Clark was in the Batcave. He didn't remember how he got there, what he was doing before. But his eyes registered the only thing that was important in the scene.
Bruce, naked, sprawled across a couch. One that Clark remembered to be from the master bedroom.
"Come here." Bruce smirked, gesturing seductively with one hand. He shifted, and a crimson ribbon fell to the floor.
For a moment, Clark stood where he was, unable to process the situation. Then the moment was over, and he was by Bruce's side. He helped Bruce take off his shirt, then he undid his belt. Bruce's hands were crawling across his back, exploring sensitive flesh. He pressed soft kisses onto Clark's chest. He looked up, his eyes mischievous, and he asked, "Want me?"
Clark lowered himself to kiss those tempting lips. He tasted nothing, but the soft texture of Bruce's lips was enough to fulfill his wishes. "More than you know," he whispered earnestly.
"Then you're going to enjoy this."
Bruce kneeled to the ground before Clark could ask. He unzipped Clark's trousers and pulled out his erection. His fingers ran up the shaft, applying pressure experimentally. The movement was followed by his tongue. Warm tingling sensations drew up across the long span of flesh. Clark immediately wanted more.
"Easy, boy." Bruce licked all the way up to the tip, and gave it a little extra attention. The practiced twirling and pressing that Bruce did with his tongue was sweet torture. Wetness pooled around the tip, dripping along its length. Bruce licked it up appreciatively in tantalizing slow motion. Then he wrapped his mouth around Clark's cock, and Clark moaned at the warmth that engulfed him.
"Rao." He muttered as Bruce sucked his cock with increased fervor. His head bobbed up and down with every movement. His hand was taking care of the length that his mouth could not reach. Bruce stroke the shaft in conjunction, following the rhythm that he was setting up.
Clark's hand gripped short dark hair and pulled. He thrust his cock deeper, savoring the constriction at the back of Bruce's throat. To his surprise, Bruce didn't gag at the length. He accepted the challenge with stubborn determination like he did with everything else. That characteristic acceptance was hotter and more endearing that Clark initially thought. He thrusted into wet warmth and muttered a string of profanities. Bruce's hand was still pumping him, now less rhythmically and more chaotically. He tried to keep up with the urgency that Clark demanded.
"Bruce, oh God. This feels so good, fuck." Clark thrust his hips forward and imagined all the things he could do to Bruce afterwards. All the loving he could give to the man, all the promises that he would tell, and would fulfill. All the things that he had wanted to do, but never got around to. Because for all the years he had fallen in love with the man without knowing, he had never had the courage to admit it…
"Bruce…"
Clark woke with a cold wetness to his pants. Self-consciously he turned. In the faint moonlight he squinted and saw a sitting silhouette.
"You're awake." Clark uttered in surprise.
"I am calibrating my voltage intake."
Clark's cheeks flushed in awkward remembrance. He had been calling out for Bruce, repeatedly, for God knows how long. He wondered if he had made other noises. "Did I… say anything?" He asked tentatively, eyeing Brucie for a change of expression.
"No." Brucie turned to him, his face as telling as stone. "You made a series of noises. If you deem such noises a language not installed, you have to upload a language pack for recognition."
Kryptonian. He called out in his dreams in Kryptonian. Clark had never been so relieved that it was Lucius, not Bruce, who invented the robot. "They were what you thought they were, just noises. I can be vocal in my sleep but they don't mean anything." Clark explained in overwhelming embarrassment. He watched Brucie turn away with disinterest. He breathed a sigh. "I'm feeling restless. I'm gonna grab a book and read a bit in the living room. Get some rest, Bruc- Brucie."
Clark sat down with a book he was going to ignore, and unplugged his phone from the charger. He scrolled down the contact list and arrived at the one with no name.
"Hey." He sent. He sat there in the dark, waiting for his phone to vibrate with an answer, but it didn't come. Maybe Bruce was sleeping. He read the three-lettered message again, and felt stupid. Maybe he didn't phrase it right. Bruce wouldn't reply "What's up?" like Dick.
"Are you up?" He sent another message, and watched the screen hopefully. There was a brief pause, then his phone vibrated. He plucked it up from the arm of his couch immediately and flicked back onto the message screen.
"On patrol."
Right, so he was texting Batman. No wonder Bruce sounded so curt. "Alone?" He typed, "I could come help." He quickly removed "help", anticipating Batman's snarky "I don't need your help". Or, if Bruce was in a bad mood, he might get a "shove it up your intrusive ass". If Superman wasn't going to help, "I could come watch" sounded way worse. Out of context, it almost sounded voyeuristic. He backspaced until it was just the first phrase.
"With Robin."
Oh. Clark would jump onto commenting on the weather by now, if that would melt a bit of the coldness from Bruce. "I dreamed about you", "I had a wet dream about you sucking my cock", or "I want to fuck you now but all I have in my bed is your trademarked sex toy" were about the best phrased invitations for a Kryptonite-filled breakfast. He thought about Brucie. The warm, visual temptation that was drawing all these funny feelings out of him just by sitting in his bed. The constant reminder of what he couldn't have.
He wanted to see Bruce.
"I miss you." He typed, in the boldest possible words he could ever think of using with Bruce. But he hesitated over the send button. He didn't know whether he could accept Bruce ignoring this message like the first one. Bruce wouldn't be so forgiving as Batman. He certainly wouldn't be entertaining what appeared to be a weak attempt at small talk.
Bruce resolved his dilemma for him, for Clark's phone vibrated a second time.
"Target on the move. Later."
Clark's finger traced the words slowly. Then he sighed in disappointment. Staring at the words he failed to send, he pressed backspace almost ten more times than he needed to. He plugged the charger back into his phone and sank back down into the couch, feeling a weight heavy on his chest. The untouched book on his side now seemed like a welcome distraction.
