Rescued (SuperBat fic)

7

Clark is leaning back on the wall, his eyes skyward.
I cough.
His mouth curls up into a smile as he sees me walking over. He pulls me into a bro hug, one arm slung over my back, fist knocking between my shoulder blades. I stand stock-still, breathing in the smell of his aftershave. When he pulls back, I put my hands in my pockets, trying to obscure my semi.
"What're you smiling at?"
"What are my powers, Bruce?"
I look around us. The street is empty. Still, I keep my voice low.
"Strength, flight, heat vision, X-ray -" I stop short, fisting my hands in my pockets. "You dirty devil, Clark."
"Hey, don't make it crass. I just wanted to see if you were wearing your gear under that suit."
"Sure you did."
He grins to himself.
I take a long look at him as he leads us into the bar. He's wearing a well-tailored work suit with tight, tapering trousers and a bright dicky-bow. The outfit is somewhat ruined by the fact that it meets with grey Converse. The women in the bar don't seem to mind that, judging by the way they glance over as we take seats side by side at the bar.
Clark nudges me with his shoulder. "Drinks are on you."
"Why?"
"You earn more," he says, smiling, catching his tongue between his teeth.
I want to reach across, hold him still and let my tongue dance with his. Instead, I reach up and push my hair back, so that it's messy and spiky, then probe the healing cut on my forehead. Clark's eyes follow my fingers and he leans in.
The moment is broken by the arrival of a bartender and the loud thump of his forearms onto the bar.
We turn, in unison, to look at him as he asks, "What can I get you gents?"
I look to Clark, who clears his throat and says, "Miller lite."
"And a Budweiser please," I add.
The bartender nods, retrieves the bottles and accepts my ten. I tell him to keep the change.
I turn back to Clark. He looks down at his thumbnails, where they're peeling off the label of his beer. I put a hand on his shoulder. He tilts his head back and takes a long sip of his beer. He rolls his bottle between his palms.
"Hey Bruce," he mutters.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think we'll get the whole night?"
I knock on the bar.
"Touch wood."
Clark chuckles and I roll my eyes. He turns to look at me, leaning his chin on one of his hands.
"I'm surprised you carry cash."
"I hate making small payments by card."
"What qualifies as small to you?"
"Anything under a hundred."
His head tilts.
"Of course."
I watch him frowning as I take a long drink of my beer.
A cheer sounds around us. I scan the bar and find the TV at the source of the noise. It's the baseball game, the very same I was going to have Alfred record. No point now. I take out my phone to text Alfred and keep one eye on the score.
Clark turns his head to scan the game.
"I take it you like baseball," Clark mutters.
"Hell yeah, I do. I have a company wide baseball cup; each division has a team."
"That sounds incredibly..." he pauses, then adds, "Male-oriented."
"My teams are gender-inclusive, thank you."
"Oh."
"Is that a surprise?"
Clark nods in response.
"Have you ever played baseball?"
"Never."
"Not in all your years on Earth?"
His eyes widen before glancing to the bartender. He's afraid I'll blow his cover. That's almost impossible; he is, in a basic sense, human in form. He's spent his whole life here.
"We could throw a ball around sometime," Clark suggests.
"We absolutely could."
He turns in his seat, his knees brushing against mine. He drinks some more of his beer, finishing it, gently setting the empty bottle down. I finish my own beer, then reach down to put my hands on his knees. He lifts his chin and meets my eyes, his lips parted.
I want to kiss him.
But a glance at the other patrons - older, white, working class men, eating peanuts, roaring with laughter - makes me nervous.
Clark leans in, putting his mouth close to my ear, and whispers, "My place?"
"Mine's bigger."
"Oh I wouldn't be so sure," he replies, redirecting the topic of conversation entirely.
"Your place it is then," I tell him.
He stands up, putting a hand to one of my wrists and leading me out. As we walk out, he slips an arm over my shoulders, confident in our anonymity.
As we step into Clark's humble living room, I notice something I didn't before - the police scanner on top of the sideboard. He goes to turn it on, but I catch hold of his wrist and stop his fingers short of the dial.
He explains, "I was just going to check we didn't miss any call to action."
"Well, we probably did. Keeping the scanner turned off is the only guaranteed way we get the night to ourselves."
Clark tilts his head, muttering that I'm right.
I pull him closer, put a hand to his neck, and draw my fingertips over his skin as he leans down. I part my lips and receive his gladly, dropping his wrist and grabbing hold of his waist. His abdomen is close against mine. I draw back from his mouth and bite gently on his bottom lip. He groans. Then he leans back, his eyes low. I wait, my eyes on his plump, reddened lips.
"I haven't, y'know, since Lois."
"That's okay. It's been a while for me too."
Using the hand I have at his waist, I pull his shirt out from his trousers, slip my hand underneath it, and clutch at his side.
He looks down at me.
"Bruce," he mutters.
"Yes?"
"Go easy on me."
"Of course."
"The bedroom's back there," he mutters, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.
"We're not going to it."
I walk him back until he can drop down onto the sofa, then take a seat in the armchair at 90 degrees to it. I spread my legs wide and plant my heels into his rug.
Clark reaches down and pulls off his Converse before bringing his feet up onto the sofa. He flexes his shoulders before he leans back against the arm of the sofa. Already he is unbuckling his belt, gently tugging it through the loops. He has to stretch his arm right out before the belt comes free. It slaps against the floor when he drops it.
I keep my eyes on him as he unbuttons and unzips. He pushes his trousers down just far enough to reveal his boxer briefs. He smirks as he slides a hand inside them, his fingers curling around his cock.
I squeeze my cock through my clothes, closing my eyes for a second, fidgeting to get more comfortable, leaning back into my chair.
When I open my eyes, Clark's chin is low. His eyes are on my crotch and the subtle shape of my erection.
Beneath his boxers, his hand is pumping slowly.
"Show me more," I tell him.
He stops jacking himself off for a second to push his boxers down. They bunch at the open crotch of his trousers, just over his balls.
I want to suck him, tease him and torture him until he's begging me for release. But not tonight.
I take off my belt and shove my trousers and boxers down to my ankles. My cock bobs up, nudging against the placket of my shirt. I close a hand around my cock, my jaw dropping as I start to stroke. I listen to Clark's regular breaths, wanting to hear his breath hitching, wanting to hear gasping and moaning.
But then I remember, he's not human. It'll take more than masturbation to take his breath away.
Already my breath is heavy and loud. My head tilts back.
I watch Clark with my eyes half open. His curls are starting to fall over his forehead.
I squeeze my cock and make my strokes faster. My knees shift. My toes curl inside my socks and shoes. I close my other hand around my sac and roll my balls in my hand. A groan slips out of my mouth and fills the room.
I hear Clark inhale sharply, glad to have created such an arresting reaction in him.
By now my eyes are scrunched shut. My hand is working fast. My hips shift as I get close. My bottom lip is anchored between my teeth. Another groan escapes me.
Clark says, "Come for me."
My cock twitches.
Just this once, I'll let him take charge.
I rest my head on the back of the chair and squeeze my cock as my stroke reaches its head. Once, twice, three times more and my abs grow tight. I'm so close. My cock is hot and throbbing.
He says it again, "Come for me, Bruce."
I soothe the aching spot at my hilt and moan at my release, hold my cock tight as it spurts all over Clark's coffee table and rug.
I open my eyes and suck in a deep breath, my cheeks red.
Clark is still leisurely pumping his cock, his eyes closed. I push myself up out of the chair, hands on its arms to hold myself steady on my weak knees. I toe off my shoes and trousers, then hike up my boxers and straddle him.
He opens his eyes to look up into my face, a smile on his lips, his large, straight teeth exposed, his cheeks dimpled.
I lean down and press a kiss to his forehead. And Clark tilts his head back. I angle my chin down and take his mouth under mine, reaching down at the same time to wrap a hand around his cock.
He's big, and thick, and I can feel him throbbing as I start to pump his cock.
I press my tongue against his. I move my hand, so that mine is on top of his, our fingers entwined. Still, his breath is barely affected by our actions.
I pull my mouth off his to tell him, "I like my men loud, Clark. Moan for me."
"Make me," he grunts, bringing his free hand up to grab the back of my neck so that he can kiss me.
He catches my bottom lip with his teeth. I pick up the speed of my hand. His palm is tight around his cock. His knuckles are nestled inside my palm.
"Moan for me, Clark, do it."
His jaw drops. His lips are still parted. His eyes are wide.
I put my lips to his neck, start with a kiss, suck at his skin. I shuffle back, watch a hickey spring up. I put my mouth to his Adam's apple and suck on it.
Finally, finally, a groan rumbles out of him, his throat vibrating under my mouth.
I keep moving my mouth down his throat. I bring a hand up and pull off his tie and unbutton his shirt so that I can plant a line of kisses along his collarbone. His hips buck up. Our hands are sticky with precum. He clutches at his twitching dick.
His head drops back as he comes, ejaculating all over my shirt.
I put my forehead to his and listen to his breathing.
After a few moments he whispers, "That was incredible."
"That's what everyone says," I tell him.
He pushes me back from his face, so that I'm sitting upright again. He's smiling.
"You're a cocky bastard, Bruce," he says, chuckling.
"Does that have to be a bad thing?"
"No, I like it."
"Good."
I put a hand on the back of the sofa and stand up, pulling Clark with me. He reaches down and tucks his cock back into his boxers, hitching them up. He wanders through to the bedroom.
I text Alfred.
Me: Have a car meet me at 7am. Put a suit, boxers and socks in it.
Alfred replies asking for the address. I shout to Clark and he shouts the address to me. I type quickly, setting my phone down when Clark reappears.
"Are you leaving?"
"No, I just wanted Alfred to know where to send the car in the morning."
"Oh."
Clark is just in boxers and pyjama bottoms. He has a snail trail. I walk my eyes down it.
"Come to bed," he whispers.
"In a moment. Where's your, uh, your bathroom?"
"Through here," he says.
I walk into the bedroom and weave my way around him, nudging the bathroom door closed behind me. I use the facilities and then meet Clark by the bed. He watches as I strip off my blazer, cum-soaked shirt and socks. He throws himself onto the bed, sliding between the sheets.
I settle next to him, inclined to roll onto my left side. I lie on my back, as uncomfortable as it makes me, because Clark is lying on his left side with his right arm slung over my middle.
When I wake, it's to my phone's alarm ringing. I'm on one side and Clark is wrapped around my back. This is nice. Clark grunts as I shift out from inside his arms and lift my phone to silence it. Clark rolls onto his front and presses his hips down into the mattress. His curls are matted.
My shirt is stained, dry and wrinkled. I pull on my trousers and blazer, stuffing my socks into my shoes. I use Clark's mouthwash and then crouch by the bed to press my mouth to his forehead.
His eyes flutter open. He pushes himself up slightly.
"You're going?"
"Busy day ahead," I tell him.
I put a hand to his chin and hold it up as I kiss him goodbye.
"I'll be in touch."
"You better be," he murmurs, eyes already falling shut again.
I hold my shoes in my left hand and my shirt in my right, put my phone and wallet in my pockets. A Wayne Enterprises car is waiting at the curb as I step out of Clark's building. Liam steps out and comes around the car, his eyes flicking up and down my body, taking in my bare chest under my blazer.
"Sir," he says as he opens my door for me.
"Good morning, Liam. Did you have a good weekend?"
"Not too bad, sir, took my girlfriend to the beach."
"Nice," I reply, already settling into the backseat.
Liam closes the door and settles back behind the wheel. I ask him to put the divider up for a few minutes. Once it's in place, I swap my clothes for the fresh ones, putting my dirty clothes on the hanger in the suit bag and slipping my shoes on, double-knotting my laces. I tap on the divider and it slides down.
"All good, sir?"
"Yes. When you get back to the house, have Alfred do this laundry right away."
"Yes sir."
Things are quiet for a few minutes as I check my messages and emails.
Liam clears his throat but says nothing else.
At the end of the day, when I step off the elevator into my living room, I can hear Alfred in the kitchen humming to Johnny Cash. I take off my coat and hang it up before wandering through to the kitchen, hands in the pockets of my blazer. Alfred looks up and says hello. I go over to the fridge and pull out one of my beers, using the opener on the side of the island to pop it. I take a hasty sip.
"Did you get that laundry?"
Alfred looks up from the chicken he's slicing to tell me, "Yes sir."
I take another sip of my beer, take a deep breath in hopes it will cool the heat in my cheeks.
"I expected you home last night," Alfred says.
"I was on a date," I tell him. "I was only going to come home if it went badly."
Alfred shrugs.
"Then I'm glad it went well."
"Thank you. How long until dinner?"
"Twenty minutes."
"I'll be in the shower then."
Alfred nods to himself, places a wok on the flat, electric stovetop, mutters to himself about missing the gas hobs in the manor. I turn away and wander through to my bedroom, guzzling my beer. I finish it and set it on my bedside table, then strip off my suit on the way through to the bathroom.
I step into the shower and turn on the water, flexing my shoulders under the spray. I soap myself up, running my hands all over my body. I do this until the drain is surrounded by suds and my fingertips prune, long enough that I hear Alfred calling through to me. I step out of the shower, dress in boxers, sweats with cuffed ankles, and a tee. I leave my feet bare. I grab my phone before I wander through to the living room, where a square bowl of Balti rests on the coffee table for me. As usual, Alfred will eat by himself in the kitchen.
I find the remote and switch on the TV to load the series I've been binging, before lifting my bowl. Alfred's cooking is, as ever, delightful, and I have no trouble putting it away. As I set my empty bowl aside my eyes catch my phone and its blinking green light. When I lift it, I see a text from Clark. He's had this number for a while, so I hope this message is not the usual, a Justice League matter. It proves the opposite.
Clark: Evening, Bruce.
Me: Clark.
Clark: Have you been busy?
Me: No more than usual - the Wayne Enterprises grind never stops.
Clark: Hmm. I had a slow day at The Planet.
Me: Don't say that, you'll jinx tonight.
Clark: I'm out on patrol.
Me: Where on Earth do you find space for your phone in that suit?
Clark: Wouldn't you like to know? Join me? I'm chilling in City Park.
Me: I cannot squeeze into my gear tonight, I just can't.
Clark: Okay.
Me: Swing by mine after you find a crime to fight.
Clark: Address please.
I send Clark my address and twiddle my thumbs over my phone screen, anxious for his reply. I lift my bowl and go through to the kitchen, where I find Alfred on his Mac making a food order. I place the bowl in the dishwasher and grab another beer from the fridge, lingering to open it.
"Can I do something for you, sir?"
"There might be a visitor coming around later. Leave them to me."
"The date from last night?"
"Yes. We'll appreciate our privacy, if you follow."
"Absolutely, sir."
When I look up from the counter, Alfred's eyes are on me. He's chewing the corner of his bottom lip.
"Can I ask something, sir?"
"Sure. You just did, after all."
"Is your date, or, your visitor, a man?"
I feel my face drain of colour.
"Yes."
There's a moment of silence.
My voice is dry, cracking, raspy when I ask, "Is that a problem? I would hate to let you go."
"Let me go? It's not a problem, sir. I had just been wondering, given the state of the shirt you sent this morning."
I nod, my jaw clenched. I take myself and my beer through to my bedroom, switch on the TV and pick up my show where I left it. I watch as the sun sets and the skyline twinkles with thousands of lights. I wonder where Clark is out there, weaving his way through the skyscrapers, cape stretched behind him on the wind.
The elevator dings with an arrival at just gone eleven. I rush out to meet it as Clark steps off, his Superman suit a little damp.
"Is it raining?"
"No, but it will in a few hours," he tells me with a sheepish smile.
"Find any crime to fight?"
"Led the cops to a drug den, stopped a date rape."
"Not a bad night's work."
Clark's chin is tilted high and his chest puffed up.
"I'm glad you invited me here," he says. "Although I assumed you still lived at the manor."
"Sold it a couple years back."
"You didn't?!"
"I did."
"But, the Batcave."
"It's the basement here; I bought and remodelled it."
I take hold of Clark's hand and lead him through to my bedroom, closing the door behind us. I reach for the lock, then think better of it. Clark asks about the show I'm watching as I turn to face him.
"Let's get you out of these wet things," I tell him.
I move around his body, trailing a hand down to his belt.
"How do I get this off?"
"Zip down the back."
I move his cape aside, look closer and catch sight of the zip. I use my free hand to pull it down, then push the tight material down his body. Clark steps out of it, nudges it aside and lets it bunch.
He's wearing black boxer briefs, and he's got a semi.
I use my hands to turn him to face me. I look up into his face. He leans down and kisses me, crushing me to his chest, his tongue nudging at mine and weakening my knees. I pull away, clearing my throat.
"That's all for tonight," I tell him.
"Why?"
"Because I'm tired, Clark, and I just want to lie with you."
"Alright," he says.
He wraps his arms around my shoulders, then lets go of me, moving by me and stretching out over my sheets. I push down my sweats and then get into bed, putting an arm over Clark's ribs and a leg over his, my chest to his back, my cheek against his shoulder blades.