Sex with Brucie was, as Brucie suggested, a relief for sexual frustration. Miraculously, it worked. They never talked about it outside of the bedroom, but it wasn't as unbearable as Clark anticipated. After their first bout of fiery passion, sex melted into a part of daily life. A part that was as common as the dinner Brucie laid out or the household chores he did.

Sex was just a mindless physical exchange between two emotionally detached beings.

Clark texted Bruce less frequently. Superman's exchanges with Batman got colder, more professional. If other League members noticed, they owed it to their fairly public fallout a week ago. J'onn didn't point out otherwise.

Bruce visited the Daily Planet on Monday morning. He fixed his attention determinedly on the ladies that sent him flirtatious glances. One nonchalant greeting was spared for Perry. Another cheerier one for Lois when Clark visited the print room. It was chance that they passed each other by in the corridor upon Clark's return. Clark caught the glance that Bruce sent him, so quick that he almost missed it.

It was the most dejected glance he had ever gotten from Bruce.

Clark's mornings fell into a usual sequence of events. It involved at least sex, breakfast, and a skim of the local newspaper. Brucie always woke at 5:30 a.m., Clark at 6:00 a.m.. They'd snuggle, share a few whispers of morning greetings. Then they'd prop themselves up against the headboard. Sunlight would light the room as Clark wrapped his arm around Brucie's shoulder. Things progressed quickly after that.

Clark caressed the unmarked porcelain skin under his palm and sighed. Bruce's skin would look nothing like it, he was sure. It would still be pale, but an unhealthy sun-starved shade. That stark whiteness would speak of nights spent hunting down criminals in dark alleyways. In turn, it would describe days spent stitching up wounds in his bedroom. Days spent alone, not needing anyone. Not needing Clark.

Bruce's skin would be lined with scars. Each scar would show off an accomplishment or a near-fatal mistake. Each scar would tell its own story. Clark would love touching each one, counting them, smoothing them under his finger. He would ask Bruce where each one came from. He would love to understand Bruce more through sharing such rare intimacy. But he would never have that chance.

"I know it's not the body of a warrior." Brucie whispered apologetically. His hand gripped Clark's as it trailed up his side. Clark's hand flinched at the touch, feeling no pulse at Brucie's wrist.

"It doesn't matter." Clark lied. "Your body is beautiful." He leaned down to kiss Brucie's lips. They were still warm and soft, reminiscent of a human's, and suggestive of his ideal lover's. Yet all Clark could taste was a bland, slightly bitter mixture of liquids. He swallowed his nerves and pulled away. "Thank you," he whispered into the curve of Brucie's neck. It was better than nothing.

"I enjoy it, every minute of it." Brucie smiled. It was an advantage that he could shut down his display of emotions. That his facial expression or his eyes would not betray him like a human's would. For if he couldn't, he wouldn't appear so unaffected.

"I'm glad." Clark said, stretching a smile across his face.

These morning sessions were never rushed. They were broken down into short segments of dialogues and soft lingering touches. Clark always had plenty of time to think about the body he wished he was caressing, but never could. He would spend endless amounts of time comparing, even though he told himself not to. He tried not to think about how unfair it was to Brucie. He tried not to wonder what the robot was thinking, as they each wandered off into their own fantasies.

Clark caught Brucie's wrists and pinned them onto the pillow. He always aimed his hands an inch lower, avoiding the sensation of a missing throb. He tuned down his super hearing, eager to dismiss the low humming of Brucie's internal parts. A sound that he found least arousing.

If only someone could appreciate the same sounds that he tried so hard to dismiss. Clark thought, feeling guilty. If only someone could accept the overly smooth texture of Brucie's silicone skin. Or the warm pulseless wrist that he was holding. It wouldn't be him, but if only one of them could find true happiness, something beyond mindless sex born out of an unreturned, unrequited love. It would do both of them so much good.

Brucie made a habit of watching him intently during sex. Clark found it unnerving at first, but less of concern over time. Brucie liked observing how Clark's thumb brushed past his nipple. How Clark would lean down and press soft kisses on his sensors. How Clark would teasingly twirl his tongue around the pink tip, drawing out a tortured moan. Only halfway into sex would Clark forget. Only then would Clark treat Brucie as if he was not just an expertly designed composite.

Brucie liked watching how Clark would sometimes jack himself to full erection. He would pump a few drops of precum onto Brucie's flat stomach and rub the wetness over the tip. Clark was seldom fully erect without external stimulation, and Brucie knew why. He didn't mind.

In particular, Brucie liked watching Clark part his legs. When Clark rubbed precum as lubrication onto the robot's tight hole. Brucie's body produced ample amounts of lubrication, but Clark would still be careful. He no longer brought along another huge tube of lube like he did the first time, but he did prepare Brucie. At least long enough to urge the wetness out of his ass.

If Brucie had to rank his favorite scenes, there was nothing that could top the sight of Clark entering him. Clark would anchor himself against the headboard with an outstretched arm. With that he would pump rhythmically into the robotic body beneath him. Clark's thrusts would always go from gentle to rough, from controlled to chaotic. That was the moment that Brucie savored most. Clark's expression as he shut his eyes and thrusted his hips against a deceivingly warm body. The soft, broken curses that escaped Clark's lips as he escalated in speed. As his movements grew desperate and wanton. As both of them rocked against each other in reach for completion.

"Bruce," Clark would whisper, his eyes shut and his lips quivering as he emptied his load. He thrusted up against Brucie, pumping out every last drop of cum with the aid of hot, gripping friction.

"Brucie" was what Brucie heard, and it was what he would always hear.