Love the idea of Ilya making fun of Shane for being boring, then turning around and doing something like having a 45 minute conversation with Shane's dad about vodka.
Everyone has skeletons in their closet. Lex, though, has Superman action-figures.
If you were to ask him why he had a closet full of Superman merch…he'd probably throw you in a dungeon, or straight up have you killed.
It was an impressive collection, one that put into scope just how much merch had been created around Superman in the three years since his debut. The merchandise ranged from run of the mill action figures and plushies to novelty items like alarm clocks and table lamps. Wherever it existed, official or not, Lex had it.
He didn't bother trying to rationalize it, not wanting to spend precious brain power sorting through how tangible his obsession had become. But it wasn't an obsession, he'd tell anyone who knew about the collection it wasn't, and berate them for insinuating so. Tall, dark, and Martian wasn't his type.
Lex found that during his time in Belle Reve, he was anxious. There were several reasons why, like how his ratings were in free fall, or how he was cut off from his world-wide surveillance system, or how his plants needed watering.
In particular though, Lex found that his mind kept circling back to that alien, and the merchandise surrounding it.
What auctions was he missing? That Balenciaga jacket themed around Superman's outfit was due to debut any day now. He'd missed the release of a limited time LEGO set. At least he wouldn't have a hard time getting the Superman themed cake mix and frosting.
It was humiliating how often his thoughts circled back to that thing, but Lex couldn't help himself. The habit was compulsive at this point—anything Superman related he had to have.
He justified himself by saying that Superman went out of his way to put himself in the public domain, and that he'd see no profit from any of it. That rationalization helped a little, but not enough.
Even still, as soon as Lex was out of Belle Reve, the first thing he did was add an obscene amount of merchandise to his cart.
He arrived back at the property that had his largest collection, and made his way to the display room. It was immaculate, not a speck of dust in sight. The house keepers, whom he made sign a separate NDA regarding the merch room, had done their jobs well. Lex let out a small breath and took in the room; it'd been too long since he'd seen it.
The habit had originally started as a purge. When the first Superman action figures were released, Lex had been outraged. So, he bought the company that manufactured them and had them all destroyed before the items could hit store shelves. He wanted to oversee the destruction himself, and ended up watching truckfuls of little Supermen be dumped into a roaring incinerator.
Only, one of them skidded across the scuffed concrete floor and bumped against his foot. He'd sneered down at it, but picked it up. It was a rudimentary action figure, with no moving joints and a shoddily painted stoic expression. Lex remembered turning it in his hands, pinching the little cheap cape between his fingers, flicking it so it imitated the way Superman's cape billowed about in real life. He'd glanced up at the thousands of other action figures being dumped into the flames, the burning plastic fumes making his head hurt, and slipped the one figure he had into his pocket.
That should've been it.
Only, Superman was growing exponentially more popular, by the day, the fucking hour. Each time Lex snuffed out one merch operation, a dozen more popped up. With each one he got rid of, he added another item to his collection. A t-shirt, croc pins, some god-forsaken fidget spinners, pencils and pencil cases.
After a while, Lex conceded defeat, realizing that the machine of capitalist consumerism was a beast even he couldn't control.
But the collection kept growing, like an insidious cancer. It moved from a few trinkets on his desk, to a shelf in his room, to a section in his walk-in closet, to his entire walk-in closet. Even then, he had to renovate the space to accommodate the sheer volume of stuff he acquired. Finally, he ended up buying a warehouse on the outskirts of the city, filled with crates of collectibles, one way in, one way out. His closet became a place where only his favorite pieces of merchandise were displayed.
Lex considered creating an algorithm to sort through online stores and immediately buy any Superman related merch, but no. He'd miss the little rush of dopamine he'd get from pressing his thumb against the 'Add to Cart' and 'Proceed to Checkout' buttons.
In the center of the display room was a large, empty glass case. It stretched from floor to ceiling, and the glass was polished every day.
Lex had it all planned out. He'd put that piece of shit alien in its place, strip the infuriatingly iconic suit from its body, and have it displayed right in the center of the room.
But then everything with the rift happened.
Now, Lex just wanted things back to normal. The obsession he had with Superman still plagued him, simmered beneath his skull, behind his eyes, but he knew it wouldn't be productive to pursue it now.
To satiate himself, the time he usually spends devising nefarious plots for Superman's downfall are now devoted to catching up on merchandise he's missed.
But it takes a surprisingly short amount of time for Lex to gather everything he'd missed. Three weeks. The Balenciaga jacket was due to arrive tomorrow, and that would be it.
…
But it couldn't be, right?
Lex felt his finger twitch over his computer mouse, his Adam's apple bobbed. That couldn't be it, right?
Lex flicked his mouse, clicking through some files and opening up a program. He hadn't abandoned the algorithm he'd created, and instead turned it into a database, something constantly scanning the web for merchandise Lex had yet to get his hands on and logging everything he did have.
Red X meant he didn't have it, green check marks meant he did.
And all he saw was green.
Lex felt something buzz at the back of his skull, he gripped his computer mouse harder, it creaked under the pressure.
He didn't even remember buying that stupid encyclopedia set.
☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎
Clark wasn't stupid. Sure, he could be a little dense, but he wasn't devoid of intuition, or instinct.
So, he knew someone was taking his stuff. From the fortress anyway.
And, since only he and one other person had access to the fortress, it wasn't difficult to narrow down.
Since Lex's release from prison, Clark had been cautious, playing things way safer than he needed to. He avoided mentioning anything about him, outside of the occasional and obligatory drivel for the media. He tensed every time he flew past Luthorcorp tower, cringed whenever the video of him threatening the other man resurfaced, avoided any and all topics about the Rift Incident on social media.
It wasn't just that the news was less than pleasant to look at, which it was, it was seeing Lex's face. Those eyes that shone with intelligence that could change the world, the mouth that spewed unending hatred, the hands that crafted and devised tools for his own destruction.
Seeing Lex in person had been a mistake.
Clark spent months preparing for the worst after the incident, looked into methods for dosing Kryptonite to build a tolerance, trained himself to hold his breath for even longer, gave Kara a pager with intergalactic reception for emergencies, wore contacts that enhanced his X-Ray vision further, let him see past lead.
He hadn't taken precautions for his emergency fortress toothbrush going missing.
Or his slippers.
Or his cereal. Or rather the dog's cereal, Krypt-Os.
Now, Superman hovered over Lex's penthouse, pinching the bridge of his nose and deliberating how he should go about this. He could hear Lex's heart beat and breathing coming from inside, steady. He was expecting him.
"Jeez," Superman sighed, floating down toward the balcony and landing. The floor to ceiling windows left nothing obscured, and he saw Lex inside on an armchair, legs crossed and wearing some obnoxious silk robe. He was reading a book, and didn't glance up when he said "Come in,"
The balcony door slid open at the command, and Superman awkwardly stepped inside.
Arranged in a neat row on the table in front of Lex were Superman's toothbrush, slippers, and cereal.
"The box is empty now, by the way," Lex said, turning a page in his book.
"…did you clean your shoes with the toothbrush too?" Superman asked flatly. Lex finally spared him a glance, "That's a good idea, but no, I didn't."
Superman didn't move any further into the space, and resisted the urge to wring his cape between his fingers, a habit.
"I'm sure it's been torture for you," Lex said, setting his book down on an end table to his right, "All the…anticipation,"
Superman kept his expression neutral, "Yeah well, it's nothing I'm not used to,"
"Hm," Lex said, standing.
Superman felt a twinge at the sight of the robe sliding down Lex's body, shrouding his figure, but leaving his upper chest exposed. The jutting of his collar-bone under his skin made Superman's gaze linger. When he caught himself, Lex was looking right at him.
A smug expression slid across Lex's face like syrup, and Superman felt his lip curl up.
"What's your angle?" Superman asked. Lex snorted, "Like I'd answer that, you really are an idiot."
Superman sighed, and looked around the space. Everything seemed clear on the surface, but he couldn't be too careful.
He blinked, and looked about the room with his X-Ray vision, starting with Lex. He gave him a once-over, or a twice-over…thrice-over.
Then, he looked through behind him, through the wall of the kitchen into the bedroom, inside of the nightstand. Finally, Superman looked further into the room, and froze.
☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎
Lex had been observing Superman for years, but only from afar. It was still an experience getting to see him up close, with his granduer, and his hair, and his stupid fucking cape that seemed to flutter about at the slightest movement.
All of these features were so distracting up-close, that it took Lex a moment to realize what the alien was doing. It was a split second of broken eye-contact—the alien's eyes darted around the room, then at the wall behind him, and then his eyes were widening.
Which, no, no that couldn't be possible. He knew that thing's physiology better than anyone, but even the most basic of Superman fans (not that Lex was a fan, he wasn't) knew that he couldn't see through lead. That was Kryptonian Biology 101.
But Superman's slowly morphing expression said otherwise.
"Wh-" Lex felt his layers of composure being shed one by one, "What are you looking at, hey!"
Superman didn't blink, and shifted his gaze to Lex. The alien's mouth went from slightly agape, to closed, pursed, trembling.
"Don't—" Lex strode forward and poked Superman in the chest, "Don't you fucking dare laugh, how did you—how, you can't see through lead—!" He said through gritted teeth. Superman's eyes crinkled at the edges, and he stepped back, as if the building force of his laughter would damage Lex somehow.
"I, snrk," Superman closed his eyes letting his squeezed expression ease into a smile, "I'm wearing contacts that, uh, enhance my vision,"
"Fucking—" Lex clenched his fist. He'd of course taken his opportunity in the fortress to nab some data from Superman's computers and synthesizers, but he was still sorting through most of it. Had he been faster, he wouldn't have known about this sudden upgrade.
He looked up at Superman, who was still looking at the far wall, or through it.
"It's," Superman chuckled, "It's quite a collection I have to say,"
"You shut up," Lex hissed, shoving the alien, though the action was comically ineffective.
"Holy moly is that a bong?" Superman asked, his feet lifting slightly off the ground in intrigue.
Lex grabbed his shoulders and tried to pull him back down, "Quit looking—get out!" He said. The same emotions he'd felt the day of the Rift Incident came flooding back ten-fold. Another foiled plan. This wasn't how it was supposed to go this wasn't how it was—
"Hey,"
Lex registered the voice, and then shortly after registered his own breathing, harsh and shallow and burning on the way out.
"Lex—hey I, I'm not trying to make fun of you,"
"Bullshit," Lex said, rubbing his arms and suddenly being unable to keep eye-contact.
Superman's feet were back on the floor, "Look, we don't have to talk about it just," he sighed, "I just wanna know what you were planning to do with my things, it's kinda rude to break in someone's space and steal their stuff," he said.
Lex felt his lip trembling, he hated how easy it was for this thing to make him teary eyed. He looked up at him, lip curled in contempt, but couldn't say anything.
Superman was still smiling, and moving closer.
And Lex wasn't moving back.
"Get away from me, creature," Lex said half-heartedly, hugging himself closer. Superman's glance flicked back to the kitchen wall, and his dimples were showing again. Asshole. Bully.
"Leave me alone," Lex muttered, even when Superman's fingers were brushing his face.
"Is that what you want?"
"… this isn't how it was supposed to go," Lex said wetly, hating how he found himself leaning in. Even though there was barely a height difference (save for that one infuriating inch Superman had on him) he still felt…small. Vulnerable.
"Lex," Superman was leaning in closer, nosing his cheek.
"…"
Suddenly, the horror and humiliation of the situation fell away into something small, and private. Superman's hand trailed down Lex's arm, fiddled with the hem of his sleeve, brushed against his wrist. Lex swallowed, and felt his face heat at the fact that Superman could almost definitely hear the timpani rhythm of his heart.
As if reading his mind, though, Superman gently took Lex's wrist, his hand, and brought it to his chest. He'd heard the uncanny three-rhythm beat of a Kryptonian heart before, but right now Lex felt as though his knees would buckle.
Before he could say anything, warm lips were pressing against his own. Lex felt his eyes slip shut before he knew what was happening.
☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎
What started as gentle exploration ended as ravaging hunger, Clark couldn't control himself.
"Augh—ugh, god you alien freak slow down," Lex panted above him, voice quivering and strained. His thighs were around Bruce's head, pulling him toward his crotch. Clark had his hands under Lex's upper thighs and ass. Each time he squeezed, the cock in his mouth throbbed.
"Close," Lex said through a strained groan, his hands gripping Clark's hair for futile purchase.
"Daf'fas?" Clark said around Lex in his mouth, making the other man wail out a, "Yes—fuck,"
Clark hollowed his cheeks and bobbed his head, and the job was finished not five seconds later.
"You sound so beautiful," Clark hummed, nosing Lex's inner thigh. Lex was motionless, safe for the occasional spasm of his thighs.
"Ugh," Lex sat up after a while, and Clark rested his cheek on his inner thigh, smiling up at him.
Lex sneered back, and reached out to pinch his nose, "Stop looking at me like that it's revolting,"
"You didn't fine me revolting like ten seconds ago," Clark said, voice nasally. Lex huffed, flopping back onto his pillows.
"Well, now that I've got you out of my system, you can go. Goodbye," he waved a hand. Clark wasn't listening, of course, because stupid stubborn aliens didn't listen, and continued nuzzling Lex's thigh.
"Gosh," Clark sighed, and didn't say anything else. Lex shivered as his other thigh was caressed by the man's other hand.
"Don't tell me this is your real weakness," Lex said, closing his thighs further around Clark's head, making him moan. He rolled his hips against the bed, "Can I?"
"With that thing?" Lex said, looking genuinely apprehensive. Clark wondered how he knew about his…size, until he remembered the clone.
"I won't put it in, I just wanna," Clark sat up, taking both of Lex's legs in his arms and putting them over his shoulder. He resisted the urge to smirk at Lex's sputtering at being manhandled, and cupped his reddening cheek.
"This alright?" He asked, pushing himself between Lex's thighs.
"…ugh, yeah it's fine. Just get it over with, animal," he said.
Clark nodded, scooting back on his knees and unbuckeling his belt. He felt heat slough down the length of his spine like lava, an anticipatory sweat breaking across his brow.
He wasted no time in getting his pants and trunks off, before grasping Lex's legs and pushing his cock between his thighs.
"Ngh, Jesus Christ," Lex moaned as Clark set a slow rhythm. Clark felt much the same way, shivering and flinching each time his cock bumped against Lex's, fighting against the rapid-fire signals of his brain that told him to grip, squeeze, pull harder.
"Lex," Clark groaned, "God your thighs are perfect, so perfect for me," His words were slurred, and he ran a firm hand up and down one of Lex's legs.
"Hh, hurry the fuck up," Lex said, "Not all of us have freakshow stamina I'm still," Lex whimpered.
Clark knew the other man was still sensitive from cumming earlier, but in that moment he couldn't find it in himself to care. All he could do was chase, chase, chase his own pleasure. He groaned at the feeling of Lex's cock hardening again under the friction of his own, and soon enough they were sliding together, leaking over each other's shafts and grunting through it all.
The thread that had been unraveling at the base of Clark's spine finally fell away, and he let out a broken sound, splattering between Lex's thighs and over his cock.
"Ugh—oh my, fuck—" Lex's eyes rolled back at his own orgasm, arching beautifully off the sheets.
Clark's mouth was hanging open, wet, as he continued to push weakly between Lex's thighs. Lex came to, and looked between them, mouth curling in disgust.
"You Martian freak," He said, parting his thighs and shuddering at the sheer amount of cum covering his crotch.
"That's what the towels're for," Clark said, nodding down at the black towels he insisted they lay out on the bed. He ran a hand through his hair, composing himself, but stopped when he noticed Lex still staring.
Shit.
"Hey, no," Clark said, as firmly as he could manage, as Lex's face went from wrecked to calculating.
"Well, honestly you should've thought about that beforehand," Lex said, stretching to open his nightstand drawer and rummaging around until he found a vial. He pressed it against his thigh, letting the mess slough into the small container, and capped it off, licking up the excess.
Clark watched the whole thing in stunned silence, before incredulously yelling, "Gimme that!"
"No way," Lex said, clutching the vial in his fist. Clark reached for him, but stopped and sighed, "Ugh, fine,"
"…fine?"
"Yeah," he said, composing himself, "Every collection needs a crown jewel after all,"
"Oh fuck off," Lex said, shoving Clark away with his foot, "Leave, now,"
"Leave?" Clark blinked at Lex, "I dunno that I want to,"
"H-hey!" Lex squirmed as Superman bunched up some of the towels, and used the remainder to clean up Lex as best he could, "You're disgusting, get off!" he yelled as Clark settled behind him and pulled his back to his chest.
Lex stilled after a moment, and huffed. He unclenched his fist and held the vial between his fingers. In the low light, the substance had a pearlescent quality to it, colors refracting and swirling inside.
"You're such a freak," Lex sighed, clutching the vial to his chest.
"Mhm," Clark murmured against his back. He was snoring two minutes later, but Lex was still wide awake.
85% of the reason I ship Polybolts is because it would be so fucking funny. Specifically, lately I can't stop thinking about the idea of Bucky sleeping on the couch in his relationship with Sam, when meanwhile his 4 teammates are going through a poly honeymoon phase and it's pure torture (they consider arguing and flirting to be the same thing)
HC that Clark can get overloaded on Sun and if he does he becomes a human glowstick. Like he comes home late to (Lois, Bruce, Lex whoever) and gets in bed and they sit up like "Wtf" and Clark is like "Yeah sorry I just do that mb"
I get the feeling that Lois runs cold so maybe this is great news for her.
Anyway I wanna write a fic that incorporates this concept.
Full-length sequel to the suberbattionson drabble I wrote months ago. They finally fuck. Enjoy!
Metropolis sounded different from Gotham. One sung, the other rumbled. Usually, all Clark could fixate on in any city he visited was the shroud of noise.
But now?
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Mr. Wayne's heartbeat, he'd been fixated on it since they met up. His voice too, albeit less so. It was softer around the edges than Clark had expected.
The elevator began moving, and Clark swallowed. His tie felt too tight, the hotel was stuffier than anything he was used to. He was sure the earlier comment was a joke—though the Gotham Gazette wasn't shy about putting Mr. Wayne's various trysts on display. But Clark suspected it was all a facade, and wanted to interview Mr. Wayne to unearth something true. Something real.
Everything in Old Gotham felt stuck in the Gilded Age, including Mr. Wayne, who seemed to don some Gatsby-like personality. He exuded charm, but something about it was off. The only real thing about the man Clark had observed so far was his heartbeat.
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The elevator stopped on the top floor, and Mr. Wayne led them down to the end of the hall, opening the door to the hotel room.
The first thing Clark noticed was how huge the bed was.
The second thing he noticed was the selection of alcohol.
"How do you want me?" Mr. Wayne asked.
Clark blinked, "Ah, the—" he looked around the room, zeroing in on two ornate armchairs by a window, "Over there works,"
A beat passed, and Mr. Wayne nodded, walking slowly towards the seats, shedding his jacket. Clark took a moment to compose himself, and followed him over. He had to move his own chair back a bit to keep his knees from bumping the small tea table between them. He felt acutely aware of the other man's eyes on him, a kind of focused heat that he couldn't shake. It was one thing to be stared at, but to be stared at by someone so…
"Right, any topics you'd like me to shy away from?" Clark asked.
"Ah, no, anything goes," Mr. Wayne said.
Clark smiled, "Great," and fished his recorder out of his bag.
The air around them seemed to take a breath, right before he hit the button to start recording. Their eyes met, and Mr. Wayne's gaze was expectant of…something. Clark would've stared longer if he could, but that hardly would've been appropriate. He cleared his throat, opening his note pad.
INTERVIEWER: Well, first off Mr. Wayne I just want to thank you for taking time out of your hectic schedule to meet with me here.
WAYNE: Oh, please don't thank me, I'm thankful to be here.
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INTERVIEWER: That's great to hear—really um, so Gotham…crazy huh?
Clark squeezed his eyes shut, reaching out to pause the recording, "Sorry, uh, I don't know what that was," he sighed.
Mr. Wayne chuckled, "Well, that's how most conversations about this place start, and for good reason," his gaze slid up Clark's frame, "You seem tense,"
"Oh—I'm not," Clark waved a hand, "I'm fine,"
The heartbeat was distracting, more than what was normal for Clark. Something about it made it hard to focus.
"Take two then?" Mr. Wayne asked.
Clark swallowed, "Yeah, take two,"
He pushed the button on the recorder again.
INTERVIEWER: So, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that Gotham's been put through the wringer lately.
WAYNE: Not at all, we're all still reeling from the 2022 attacks, the flooding. I think it's been wonderful to see the city come together through it all, though.
INTERVIEWER: Yes, the rest of the country seems to agree. And you, Mr. Wayne, people say you've kind of abandoned your reclusive nature to…ugh
"Sorry," Clark said, "Didn't mean to call you a recluse,"
"Trust me I've been called worse," Mr. Wayne said.
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Clark tugged at his shirt collar, and pretended to miss the way Mr. Wayne's eyes snapped toward the action, "Gee, sorry I think I am a bit tense—couldn't tell you why,"
"Perhaps a drink would loosen you up?" Mr. Wayne asked lightly.
ktthumpkthumpkthump
"Oh no—not that—it's very nice of you to offer but I uh, it takes a lot for me to," Clark gestured about nonsensically, "I've got an iron stomach," he knocked at his abdomen, and immediately wanted to sink into the ground. Why was he such a wreck? Mr. Wayne was hardly the first famous person he'd interviewed.
"Of course, I'd hate to impose," Mr. Wayne said. There it was again, though, that odd tone of voice from the lobby.
"Then, three times the charm?" Clark offered. Mr. Wayne gave him the go-ahead, and adjusted his posture as Clark pressed the record button once more, and met the other man's even gaze.
INTERVIEWER: The uh, the general public seems to agree that you've really come through on the flooding incident, Mr. Wayne. They’ve warmed up to you as much as you have to them.
WAYNE: Yes, yes I'd agree—I was a bit awkward beforehand I'll admit. This will sound strange but at the time, I wasn't sure what Gotham needed.
INTERVIEWER: And you're sure now?
WAYNE: Well, I suppose I'll be honest and say I'm 'less unsure', I at least know what general direction to go in.
INTERVIEWER: Ah, you said in an interview with the Gazette just this May that Gotham needed a sense of direction more than anything?
WAYNE: Yes. The city's been in a spiral for too long now.
INTERVIEWER: Hm. And what direction specific—
WAYNE: What did you say your name was?
INTERVIEWER: …sorry?
WAYNE: Your name, what was your name?
INTERVIEWER: Uh, Clark, Clark Kent.
WAYNE: Wonderful, Clark. While we're on the topic you can just call me Bruce, as well. Mr. Wayne isn't something I'd like to be called for another few decades.
CLARK: Oh, yes of course.
BRUCE: And, to answer your question, I'd like to think that Gotham is already heading in a better direction, away from fear.
CLARK: Fear?
BRUCE: Fear, and not just of crime. There's fear in all aspects of living here has
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BRUCE: Clark?
CLARK: Sorry—
BRUCE: Pardon my bluntness but, you seem like you've been somewhere else since we arrived here.
CLARK: Yes, you could say that
BRUCE: I certainly hope I don't come off as intimidating.
CLARK: No not at all Mr—Bruce, you're very approachable.
BRUCE: …
CLARK: Heh, why don't I just restart th—
BRUCE: Well, I suppose it can't be helped. It's a little silly to keep up this act, isn't it?
CLARK: Act? I'm…not sure what you mean by that, Bruce.
BRUCE: Oh. Well, I thought I made my intentions clear in the lobby.
CLARK: Your…you mean that aside was
BRUCE: An attempt at flirting, yes.
CLARK: Flirting…
BRUCE: Hm, I'm sure this isn't the first time someone's made such a bold advance towards you.
CLARK: Bruce you're uh, I think it'd be best if you sat back down so we could…finish the interview…
BRUCE: Yes, that would be best, wouldn't it?
CLARK: Yeah…oh wow…
BRUCE: I think we could finish it if I sit down here, don't you?
CLARK: Well—I don't usually interview people who sit…on my lap, oh geez—
BRUCE: Like this then? You'll be able to take notes better right?
CLARK: Ngh, Bruce—
BRUCE: Hm, on second thought this seems to be even more distracting…though if this is any indication you don't seem to mind.
CLARK: Ugh, hohmygoodness Bruce um—it'll be hard for you to, hah, answer questions with your mouth…occupied…
BRUCE: Mmm, yufinksho?
CLARK: Hhh, oh god, sorry can I…put my hands…?
BRUCE: Mhm
CLARK: Thank…thank you, ngh.
Clark let his head fall back against the armchair, thighs flinching under Bruce's hands. He tangled his fingers in the other man’s black locks, trying to keep his grip light.
"Ffff—UCK-" But given the exceptional skill of the mouth on him at the moment, it was proving to be difficult.
Clark chanced a glance down at Bruce. Bruce Wayne. The richest man in Gotham, the—man he should've seen this coming—playboy, billionaire, on his knees, with his lips around his cock.
Clark was starting to feel light headed. Just moments ago they were having a normal interview, right? But god, his mouth, that tongue.
"Bruce," Clark angled his hips up, air pushing between his lips in strangled moans, "That's-that's really good,"
Bruce squeezed his thighs, and slurped down the remainder of his length, leaving Clark wide-eyed and breathless. His hands trembled, bracing harder on Bruce's head, he felt his glasses sliding down his nose. Even with his mouth full, Bruce found a way to smirk up at him.
Clark's hips bucked, and Bruce moaned, a low purr that twined around his shaft. Clark looked down, finding a bulge straining against the other man's slacks, and brought his shin forward. He gasped, letting his head fall back again as Bruce shamelessly ground against it.
"So good, it's so good Bruce," Clark moaned, squeezing his eyes shut, "I think—I think I'm close,"
"Mhmm?" Bruce hummed in a question, running his tongue along the underside of Clark's shaft. Clark nodded, "Yes, close—"
Bruce pulled off abruptly, "Pardon me, Clark, but if you're going to finish it won't be in my mouth,"
Clark deflated slightly, but immediately perked back up as Bruce stood, fiddling in his jacket and producing a condom from the inside pocket.
"…you never planned on giving me an interview, did you," Clark asked breathlessly, watching Bruce undo his belt. The other man glanced up at him, smirked, but didn't say anything.
"Can you…come here?" Clark asked, scooting back a bit in the armchair. Bruce, stripped down to his briefs, straddled Clark's lap. He watched halfway toward awe as Bruce situated himself, brushed his hair back from his face, sat up and reached behind himself with lubed fingers. His abdomen was streaked with scars—a sight that Clark would've taken note of if he weren't so catastrophically horny at the moment.
Clark was content to watch, really, but Bruce's mouth still looked wet, and used, like it needed to be occupied. He leaned up slightly in a question. Bruce looked down at him, and answered, sealing their mouths together. Clark moaned, wrapping his arms around Bruce's middle, keening as the other man's hand made its way up towards his scalp, twining around his curls.
Eventually, Clark's hands made their way down Bruce's sides, and he slipped one down the back of his briefs. Bruce's breath hitched as Clark's fingers nudged his, sliding inside to take their place. He arched back and down onto Clark's fingers, panting and tightening his fist in Clark's hair. Clark pulled away from Bruce's mouth, kissing the side, then further down, shivering at the scrape of stubble against his nose, the scars, at the scent of pine, the musk of sweat.
He nosed Bruce's sternum, planting a kiss there, before latching onto his nipple. Bruce's other hand came up to grasp the nape of Clark's neck, bringing his mouth forward.
"Ready, I'm ready," Bruce panted. Clark nodded dazedly, helping Bruce shimmy out of his briefs. Noticing that Bruce was the only one naked, Clark went to remove his tie, but Bruce stopped him.
"Keep it on, all of it," he said, though he tugged at Clark's tie to loosen it a bit, and pushed Clark’s glasses back up his nose. Clark swallowed, but nodded, watching Bruce kick off his briefs. He felt his mouth water at the sight of the other man's cock. Next time.
Next time? Would there be a next time?
Before Clark had the chance to get anxious about it, Bruce gripped his shaft, rolling on the condom and pressing Clark's tip against his hole. Clark whimpered, sitting up and pushing his hips upward. Bruce pushed him back forcefully against the chair, blue eyes darkened with lust.
"Stay," he said. Clark nodded, breathing coming out in huffs as Bruce sank down onto his cock.
"Ghhh, ungh," Clark gasped, hands gripping onto Bruce's sides. Bruce ran his hands up and down Clark's chest with placating reverence, purposefully letting the tips of his fingers slide over his nipples. They sat there for a moment, panting and shifting, thighs burning, looking at each other with half-focused eyes.
"Puh," Clark swallowed down a breath, already feeling like he'd run a marathon, "Please—Bruce, god please move,"
Bruce chuckled, and Clark watched the muscles in his thighs shift as he raised himself up, then slammed back down. He kept his hand braced on Clark's shoulder, and the other on his bicep, setting his own pace. Clark could only watch, watch Bruce's dark hair fall in front of his eyes, watch his cock bounce, his muscles shift with effort under his pale skin. He gripped Bruce's hips tighter, "God, Bruce,"
All the while, Bruce's heartbeat pounded in Clark's ears. He looked up, finding Bruce's eyes closed, and took the moment to look at him deeper. Using his x-ray vision, Clark looked through Bruce's chest, seeing the man's heart pumping, his lungs working. Then, further down, he saw the outline of his cock pushing into Bruce's body. Clark angled his hips slightly, and Bruce moaned loudly as his cock pushed against his prostate.
Clark felt his jaw tense, and he gripped Bruce's hips, angling him back. Bruce fumbled for a moment, before wrapping both of his arms around Clark's shoulders, mouth falling open and eyes rolling back as Clark pounded against his prostate with pinpoint accuracy.
"Oufu—fuck Clark oh my god," Bruce moaned. The two made eye contact again, and Clark surged forward, pushing his tongue past Bruce's lips. Eventually they slid out of the chair. Clark was on his knees, and Bruce's legs made their way around his waist. Clark braced an arm on the floor, and wrapped another around Bruce's lower back, keeping the same pace, pulling back to watch Bruce's ruined face twist in pleasure. He groaned, thighs quaking as his orgasm barreled closer and closer.
Bruce tightened his legs around Clark until their hips were flush, tangling both of his hands in his hair, "God—I'm close,"
"You are?" Clark asked, his glasses slipping down his nose. Bruce nodded, biting his bottom lip, "You?"
Clark whimpered, "Mhm, mhm yeah I…Bruce—" his arm gave, and he collapsed, groaning as his hips stuttered. He fumbled between them, gripping Bruce's cock and pumping frantically, making the other man's head fall back against the floor.
"God fuck!" Bruce yelled as they both came apart together, ropes of cum shooting through Clark's grip. Clark bought his hand up to his mouth, running his tongue over the mess and groaning as he emptied inside Bruce.
He fell forward, legs still shaking, still spilling into the condom. Bruce's moans dissipated into ragged pants, his own legs unraveling from Clark's waist.
"…you weigh a ton," Bruce managed after a moment.
"Oh—m'ssorry," Clark slurred, rolling off of Bruce. They both laid there for a while, panting and staring at the ceiling.
"Uh," Clark started, but Bruce stood.
Clark felt panic rise in his throat, and bolted upright, only to find Bruce making himself comfortable on the bed.
He rolled his shoulders, and glanced at Clark, quirking a brow, "Well? This bed is huge, it'd be a shame to let it go to waste. Plus, the floor is too hard on my back,"
Clark fumbled for a response, but stood. "Uh, if we're gonna…continue can I take off my clothes? …Please?"
Bruce huffed a laugh, settling back against the pillows, "Yes, though the glasses, those stay on,"
Clark smiled shakily, hiding his relief, "Great, heh," and stripped down until he was in nothing but his boxers, face heating under the other man’s gaze.
"Now," Bruce breathed, "Come here."
And Clark did.
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A/N: Thank you for reading! Sorry this took so long to write, I just wanted to wait until I saw Superman before I wrote another part. Bruce is still a bit OOC tbh since in Batman 2022 he's a bit awkward, but I tried to work around it. Please let me know if you want a continuation :)
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