels about the same as Bruce's own, but several degrees hotter, and the shaft feels slightly more rigid than a human's. Now isn't the time for Bruce's two dozen questions. He can sate his curiosity another day. Right now, he just wants to give Clark at least a fraction of the same pleasure that Clark gave him. Bruce knows his technique isn’t very refined, but Clark’s eyes have gone slightly glassy, and the occasional moan slips out as Bruce tries to discover where he’s most sensitive.
“You’ll have to help me practice until I’ve mastered this,” Bruce says as he slows his speed back down but increases the pressure of his grip. He has a lot of catching up to do to get on Clark's level.
“Anytime.”
“And you'll have to teach me everything you like. I'm a quick learner with the right guidance.”
“We can start now, if you don’t mind- because I'd really like to fuck your thighs,” Clark says as he cants into Bruce's touch. “I’ve always wanted to- I mean, when you’re in the batsuit, it’s hard not to develop…thoughts.” The bashful hope on his face makes Bruce want to toy with him, but the thought of letting Clark rut between his thighs brings a curl of heat to Bruce's stomach, so he decides to put off his teasing until another time.
“I'm all yours,” he says, releasing Clark's dick to lean back against his pillows. Clark swallows as Bruce spreads his legs, beckoning forward.
“God, you are, aren't you? Okay, just- give me a moment.”
Despite Bruce's insistence that he has the flexibility for them to engage on the bed, Clark decides it'll be easiest to have Bruce brace himself against the large window of his bedroom.
“I think you just have a thing for exhibitionism,” Bruce counters as Clark slicks up his cock. His hands are pressed against the cold glass, his skin prickling slightly from the chill and the anticipation of Clark's body on his.
“There isn't anyone else around for at least two miles. Who could even see us?”
“You could,” Bruce says. He stares out across the water as Clark grips his waist and slides his cock between Bruce's muscled thighs; a ragged breath escapes him as Clark's heat pulses against his skin. “You could peek in on me at any time. See me getting fucked right up against the wall like this.”
Clark snorts, his hair tickling Bruce's ear when he nips at the back of Bruce's neck. His hips start moving faster, the friction of his cock pumping back and forth causing Bruce to clench his legs tighter. He can only imagine what it would be like to have Clark inside him instead, burying himself to the hilt on each thrust.
“I could, but I'd be in here with you.”
“Fair enough,” Bruce chuckles as Clark's hands flex before holding him even tighter. He’s already growing comfortable with Clark’s possessive grip.
Bruce's body, although out of danger, is in no shape to get it up again, so he just focuses on keeping his legs together and rocking back against Clark as he drives in again and again. Given Clark's body of steel, the thought occurs to Bruce that the material of the batsuit wouldn't chafe him like it would anyone else, meaning they could do this while suited up, if they really wanted to. He mentions as much to Clark, who groans, the rhythm of his hips stuttering.
“You can't say that, or I'll never be able to concentrate in the field again.”
“Sounds like you were already distracted, Superman.”
“Bruce...”
“Like you said, you could put me over the hood of the batmobile, push the cape out of the way, and just take what you want-”
Clark mutters out an semi-intelligible promise to do exactly as Bruce suggests as one of his arms wraps around Bruce's stomach and the other hand comes up to rest atop Bruce's. The tenderness with which he laces his fingers with Bruce's stand in high contrast to the now rough pace of his thrusts. A delighted laugh bubbles out of Bruce as Clark uses him as he needs, his cock rubbing Bruce almost raw until he finally comes with Bruce's name on his lips. His seed coats the glass in several long stripes, and Bruce begins conspiring to make certain that in the future Clark will be finishing inside him instead.
“Just like that. Next time, right?” he asks as Clark's breath evens out. He pats Clark's arm as the man relaxes behind him, nuzzling against his back now that he's gotten it out of his system.
“Next time. Or maybe the time after that. We can't get too ambitious all at once.”
“If you say so.”
“There's really no rush,” Clark says. He turns Bruce so that they're facing each other, his beautiful eyes bright. “We have so much time together. We’ll get to it all eventually.”
Bruce gives into temptation and cups Clark’s cheek with a hand, like he’s often wanted to do when they’re alone together as the night grows long and quiet. As expected, Clark leans into his touch, smiling so sweetly that it makes Bruce flush.
“I’ve had more than one fantasy about showering together. If you’d like to make that come true now.”
“Great idea,” Clark says, letting Bruce lead him toward the bathroom. “And afterwards, you can indulge my fantasy.”
“Which is?”
“Taking a nap together on your blocky couch after eating a lot of pasta.”
The specific domesticity of it pulls a laugh out of Bruce. That’s the other half of the equation he hasn’t yet prepared for, but with Clark, he’s ready to try it all. “Yeah, I think we can make that happen.”