Rescued (SuperBat fic)

8

As I open my eyes the next morning, the space beside me is filled only by the rumpled sheet. I stagger out of bed, pull on my sweats and wander to the door. The flat is quiet. I wonder why Alfred isn't already up making breakfast and filling the kitchen with his music. I walk through to find Clark behind the island, cooking. He's wearing a pair of my shorts but has left his chest bare. I take a seat at the table and watch him, asking, "What are you making?"
"French toast and bacon."
"Cool. You didn't have to though."
"I wanted to."
I stand up and walk over to Clark, stand behind him, at his shoulder. I put my hand on his shoulder and draw it down his arm, over to the waistband of the basketball shorts he's taken for his.
"Now Clark, you're going to make sure this food doesn't burn."
He nods, turning his cheek to me.
And just to tease him, I add, "And you're not going to come."
I put my mouth to his neck as I slide my hand inside his clothes. Already he's shifting back from the stovetop and the spitting pan. I can feel it when the muscle in his arm tightens, his grip closing securely around the silicone spatula. I wrap my hand around his cock, tight, like the other night. I keep my strokes short, controlled, frustrating. He pushes his hips back, his ass grinding into my cock, so that it twitches and pushes at my clothes. I bite gently at his skin, sure I hear him gasp in response. 
He throws his head back.
I pull my mouth off him to say, "Eyes open, on the bacon."
His head tilts forward. His shoulders flex back. 
I look at the hickeys I've put on him and decide to lighten my touch. I keep my mouth off his body and instead put a hand to one of his nipples, pinching it. 
Clark bites back a groan and I smile to myself. 
A spurt of precum oozes from his head and I use it to make him slick as I pump my hand. He flips the bacon and I roll my fingers over his nipple. He flips another rasher, his breath hitching as I roll his nipple again. As he flips the French toast, I pump his cock faster, feeling more precum wetting the head of his cock, which throbs inside my fingers.
"Please," he gasps.
"Please, what?"
"Please, Bruce."
I chuckle and press a kiss to my shoulder, muttering, "I told you, Clark, not while you're cooking."
His mouth is hanging open, his breath ragged. 
I'm getting the run of him. I keep on teasing him with my hands until he finds his breath.
"Breakfast's done."
I take my hands off his body. He turns to me, his eyes cold, his jaw set in a firm line, a muscle fluttering when he clenches his teeth.
"I need to come so bad, Bruce."
"You'll have to wait baby, but trust me, it'll be worth it."
Clark turns back to the stovetop, turns off the rings and plates up breakfast. I take two glasses from the cupboard and pour OJ into them, then join Clark at the table. As we eat, he nudges a foot against mine, slides his foot up my sweats, rubs his sole over my groin. My dick flexes up. I just spread my legs a little wider and go on eating, winking over at him. Once we've finished eating, I lift the plates and put them in the dishwasher. Clark stays close by. When the table has been cleared, I turn my attention back to him.
I push Clark back against the island and hold him in place, my hands around his elbows. His lips are parted an inch and his eyes are lidded as he looks down at me. He rests his elbows on the island, his body at an angle. I stand between his parted legs. Clark hooks his fingers into the pockets of my sweats, holding me against him.
I look up into his chiselled face.
"Make no mistake, Clark, I'm in charge."
"Just let me finish, Bruce."
I kneel down before him, wrapping my hands around his knees, sliding them up his thighs, under his shorts, gently digging my fingertips into his skin. His eyes have dropped closed and he's hard, but otherwise he appears unaffected by my touch. I pull down his shorts and they bunch around his ankles. I peel down his boxers and watch how his cock springs up towards his abs. I put a hand to the base of his cock and continue where I left off, pumping his length. When a fresh drop of precum wets his head, I rise up on my knees and press my tongue to it, dragging my tongue over him, down to his tight foreskin. 
There's still nothing desperate about him. 
I lean forward, sliding my mouth down his length. His breath catches. I look up to see the corner of his lip between his teeth. I draw back and then pull him deeper into my mouth, my mouth to his hilt. I skim a hand down to his sac and cup his balls, squeezing them gently. His hands close around the edge of the island, and grip tightly. His hips press against my face, his cock nudging the roof of my mouth. 
I moan and drag my tongue along the thick vein of his cock, putting a hand to his hip to steady him as he shudders against me. 
One of his hands comes down to curl loosely around the inch of him that isn't inside my mouth. I push his hand away and he gets the hint. I say when. I suck, hard. 
He groans, his thighs jumping with pleasure, his cock flexing. I follow its movement with my tongue and make him shake. He runs a hand through my hair, clutching at my bedhead. I take my mouth from his dick and he moans, fisting his hand tighter in my hair. I bring my tongue forward to wet my lips and then close my mouth around his head, sucking it gently, listening to him let out another short, low moan. 
I drag my tongue along the underside of his cock, feeling him twitch, his hips pushing into my mouth. The head of his cock grinds into the roof of my mouth and when I sweep my tongue over his head, he comes. I hold him steady and dig my fingers into his bare cheeks. 
I moan, swallowing his cum. 
I lean back and close my mouth as his dick drops back against his balls.
I stand up and face him, licking my lips. 
"There's really no better way to start the day."
He just gapes at me, reaching down to pull up his boxers and shorts.
He struggles to find words, managing only, "That was..."
I've rendered the reporter, the writer, speechless.
"I know."
I leave him standing there. 
I walk through to the bedroom, passing Alfred in the hallway. He pauses at the threshold of the kitchen, clearly taking in Clark's presence. I hear Alfred stiffly wishing Clark a good morning and Clark clears his throat before he tells Alfred that it's going well so far. I picture Clark saying that with red cheeks and smile to myself. I turn on my music and strip off, strolling into the shower, standing tall and proud. 
Clark appears and leans on the doorframe.
"Who needs X-ray vision?"
"Not you, not right now anyway."
"God you're ripped," he sighs.
"I'm Batman, of course I'm ripped."
My gaze flicks up and down his bare chest. His nipples are erect. 
My cock twitches but I ignore it.
"Do you want me to help you with that hard-on?"
"No," I tell him.
He doesn't expect the hard syllable. He straightens up in the doorway, though his hands remain in the pockets of the borrowed shorts. His eyebrows furrow together and frown lines mar his forehead.
"Are you a masochist then, Bruce?"
I smile, chuckling gently, then wrap a hand around my cock.
"Maybe sometimes, but not this morning."
Clark smiles for a second, then it flounders. 
As I draw my hand along my shaft, I see him bite his bottom lip. 
He exhales heavily.
His lips twitch at one corner.
Then he says, rather dryly, "You haven't got a dungeon somewhere in this apartment, have you?"
I tilt my head to one side and smile for him.
"Not yet. But I do know what I like."
"And that is?"
"To be in charge."
I take a breath and beat a few quick strokes up and down my cock. I tilt my head back and let the shower spray beat into my face.
I drop my head and meet Clark's eyes. 
"Yes, Clark, I want to control you. I want you to obey me."
He straightens in the doorway and reaches up to scratch his neck. His fingers drift down behind his shoulder blades. His cheeks are red.
"I..." he stutters. "Bruce, I don't know if that's me."
"I can't talk about this with a hand around my cock. Please, stick around, I can tell you more."
"I can't," he murmurs, walking away.
I feel my erection going down and an uncomfortable heat flooding my chest. My eyes itch. I press my hands over my face and lean back into the shower spray.
A heavy thought settles in my brain - what if Clark isn't my guy? What if we just aren't suited beyond these simple vanilla fucks?
I knead away the worries as I wash my hair and scrub myself clean. By the time I step out of the shower, all of the surfaces are slick with moisture, and my large mirror is steamed opaque.
I walk through to the bedroom, shouting, "Clark?"
There's no response. I shut off the music and listen to the silence whirring. I pull on some sweatpants and a tank top and wander through to my office, where my Mac rests fully charged on the blotter. There's a knock on the door. I look up to see Alfred.
"Is he still here?"
"Who, sir?"
"My date. Clark."
"Oh no, sir."
Alfred reaches into a pocket and extracts a note.
"But he left this."
"What's it say?"
"He needs time to think, he'll call when he's ready."
I put my hands to temples. I spooked him.
"Call the office, Alfred, I'm working from home today."
He nods, a hand on the door handle though he doesn't turn.
"Sir, what was that about?"
"Sex, Alfred."
He nods and turns his shoulder, wandering out into the hallway, leaving the door ajar as I like it. I settle into my desk chair with my legs crossed and open my emails to start the day's work.