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Clark Kent didn't know what he was going to do with this information. He didn't know what life was like before he had this information. Dull? Boring? Perfect? He didn't know at this point. But it was driving him insane, consuming his every thought since he'd found out.
He'd find himself thinking of it while working at the Daily Planet. Eyes glazed over as he stared at his computer screen that was supposed to contain a hard-hitting article about the most recent school board meeting but instead it contained the words. Words he quickly deleted as he glanced over his shoulder making sure Lois or Jimmy hadn't seen. Thankfully everyone else seemed consumed with their own work, with their own lives, so Clark's distraction had escaped their notice. This time.
Another place it distracted Clark was when he went home to Kansas to help Ma out on the farm. He'd found himself thinking of it while he was moving a tree that had fallen in the pasture and blocked some access to the cattle's water source. He'd stopped dragging the tree away and spent a good fifteen minutes standing there looking at the bark before he'd realized what he was doing. When he was fixing the tractor for the millionth time - Ma refused to buy a new one - he found himself staring, but not seeing, at the engine with the image of it playing across his mind. He'd dumped cold water over his head. Ma had noticed of course. She'd seen that something was eating away at him but chose not to comment.
Now Clark found himself sitting at a Justice League meeting in the Watchtower and all he could think about was that. Wonder Woman was speaking about some diplomatic issue with some group of people on a planet that he really should know about but couldn't find it in himself to care about at the moment. All Clark could pay attention to was Batman, who was sitting directly across from him at the table. Batman who was dutifully paying attention to Diana's lecture, like a good member of the League. Not Clark though. Whenever he'd try, his mind would inevitably stray back to it.
"Superman, Superman" someone was saying, "Superman!"
He jerked out of his less-than-PG thoughts and looked around for the source of the voice. He found Wonder Woman staring at him, concern etched across her features. In fact, he was the center of attention, similar concern displayed across the faces around the League as they all looked at him. Clark felt a blush working its way up from his neck to his ears, pretty soon he'd be bright red, he was sure of it. This can't get any worse, he thought miserably.
"Superman, are you alright?" Wonder Woman asked, voicing the worry every other member of the League had. It was unusual for Superman to zone out like this during one of their meetings, especially given the subject matter.
Clark wanted nothing more than a hole to open up and suck him out into the vacuum of space. "Uh," he cleared his throat, "I'm fine."
"Riiiight," Hal said disbelievingly, crossing his arms and propping his feet up on the table he knew Batman didn't like. Batman shoved Hal's boots off the table. "And Spooky and I are best friends."
"Superman-" Wonder Woman started again, but Clark cut her off by abruptly standing up, chair falling over to hit the floor.
He didn't know why he was acting like this, it wasn't like he did anything explicitly wrong. But he needed to leave, to get out of here and away from all of the stares. Every member of the League was looking at him with expressions ranging from worried care to amusement. Clark had never been more thankful J'onn hadn't been able to attend the meeting.
He started backing away towards the door. "Uh, yeah I just need a minute to…yeah."
And with that he bolted.
=-=
It wasn't like Clark had been doing anything wrong per se when he'd found out. It was a harmless accident, a mistake that he wouldn't be repeating again.
It had been after a long fight off-world, one that had left both he and Batman battered and bruised. Albeit more Batman than Clark, but emotionally Clark had taken a few hits. It always hurt his heart when he saw just how injured Bruce could get, even with the Batsuit on. He'd try to put himself in the way of whatever was coming Bruce's way but even Superman couldn't be everywhere at once.
They'd made it back at the League's Watchtower with the others that were with them and were just finishing up their typical debrief meeting when it had happened. Clark had been chatting with Diana when he'd heard a slight stumble in the corridor. It wasn't loud enough for anyone to notice or care about, but he'd known right away that it had been Bruce. Bruce's heartrate had spiked just for two beats before mellowing out again. He had known that the other man was in more pain than he'd been letting on once they returned.
Turning away from Diana he'd peered through the door and walls to their meeting room to check on Bruce and see if he'd needed any help (because Rao knew he'd never ask for it). He'd only ever meant to check if Bruce was lying on the floor passed out or if he had recovered and was continuing on his way back to Gotham. He would later come to blame it on his own tiredness in the moment. But as he used his vision he had failed to have full control of it, so he had seen beyond just the doors and walls. He'd seen past the layers of the Batsuit and to the skin on Bruce's lower back.
And that's how Clark had found out Bruce Wayne, Batman, had a tramp stamp.
=-=
Clark stared at his reflection after splashing his face with cold water in the Watchtower bathroom. To anyone else he may look fine, but to him, he looked like a man who was haunted. No matter how many times he hit his face with water he could still see it when he closed his eyes, like he had for the past couple weeks. It was driving him insane. He felt like he was insane.
Who had his kind of reaction to finding out something like this about their best friend? Clark Kent evidently. He shoved his face under the running sink water, hoping that maybe reality would change and he could drown himself.
There had been many time they'd seen each other will little to no clothing on - hazards of being a superhero and vigilante - which wasn't a big deal. It was normal at this point. But Clark didn't remember seeing it on Bruce during any of those moments, and he had an eidetic memory. Which made him feel like he was going crazy twice as much. How did I not know?
Clark heard the door to the bathroom open and he shot up from under the sink, water dripping off of his chin. Bruce stared back at him in the mirror.
"Batman," Clark said, voice sounding like the words were punched out of him.
"Superman," Bruce returned the greeting before turning around and locking the bathroom door.
Clark's pulse skyrocketed. What is happening right now. Nervousness turned into anticipation as he continued watched Bruce in the mirror. The moment reminded him of some of the many dreams he'd had involving his best friend that he'd made sure to shove deep inside of him, away from ever becoming reality. Something akin to hope flickered in his chest.
"Clark," Bruce said, removing his cowl so he could look Clark in the eyes with his own, "what is wrong? You never space out like that."
The hope died a little. Clark scrubbed his hands down his face, an exhaustion taking over him. He was acting ridiculous. "I'm fine, B."
Bruce walked closer to where he was standing. "I didn't notice any injuries on you when we came back and there were no weapons used that could have damaged a Kryptonian." He paused as he scanned Clark head to toe again. "Even now I don't see anything that would raise alarm. So I ask again, what's wrong?"
Clark braced his hands on either side of the sink, head hanging between his shoulders so he didn't have to look at Bruce. He was afraid that if he met the other man's eyes, Bruce would see the horrible truth held in them. That Clark had violated Bruce's privacy and seen something he hadn't meant to and that maybe, just maybe, this was finally straw that broke the camel's back, causing Clark to reckon with the attraction he had felt for his friend for years now.
"I'm fine, Bruce. Promise. I didn't get injured, you didn't miss anything," Clark ground out, trying to reassure them both.
There were several moments of silence before Bruce said, "You've got to get better at lying, Clark."
He huffed out a small laugh. "I'll get right on that."
"Hnh. Please do."
Silently, Bruce turned to go, unlocking the bathroom door to walk back out into the hallway, leaving Clark to suffer in peace. Clark raised his head just enough to catch the man leave, which was a mistake. Because the only thing Clark's eyes could zero in on was Bruce's lower back. Guiltily he wanted to look at it again, to look through the layers of the suit to see the tattoo more closely again, but he restrained himself - just barely. Wrenching his eyes away from the closing door, Clark stuck his head under the sink again, turning the water back on.
=-=
Clark groaned as he sat slumped over his desk, choosing to ignore his pile of work in favor of self pity. He'd thought that if he just gave it time Bruce's tattoo would be a thing of the past. He should have known better. The more he tried to move on with his life and act like everything was normal, the more the image plagued him.
"Buck up, boy scout. It can't be that bad." Lois walked over and seated herself on his desk, arms crossed as she looked at his dramatic display.
He groaned again but sat up in his chair this time. "It's terrible, you don't understand."
"Try me," she said, sipping her ninth cup of coffee from her mug.
Clark opened his mouth to tell her no but then shut it again once he started thinking about it. What she suggested wasn't a bad idea. Wouldn't it be nice to tell someone? To get this thing off of his chest? Suddenly desperate to spill all he jumped up and grabbed Lois by the wrist, dragging her to one of the closets he knew no one could be near at this time of day.
Lois shook her hand out of his grasp, choosing to slow down to walk at a more leisurely pace. Still drinking her coffee nonchalantly, she eventually met Clark in one of the Daily Planet storage closets. "Clark! What has gotten into you? You're being so weird it's getting to be painful to watch! And other people are noticing!" she said the moment she'd shut the door.
Clark turned around, or at least, turned as much as he could in such a small space. His cheeks felt hot as he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to calm his pounding heart. This was getting absurd, he was— "Bruce has a lower back tattoo!"
He had pretty much shouted it in her face, but Lois took this information the way Clark thought she would. Which was to say, she had no reaction. "Yes, and?"
Clark lowered his hands from his hair and stood straighter, taken aback. "And isn't that… I don't know. Surprising?" he hesitantly asked.
A smile tugged at the corner of Lois's mouth. "Not really because I already knew about it. He got it a while ago, back in his earlier playboy days." She waved a hand in the air as if to brush the unimportant matter away, like that was that.
"You knew?!"
"Clark," Lois said sternly, setting down her mug and taking him by the shoulders, shaking him as much as she could. "First, I'm an award-winning investigative journalist, I can find anything I want about anyone if I choose. Second, did you forget that he and I went on a couple dates a few years back? Of course I know."
He felt unmoored, untethered. At this point everyone could know and it would just be Clark acting like a fool after learning this apparently uninteresting and completely normal fact. "Oh," was all he could come with as a reply.
Lois backed away, crossing her arms, disappointment written on her face. "Is that what has you acting like this? Did you see it and now you're what? Scandalized? I know you come from Kansas but we do live in the twenty-first century-"
"No, no, no!" Clark exclaimed, shaking his hands in front of him. The last thing he wanted was for Lois to think that he judged people based on their body modifications. "That's not what I mean! I just, I just found out about it recently and-" Rao, what were the words he wanted to say"-I, I can't stop thinking about it!"
Lois's eyes widened almost comically for a second before she brought a hand up to smother the laughter that began to bubble up. "Oh this is too good," she said to herself between wheezes of laughter.
Clark crossed his arms and looked away. His entire face was red at this point. "Glad my problem is so amusing to you."
"I'm sorry. I really am. It's just so funny to me that Bruce Wayne's tramp stamp is your gay awakening."
Wait, what? Clark's mind halted at her words.
Lois continued laughing, wiping at the tears that had started to form at the corner of her eyes when Clark asked, "Gay awakening?"
Lois's laughter began to die out as she took in Clark's shocked expression. "Wait," she paused, "isn't that what this thing is about? You finally admitting you have a crush on him? Because let me tell you, thinking about Bruce's tramp stamp obsessively may be indicative that you want more than just friendship."
Clark wasn't sure his face could get any redder as he thought over Lois's words. Was that what this thing was? Was that why he felt he was going insane? He could argue that he was just appreciating the tattoo, as a friend, but then why would it keep playing across his mind? He had imagined catching a glimpse in the locker rooms at the Watchtower after a mission, or seeing it when he was visiting Wayne Manor and Bruce's shirt rode up when he reached for something placed on a high shelf , or watching it as he pressed into Bruce from behind, his eyes locked on it as he continued to pound- oh no.
"Darn it is that what this is?"
"Oh Clark, you're hopeless," Lois said, patting his shoulder in an attempt at consolation.
=-=
The crowd of reporters jostled around him as they waited for the event to start, pushing him forwards and backwards again. This was why Clark hated covering social events. No matter how hard he tried to stick to the back of the crowd he always ended up right in the front near the red carpet, pressed up against the metal gate holding everyone back. Cat had practically begged him to sub for her tonight because she had a date with this "great guy" and she "couldn't miss her chance at love" and "don't you know what that's like Clark?". It had worked, and that's how he'd found himself in Gotham at a gala to help... Clark looked down at his notes, to help fund new transportation initiatives.
As usual, he was towering in the front of the wake of reporters (because that's what they were, vultures surrounding the carcass that was Gotham socialites) when the cars began arriving. Thank Rao, because Clark wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. This gala was one of the rare ones not sponsored by Wayne Enterprises, so a part of him hoped that he wouldn't see Bruce. There was too much he still had to figure out and he was afraid about what could come out of his mouth if he saw the other man.
The first car's doors opened and random rich people Clark assumed were important got out. As they moved past him he got a few quotes, a sound bite, and then they moved on. Rinse and repeat. By the time the last car had pulled up Clark was ready to head back to Metropolis, there couldn't be anything new or noteworthy about what the last socialite was going to say. Yet he stayed, because he knew Perry would have his head if he left early.
He was looking down while putting his notebook away, deciding he could just use his voice recorder when he noticed that the crowd's volume had increased exponentially around him. They moved again as a group, arms outstretched, cameras flashing, shouting questions at whoever the last person was to arrive. Clark peered over the top of the crowd's heads only to see Bruce Wayne begin to saunter down the carpet, grinning and flirting with everyone in typical "Brucie" fashion.
Clark nearly groaned out loud as he tried to make himself smaller, to try and escape Bruce's notice. He knew it was a lost cause, that Bruce would inevitably notice him because he always did, but he tried anyways. It was worth a shot.
"Ah, the Daily Planet! Did you know I bought that newspaper?" a voice said in front of him.
Clark looked up and found Bruce with his characteristic "Brucie" smile plastered on his face, leaning on the metal gate. But as fake as the smile was, he saw genuine warmth in Bruce's eyes as the billionaire waited for his reply. It made him feel like for a moment everything would be okay, that they could go through the motions and that Clark could keep his horribly obvious crush under wraps. And it was okay, for that second. Before Clark's mind caught up and remembered Bruce's tattoo. The very thing that had jump started his 'gay awakening' as Lois called it.
"Uh," he said intelligently as his mind floundered. What were the questions he was supposed to ask? What had he asked the other Gotham socialites? Where was his notebook?
Just then someone called to Bruce from behind, causing the man to turn his back to Clark as he shouted back some reply. Clark then noticed that Bruce wasn't wearing his suit jacket, choosing to walk out in his slightly undone tie and dress shirt. Typical Brucie attire. But the shirt was riding up in the back, bunching up just above the belt on Bruce's pants. It would be so easy for him to just pull it off, to see what he was looking for. Hell, he could just look right now if he wanted and no one would be the wiser.
Clark's brain blue screened.
"So where were we?" Bruce asked once he'd turned around again, still smiling.
Clark knew he'd been asked a question, knew he had a job to do, but now there was only two things on his mind. His giant crush on his best friend and how hot it was that Bruce had- "Tattoo," Clark blurted out.
Bruce's smile froze, silently blinking at Clark for a few seconds. He watched confused concern cross Bruce's face before it quickly disappeared like it had never happened. "Tattoo to you too," Bruce said jovially and moved on to the next reporter. Clark distantly heard him say, "What a weird way to greet someone!" causing the group to laugh.
For the second time in the span of a couple weeks, Clark wished a hole would open up and suck him into the vacuum of space. Ears burning red he retreated to the back of the crowd, making himself less noticeable. People moved around him, surging to fill the space he'd left. He was supposed to go into the gala after this, get more for the story they were writing, but he couldn't find it in him to walk any closer to the building's entrance.
Tattoo?! That's what you said?! That's all you said?! Clark berated himself as he turned around and began walking towards the train station that would take him back home, take him away from all this.
=-=
Fate must have been on Clark's side for the time being because both superhero and Watchtower duties hadn't coincided with Batman's in weeks. More often than not, he found himself working alone or occasionally with the other League members. And gosh, Clark was grateful for it. It wasn't as if he'd been avoiding Bruce or purposefully making sure they were never alone in the same room together, but the distance and time alone had helped his mind (and heart) calm down a little. He could at least think about something other than the tramp stamp when thinking of Bruce, which was a win in Clark's opinion.
But Fate had had enough.
Clark was in one of the locker rooms focusing on changing out of his damaged suit when he heard the door open. "Hey Barry-" he started to call out but stopped. He could never mistake that heartbeat for anyone else.
"Superman," Batman said behind him.
Clark sighed. He really didn't want to have this conversation, not now, not when he felt like he'd just got a handle on things. "It's just us, Bruce. No one is in this wing anymore."
He heard Bruce take the cowl off and come closer. "You've been avoiding me," Bruce said accusingly.
"No-"
"Yes you have, and something is evidently wrong because for the past month you've been acting strange. For the life of me I can't figure out why."
Clark turned around to face the man, hackles rising in defense. He was embarrassed, embarrassed at being called out like this and embarrassed about his behavior; it was childish and he hated himself for it. "I'm no-"
"The last thing you said to me was 'tattoo'. Do you remember? Because I do. And then you didn't even come into the gala, which I know Perry would have wanted you to do. Then the Watchtower's monitor duty schedule changes, which I didn't approve by the way, and then whenever we are in the same room you have to suddenly be somewhere else or you need to go talk to someone," Bruce said it all in a rush, like he was afraid Clark would speed away if he didn't get the words out quickly.
Shame flooded Clark's body, making his heart ache as he made eye contact with Bruce. Hearing it all laid out like that, well, it was a reality check he didn't want. "I-" he tried again, but Bruce began talking again.
"What did you mean? When you said 'tattoo'? Is it code for something? Is something wrong? I've been researching theories and looked into Kryptonian cultural mean-" Bruce continued to name off several things he'd found while looking into whatever he thought was wrong with Clark.
As much as he enjoyed listing to Bruce ramble about this, that, and the other thing, Clark knew he had to stop it. It was cracking his heart open to realize that his own issue had caused so much worry in his friend. And for no reason.
"Bruce, there is nothing wrong. Truly."
"Then why-"
Here goes nothing. "Because I saw you had a lower back tattoo and I couldn't stop thinking about it and it was driving me insane." The speed at which Clark said it made it sound like it was all one word, slurred together so quickly that maybe Bruce would mishear (fat chance).
Confusion furrowed Bruce's brow and Clark had to tamp down the urge to run his thumb over it and smooth it out. "I," Bruce started, "I don't know-"
"You don't have to say anything!" Clark rushed to say. He was the one in the wrong and he needed Bruce to know that, to know how sorry he was. "I know it was wrong! It was after a mission and I accidentally, no I purposefully used my x-ray vision to make sure you were okay after you'd stumbled in the hall. I didn't reign it in enough and then I just saw it. Then I couldn't stop thinking about it because, well, I don't know—" he wasn't sure if he wanted to confess everything today "—but that's why I avoided you because I knew I'd say something stupid, like I'm doing right now, and I didn't want that."
Clark let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding after he finished his monologue. He looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes, it felt like an incredible weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. Sweet, sweet relief.
"What is it of?"
Clark eyes shot open. "What?"
"You heard me. What is my tattoo of?"
Clark lowered his gaze to meet Bruce's eyes, hard and unreadable. "It looked like an avant garde sort of…bat. Shape. Thing," he mumbled, looking away, hoping he wasn't getting it wrong.
He heard a sharp bark of laughter and he snapped his head back to look at Bruce. The corner of Bruce's mouth was crooked up in what Clark could only define as a smile. Bruce was smiling at him. Laughing at him. He wasn't mad.
"So you found out about the tramp stamp I got in my early twenties and that's why you started acting weird? Christ, Clark, Diana and I were worried someone had snatched you and replaced you with a false version of yourself. That's how weird you were." Bruce let out another laugh as the tension in his body visibly left. "Look, I know you're from Kansas, but it really-"
Clark threw his hands up in frustration. "Why does everyone keep saying that? People in Kansas have tattoos too ya know! I don't care that you have one, in fact it's really hot! In fact I-"
"I'm sorry what was that?" Bruce interrupted.
"What was what?"
"The last part that you said."
Clark lowered his hands as he said his words back to himself, "I said that I don't care that you have one and that…" Oh no. His mouth had gotten away from him again. His ears began to burn.
"'And that' what?" Bruce asked again, eyes pinning him to the lockers. Clark noticed Bruce's shoulders tense up, the earlier amusement a thing of the past.
"And that it's really hot," he finished his sentence lamely.
Bruce nodded and looked at Clark silently.
Clark stood there as he waited for Bruce's response. Hands twitching at his sides, desperate for something to do, something to hold. His body felt as tight as a bowstring, waiting to snap. Just one word, any word from Bruce and this whole thing, their whole relationship could be over. He forced himself to breathe in and out, trying to do something to sooth his fraying nerves. The silence was eating him alive.
"Look, B, I'm so-" he started to say but was then slammed up against the lockers.
Bruce had his forearm across Clark's chest, holding him there. On any other day, in any other circumstance, this situation would have had hope blooming in his chest. But not now. He knew he could push back if he really wanted to but he wouldn't do that to Bruce. If Bruce was mad at him, and this would make Bruce feel better, than Clark would take it. If that's what it took to fix this.
Bruce leaned in closer, blue eyes still unreadable. "You're an idiot, you know that?"
Okay, ouch. "Yeah, I know," Clark said, resigned.
Something in Bruce's eyes changed as his expression became more upset, like something was physically paining him. Clark felt wretched. I hadn't meant to do this to his best friend. Bruce shook his head at him, noses so close together they barely brushed one another. "I don't think you do, Clark," he whispered and closed the distance.
It took a few seconds for Clark to catch up with what was happening. Bruce's mouth was pressed against his in what could only be called a chaste kiss and it was over before he knew it, Bruce leaning away. Clark brought his hand up to his lips and touched them, skimming across them lightly like Bruce had. Something greedy roared to life inside of him.He moved his hand and grabbed the back of Bruce's neck, holding him close. But not close enough. They weren't finished yet, he wanted more. He was a man dying of thirst who has just been given water.
"You really had me worried," Bruce mumbled, eyes glancing down to Clark's lips and back up to his eyes.
Clark looked at Bruce's mouth and nodded, mouth beginning to water with want. He pulled at the back of Bruce's heads until the other man came willingly and their mouths met agian. Clark opened for Bruce, becoming drunk of the feeling of the other's tongue scraping across his teeth, the roof of his mouth. Right now, it felt like he could die a happy man, but it couldn't end here. Clark pressed forward as much as Bruce would allow, pushing against Bruce's mouth as he sucked and bit.
He moved from to the corner of Bruce's mouth, making his way down to the man's jawbone, nipping and kissing as he went. Bruce gasped as Clark's teeth broke the skin, the sound going striaght to Clark's cock.
"You're the worst," Bruce gasped, hands now holding the two of them tightly together.
"The worst," Clark mumbled and then tore at the Batsuit so he could get access to what he wanted most right now. The second Bruce's neck was exposed he bent back down and continued to kiss and bite.
"Just," Bruce began but was cut off by a groan when Clark bit down closer to his collar bone. "Terrible."
Clark nodded, mindlessly. "Terrible," he agreed and continued his mission. He was going to mark Bruce everywhere, that way anyone and everyone would know he was taken. There would be no doubting it.
Bruce pushed at Clark's shoulders and Clark grumbled as he allowed himself to be pushed back from making another red mark on Bruce's neck. He leaned in to give Bruce another kiss on the mouth, but the other man leaned away, leaving Clark wanting.
"Don't say you want to stop. Please," Clark begged.
Thankfully, Bruce shook his head. "No, but I would like to take this off. I'm afraid you'd destroy the whole thing if you could," he reached up and started to take the Batsuit apart.
Clark leaned back against the lockers again, restraining himself from reaching forward to rip off the damn suit. Bruce was taking too long, taking his sweet time, and Clark's cock was aching, his whole body was aching. He clenched his shaking hands, keeping them by his sides as Bruce finished taking off the last of his armor. After painful minutes, Bruce stood in front of him just a thin thermal long sleeve and leggings, clothes that did nothing to hide the erection he was sporting.
Clark's eyes flicked down to Bruce's cock and then back up again, meeting the other's amused gaze. "Like what you see?" Bruce asked.
Clark nodded silently, no words to be found at the sight. This was everything he'd ever dreamed of and more. And now it was real. This - they - were real.
Patience snapping, Clark reached out and pulled Bruce to himself so they were pressed together again. Their cocks ground together as Clark pulled Bruce's hips impossibly closer, making him groan and slam his head against the lockers.
Bruce grabbed Clark's face and pulled him back for a kiss. Their tongues dove deep into each other's mouths as they pushed up against one another. Bruce slid one of his legs to slot between Clark's and jolted his hips upwards against Clark's rock hard thigh. Clark captured the groan that escaped from Bruce's mouth and moved against Bruce's hip. Pleasure ripped through him and he felt the low heat begin to grow.
Clark growled against Bruce's mouth and bit down on his lower lip, hard. "God, yes," Bruce breathed out, words brushing against Clark's cheeks.
Clark whined as he pushed further into the top of Bruce's thigh. It was good, but he wanted more. There had to be more. His feelings must have been evident on his face, or he'd spoken the desire out loud, because right after he thought it Bruce shoved him back and turned around. Instinctively, Clark grabbed Bruce's hips again and pulled. Bruce's ass pressed against Clark's cock and Clark swore he saw stars. His cock rubbed in between Bruce's ass cheeks as he desperate sought what he wanted through the thin clothing.
One hand still on Bruce's hip, holding him steady, Clark moved his other down Bruce's front. He paused briefly to play with Bruce's nipple, pinching and rolling it between his thumb and index finger, as he sucked at another spot on Bruce's neck. Bruce leaned his head back against Clark's shoulder and ground his ass further against Clark's cock, back arching in a way Clark had never seen before.
Clark moved his hand further down, slipping beneath the waistband of Bruce's leggings. Bruce whined when Clark's hand encircled him, stroking slowly up and down. Beads of precum had already made the front of the leggings wet and kept coming as Clark continued to stroke Bruce's cock. Clark's hips moved in tandem with his hand, his own cock leaking and impossibly hard. The sounds coming out of Bruce's mouth, the gasps, the breathy 'yes', the quiet moans, were nearly enough for Clark to cum off of.
But it wasn't enough. Clark needed more.
Clark's other hand slipped off of Bruce's hip and made its way to the legging's waistband, tugging at it, trying to pull it farther down.
"Clark," Bruce breathed out, his hands grabbing at Clark's.
At the sound of his name Clark stopped, his own hands stilling and pulling back slightly. "Bruce, I-"
"You better not stop," Bruce said, glaring at Clark over his shoulder in a challenge. Bruce brought both of Clark's hands to the top of his leggings and pulled them down, exposing his ass and rigid cock to the cool locker room air.
Mesmerized, Clark grabbed one of Bruce's ass cheeks and squeezed. It was so satisfying. He'd be lying if hadn't thought about doing this multiple times prior to finding out about the tattoo. Clark brought his hand back and smacked it, relishing the crack and slight jiggle it had. "This might be my new favorite thing," Clark murmured to himself.
Bruce smirked. "You're welcome."
The sight had Clark remembering he still had shreds of his suit on, so he used some of his super speed to quickly discard it. He grinned as his hands reclaimed their rightful spots on Bruce's hips, pulling them flush again. The feeling of skin to skin, of Bruce's ass brushing against his cock had Clark's hips thrusting upwards involuntarily. Both men groaned at the sensation.
Bruce leaned forward and braced his hands against the lockers on the other side, ass up in the air. "Do it, Clark."
"We don't have any lube and you aren't prepped." It was barely a protest. Clark was already grabbing Bruce's ass and positioning the tip of his cock against Bruce's hole.
"Don't care," Bruce gasped out, pressing back against the feeling of Clark's cock against him.
Clark leaned forward, cock pressing further against Bruce's hole, and put a cupped hand in front of Bruce's mouth. "Spit."
Clark expected something, a snide remark, a glare, but Bruce did as he was told, no hesitation. It made him wonder what other things Bruce would be told to do. A shiver ran through Clark at the thought as Bruce spit in his hand. He brought his hand back and coated his cock in Bruce's spit, slicking the entire shaft. If he could, he fully intended to bottom out. He wanted to stuff Bruce full.
Cock wet with Bruce's spit, Clark lined up the tip of his cock again, this time pushing in slightly. A moan ripped from Bruce's throat as his hole resisted the initial stretch. Clark pressed further in just until the head of his cock was in Bruce's ass. He stopped there, allowing Bruce to get used to the feeling before doing anything else. It was so tight, and so warm, it took everything in him not to cum right there like a teenager.
"You know," he said, trying to distract himself, "I imagined doing it just like this, but on monitor duty. When it was just the both of us."
Bruce groaned at the words and pressed himself back, bringing Clark's cock into him further. Clark gripped Bruce's hips tightly as he began small thrusts in and out of Bruce's hole, the head of his cock scraping against Bruce's walls. He would bring his cock out so it was just the tip of the head that was still in and then push back in before either of them had chance to get used to the feeling.
He could hear the quiet gasps of pleasure Bruce was stifling so he started to speed up a little more. He wanted to know what he had to do it get Bruce to be loud. He was about halfway in when Bruce slammed his fist against one of the locker doors. "More, Clark!" he demanded raggedly.
Before the words had finished leaving Bruce's lips Clark's hips snapped forward, leaving his cock fully bottomed out inside of Bruce. Bruce gasped at the sudden intrusion as Clark held them here, running a hand down the middle of Bruce's back soothingly. As much as he wanted to start moving again, Clark knew he had to restrain himself. He didn't want anything bad to happen during their first time just because he was impatient. But boy was this a lesson in patience.
Bruce's hole was tight and warm around Clark's cock, squeezing so much that he was sure if he was human it may have snapped. He brought both hands back to Bruce's hips and rubbed small circles with his thumbs into the man's lower back as he gazed down at the tattoo that was there. It was just like he'd imagined, it was perfect. He'd remember this until the day he died, he was sure of it. The image of him, balls deep inside the man he love, with the tramp stamp of a bat (or thing, or- honestly it could be whatever at this point) decorating the top of Bruce's ass.
Clark wasn't sure how long they were like that before Bruce began to push back against Clark, small thrusts that barely moved his cock but drove him wild just the same. Clark dragged his cock out, choking down a moan as he slammed back in. Bruce gasped, but not as loud as Clark wanted. He repeated the motion. Same result. Clark began a fast pace, thighs making obscene slapping noises against Bruce's ass.
"Do you want to know where else I've imagined doing this?" Clark asked between thrusts. He was itching to get a reaction out of Bruce before either of them came.
"No," Bruce ground out, teeth gritted.
"Bent over the table at the Founder's Hall, just after we've finished one of those tense Justice League meetings. The ones that leave you tense." At the last word Clark bottomed out again, hips ramming to meet Bruce's ass. A small shout left Bruce's mouth as Clark picked his relentless pace back up.
"God, yes," Bruce repeated again, head between his shoulders. The next time we do this, Clark thought, we're going to do it face to face.
"I've imagined it at the Daily Planet. You come to visit the newspaper you bought and I take you to a supply closet and fuck you senseless. You leave barely able to walk straight."
Bruce moaned louder at Clark's words. One hand leaving Bruce's hip, he leaned down and used it to pull Bruce's chest upwards. Holding Bruce in this position with that arm, he used the other to grab the other man's leaking cock and begin to stroke it in time with his thrusts. The sounds of their pleasure ricocheted off the room's walls at the new position. Bruce's ass clamped down harder on Clark's cock as he continued to move in and out, trusting up just in the right spot to hit Bruce's prostate.
The low burn was now a fire in Clark, spreading through his body. He desperately wanted to cum inside of Bruce, fill him up until he could taste it in the back of his throat. But he wanted, no he needed Bruce to cum first.
He brought his mouth near Bruce's ear as he maintained a steady rhythm, hand still stroking Bruce's rock hard cock, precum slicking the inside of Clark's hand. "And I've imagined taking you right in the middle of one of those ridiculous Gotham galas. In the middle of the room where everyone can watch-"
Bruce cried out nonsensically, desperate, cock twitching.
"- so that everyone knows who you are with, who fucks you to sleep every night. So the entire city of Gotham knows who you belong to. Me."
"Clark!" Bruce shouted out, voice low and hoarse and oh so perfect to Clark's ears, the best sound.
Cum shot out of Bruce's cock, coating Clark's hand in thick white ropes. Clark thrust his hips up one more time and let go, cumming inside of Bruce's ass, brain going blissfully blank. Clark held them both still as they came down from their highs.
Clark gently lowered Bruce back to his original position and pulled out, his cock sad to leave. Legs trembling slightly, Bruce stood up and propped himself against the lockers across from Clark, chest heaving as he caught his breath. Excess cum dripped out of Bruce's ass and down the his thighs. Clark had never seen anything more beautiful.
Clark smiled at him, happy endorphins coating his brain. "So I take it you're not all that upset about me seeing your tattoo."
Bruce looked at Clark, face flushed and unguarded, amusement filling his eyes as he looked away and then back again. Gesturing between the two of them as he leaned his head back against the lockers with his eyes closed, Bruce said, "You can see it any time you want if it means we'll do this again."
Clark's grin widened as he mirrored Bruce's pose. "I think I can arrange that."