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If asked, Bruce would admit that ‘Brucie’ was a necessary evil; an embarrassing persona that meant that he (Brucie Wayne) would never be linked to himself (Batman).
Thankfully, Alfred did not ask (he would rather not know) and whilst his kids did ask, they mostly took his answer at face value.
Since nobody else knew the identities were connected, nobody else would bother asking.
Which meant nobody really questioned what Brucie Wayne did in a way that expected a logical answer. Rather the question was more ‘What [the hell] is Bruce Wayne doing’.
He thought it was all quite clever. ‘Brucie’ got away with all sorts, because nobody ever expected anything of him. Strip dancing at the Ice Lounge? Shocking, but not surprising. Falling into a pool and accidentally dragging somebody else in? Classic clutz Bruce. Being seen making out with multiple people in one night? One of the tamer things he’d been caught doing in all honesty.
He would be lying if he said it was all for the ruse. God forbid he have a little fun with it.
Not too much fun of course. He never brought anyone back to the manor (only the penthouse) and he never got drunk (only tipsy, and only on nights when patrol was covered). Everything else was neither here nor there.
So, all in all, not everything he did as ‘Brucie’ was an act that he would otherwise cringe at.
This, however, was not one of those ‘things’.
This was not something he intended, not something he wanted, and most certainly was something he very much regretted.
He’d made the mistake of going beyond tipsy, past drunk and straight into the territory of ‘black out’.
Bruce Wayne had been invited to Oliver Queen’s bachelor party, and as Brucie Wayne, he couldn’t exactly say no. Not to mention that Ollie was actually someone he genuinely considered a friend, considering he’d known the other man since childhood.
So he’d asked Dick to put on the cowl for one night and cover his patrol. Naturally, when Jason realised, it had become a whole other ordeal of trying (and failing) to convince Jason that he couldn’t go out as Robin with Dick, and then an even bigger ordeal of trying (and thankfully succeeding) in convincing Dick to take Jason out with him for the night.
Dick complained, but he’d already complained when Bruce asked him to wear the cowl, and for all Dick moaned about having to babysit, he knew that he did actually consider Jason to be his brother, and extra bonding would be good for them.
So he’d been free to enjoy the night and celebrate with his close friend.
Except considering the pounding in his head and dry mouth he’d probably enjoyed it a bit too much.
He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face into the pillow and willed himself the strength to get up, get some water and painkillers and face whatever mess had happened last night.
Opening his eyes, he was relieved to find that the person hogging the duvet and snoring beside him was Ollie, meaning he at least didn’t have to deal with the aftermath of a one night stand.
Ollie was still wearing the button up shirt he’d had on the night before, but from the look of the leg hanging out of the sheets had lost his trousers before falling into bed. Bruce meanwhile had lost his shirt but kept his trousers.
Looking at the bastard sleeping whilst Bruce was awake and dealing with a monster of a hangover was pissing him off. So, with a little more force than he meant to, he picked up his pillow and whacked the other man with it.
If anyone was allowed to see Bruce do anything as childish as hit someone with a pillow, it was the man who he’d known since he actually was a child.
Ollie startled, choking mid snore and floundered like a dead fish before jerking upright and squinting at Bruce.
“What the fuck?” He croaked out.
Bruce just grunted, feeling slightly better now that the reason for all of this was also awake and suffering.
Head throbbing, he stood and made his way towards the ajar door which he presumed led to the bathroom, however before he got there Ollie interrupted him with a shout.
“Bruce. Bruce, you have a tattoo.”
“What?” Bruce squinted at the other man for a moment. “Are you still drunk?”
Ollie shook his head, looking somewhere between shocked and pained. “On your back.”
Bruce twisted, but was unable to see anything, so he walked into the bathroom, presuming there would be a mirror in there he could use.
In the few moments it took for Bruce to enter the bathroom, and begin examining himself, Ollie had thrown himself out of bed and stood in the bathroom door watching in horror.
At first, Bruce didn’t see anything, but then he realised that what he was looking for was not on his upper back, as he’d presumed, but much, much lower.
Sat barely above his asscheeks, was an intricate tattoo, and in the centre of the design was a symbol. Superman’s symbol.
“What the fuck.” Bruce breathed out, staring at it in disbelief.
“You have a tramp stamp.” Ollie stated, somewhere between horror and humor.
“Don’t fucking-“ Bruce hissed, as he twisted, causing the freshly tattooed skin to pull -“don’t call it that.”
“Fuck.”
Fuck indeed. Of all the stupid things Bruce had done this was by far the stupidest. Why the hell would he have-
His eyes caught sight of Ollie staring at him, mouth ajar and his eyes narrowed.
“This is your fault.”
“My fault?!” Ollie squawked.
“I would never have gotten this done-“
“-well you clearly did-“
“- unless some idiot put me up to it!” finished Bruce, glaring at his friend.
Ollie opened his mouth, an offended response on the tip of his tongue before a look of horror dawned on his face. “Oh God you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right-“
“Which means I’ve got one too.”
Bruce and Ollie stared at each other for a moment before Ollie began to panic. He scrambled at himself whilst Bruce watched, still not fully functioning due to being somehow both still drunk and also hungover.
It was only as Ollie twisted, whilst also bending that Bruce caught sight of something.
“Your thigh.”
“What?” Ollie’s head snapped towards Bruce.
Bruce nodded, and then pointed to his friend's right leg.
“Outer thigh, I think I saw something.”
Ollie, thankfully, did not pull his boxers down, but rather pulled them up, revealing the tattoo. It was Black Canary’s symbol, with a green arrow going through it.
Bruce pulled a face, but then again he wasn’t exactly in a place to judge.
“Oh god,” moaned Ollie, “Dinah is never going to let me live this down.”
“At least you’re marrying her.” Snapped Bruce.
They both wallowed for a moment, each coming to terms with their drunken mistake, before Bruce took in a deep breath.
“We never talk of this again. Ever.”
Ollie swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah I think that's a good idea.”
Nearly a year had passed since that night, and thankfully nobody else had ever found out about Bruce’s tattoo.
Honestly it wasn’t even something that crossed Bruce’s mind, most of the time he forgot it was even there. Which was probably how he’d ended up in this situation.
He and Clark had been researching a case in the Batcave. They’d long changed out of their costumes and into civvies. Whilst Clark was just in a pair of jeans and a shirt, Bruce needed something both warmer and more comfortable, and so had changed into a pair of loose sweatpants and a thick turtleneck sweater. It was tighter than his other ones, but it was so cozy he refused to get rid of it, choosing instead to wear it whilst in the privacy of his home.
They’d hit a dead end hours ago, but Bruce, stubborn as always, was refusing to admit it. Clark lent back against the table and watched as his friend hurried over to a massive filing cabinet where he kept old case files.
Apparently having it stored on an encrypted super computer wasn’t enough, he also needed physical copies ‘just in case’.
He would have laughed if it was anyone else, but Bruce had back up plans for back up plans and with the amount of times those plans had saved their asses he’d stopped judging the other man for how over prepared he was for everything.
Clark watched as Bruce yanked out another drawer, flicked through the files briefly before slamming it closed again and yanking out another.
He was slightly amused, not that he’d ever admit it. The case wasn’t one that was particularly high rung in terms of danger: the group they were investigating was more an annoyance than anything, but as weeks went on with nothing on them Bruce had become more and more irate.
He reminded Clark of a ruffled cat, hair a mess from having run his hands through it so often, and general demeanour much more frazzled than he would have expected from the typically calm and collected Bat.
Bruce yanked out several files, one of which clearly hadn’t been put away correctly, causing multiple pages to fall out and onto the floor.
Clark moved forwards to help pick them up, but froze as Bruce bent down.
He didn’t bend at his knees, but it wasn’t his form that shocked Clark. It was how when he bent, his sweater rucked up and combined with the sweatpants that sat low on his hips, he was treated to the sight of Bruce’s bare lower back.
Now usually this wouldn’t be something to gawk about - although Clark was definitely an appreciator of Bruce’s body when his back was turned - but there, sitting above the curve of where his ass began was a tattoo.
An intricate design with a symbol in the centre. His symbol.
He shot forward unthinkingly, hands grabbing Bruce’s waist, thumbs brushing against the design. Bruce let out a startled noise, attempting to jolt upright, but Clark’s hands held him firm in place.
“Clark?”
“You have a tattoo.” Clark murmured, eyes still stuck on the design. He heard Bruce’s heart jump.
“Ah. I forgot-“
“How long have you had this?”
He heard Bruce swallow. “Nearly a year?”
Clark’s grip tightened, and he groaned. “Bruce,” He couldn’t tear his eyes from the symbol - his symbol - body thrumming with possessive glee. “you have my symbol on you.”
“Yes.” Bruce didn’t offer any further explanation or reasoning, but Clark could tell he was embarrassed.
They’d been dancing around their feelings for each other for a while, both aware that it was mutual but neither willing to take the first step. This was the final straw however, and all the unresolved tension finally snapped as Clark had barely refrained from taking Bruce as soon as he saw that tattoo.
“Bruce,” Clark said his name like a prayer, and he heard Bruce’s voice hitch. “Bruce please. Can I- fuck. I want you.”
“Clark-“
Clark bent down, folding his body over Bruce’s, nose a hair's breadth away from his neck.
“Tell me no.”
“No.” Bruce’s voice was quiet but firm, and Clark shuddered, using all his willpower to pull back, but before he could, Bruce’s arm came up, grabbing a handful of Clark’s hair and keeping him where he was.
“No, I’m not telling you no.”
It took all his willpower not to tighten his grip on Bruce’s waist, well aware of how his strength could easily harm the other man.
Instead, he straightened, bringing Bruce up with him so he stood with his chest pressed against Bruce’s back. With Bruce slightly twisting to look behind him, Clark captured his lips with his own, finally kissing the other man.
Clark would like to say that their first kiss was something gentle and loving, but that would be a lie. Clark kissed Bruce like a man starved, desperately licking into Bruce’s mouth when the other man gasped.
He could hear that Bruce’s heartbeat was faster, and it only encouraged him more. To know that the man in front of him didn’t even flinch in battles others would run from, but yet Clark could affect him left him feeling even more turned on.
When Bruce pushed his body back, causing Clark’s erection to brush against his ass they both moaned. Clark dropped his head to press against Bruce’s shoulder, nose pressed against his neck, breathing in the scent of the other man as his hands pulled Bruce even tighter against his body.
His senses were practically overwhelmed by the other man - he could hear each little hitch in breath, every little moan he tried to repress; could taste him and smell him, feel him and it left him at the very brink of self control.
Clark kissed Bruce's neck, sucking a bruise just below his ear.
“No marks-“
“Think it’s too late for that,” Replied Clark, trying not to feel smug as he pulled back, just to push Bruce’s sweater up and stare at the tattoo.
“Clark-“
“Can I fuck you?”
Bruce went pink and it took all of Clark’s self control to not ravish him there and then.
Bruce however, was stunned into a brief silence, not having expected Clark to have been so blunt.
They’d been dancing around each other for so long he’d begun to wonder if it would ever go anywhere at all, and yet suddenly the man who’d blushed at the sight of him in gym shorts was able to be so straightforward.
His cunt pulsed between his legs and for all he tried to will himself to not react, he could feel that he was flushed.
“If you want to,”
“Do you want me to?” Clark looked hungry, pupils blown wide and lips wet and pink. He looked at Bruce like he wanted to devour him, and Bruce wanted to let him.
“Yes.”
Clark had him sat on the table where they’d been working in a move so quick that Bruce’s head spun as the world blurred around him. Bruce made a noise of protest once he realised he was sat on some documents.
“Clark, the case-“
In a blur he was moved again, only slightly, and all the stray papers were stacked up - messily - on the chair Clark had been using. For all he wanted to fret about how they were now out of order, he also didn’t want to interrupt what they’d finally started.
He could sort them later.
Clark was back, hands at his waist and Bruce smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you move so fast outside the suit.”
“I usually don't. Guess you just bring something out in me.” Replied Clark with a grin.
“I’ll bring something out of you.” Replied Bruce jokingly, channeling his inner flirty Brucie.
Clark huffed a laugh, making Bruce grin in response, but before he could say anything else, Clark had captured his lips in another kiss.
Unlike their previous kisses, this was much gentler. Clark had one hand at Bruce’s waist, the other cupping the side of his face. Despite the softer nature, Bruce found himself even more flustered.
He was used to people wanting him. He was used to desperate messy sex and being looked at with lust. What he wasn’t used to was the almost reverent way Clark was treating him.
When Clark pulled back, the soft look in his eyes made Bruce want to look away, feeling vulnerable in a way that he didn’t know what to do with.
“I thought you wanted to fuck me?” Bruce asked with a coy smile that he hoped hid his jumbled thoughts. He could handle sex, but he wasn’t sure he could handle Clark continuing to look at him like that.
“I’ve waited so long for this, can you blame me for wanting to savour it?” Clark said with a charming grin, “plus I’d need to get you out of your clothes first.”
“All you had to do was ask,” Teased Bruce.
“Please?” The desperate look in Clark’s eyes had Bruce smiling, and he reached to his waist to pull his sweater off. He pushed Clark backwards slightly to hop off the table so he could easily strip off the rest of his clothes.
He turned to fold them and place them on the table, and when he turned he gave Clark an unimpressed look, as the other man was simply standing there staring, still fully clothed.
“Are you going to make me do everything myself?”
Clark huffed a laugh and quickly he was stripped of his clothes as well. Bruce didn’t have long to appreciate the build of the other man and the size of his cock before Clark was moving, his speed leaving Bruce dazed as he was suddenly bent over the table, his legs spread in a way that felt obscene.
He could feel the cold air against his cunt, making him even more aware of how wet he was already. He flushed, as he felt Clark’s hands knead his cheeks before pulling them apart, spreading his hole further. Bruce closed his eyes and pressed his head to the table, letting himself go limp as he allowed Clark to do as he pleased.
Clark however was torn as to what he wanted to do. He couldn’t seem to think straight, even his eyes couldn’t decide if they wanted to focus on the tramp stamp that marked Bruce’s lower back, his thick thighs and ass, or his wet folds and winking hole that he had caught a glimpse of.
Unable to hold back any longer, Clark fell to his knees, spread Bruce’s cheeks and licked up from the protruding T-dick to his hole, before tonguing at Bruce’s entrance.
Bruce jerked at the feeling, hands clenching on nothing as he let out a breathy moan. Encouraged, Clark worked his tongue into Bruce’s pussy.
Clark pressed in two fingers, marvelling at how wet Bruce was. His thumb curved to press at his clit and Bruce let out a muffled moan, hips pushing backwards.
Slowly, Clark worked his two fingers in and out of Bruce’s pussy, crooking his fingers to find the spot inside that would make Bruce’s legs tremble, all the while his thumb swiped back and forth across his swollen dick.
He eased in a third finger making sure he was approriately stretched before working in a fourth, fucking his hand in and out as his thumb still relentlessly teased Bruce’s dick. Wetness was dripping down his wrist at this point, and Bruce was almost completely limp as he attempted to fuck himself back onto Clark’s hand despite his legs barely holding himself up.
“I swear, if you don’t get inside me in the next 10 seconds I’m getting the kryptonite.” Bruce’s voice was shaky but he still sounded so put together and Clark resented that. He wanted to ruin the man in front of him.
He crooked his fingers, pressing them into Bruce’s g-spot, and then used his superspeed to vibrate them ever so slightly.
“I am inside of you.” He responded, and smirked as Bruce let out a stuttered moan, as though he was trying to hold it in.
“I’m going to kill you,” Bruce hissed, but Clark merely laughed in response, before easing his fingers out of Bruce’s stretched pussy. It was red and dripping and his hole winked as it clenched around nothing, giving Clark the slightest glimpse inside.
Unable to help himself, he gave Bruce’s cunt one last loving kiss, although calling it a kiss may have been an understatement. He sucked at Bruce’s cock and licked through his folds as though determined to lick up every bit of Bruce’s wetness.
Clark dove his tongue into Bruce’s hole, sucking and licking like a man starved as he essentially made out with Bruce’s hole. He only relented when Bruce’s heart rate picked up, his muscles tensing in a tell-tale way that let Clark know the other man was about to cum.
He pulled back, marveling at how wrecked his cunt looked.
“Bastard.” Bruce groaned, his voice trembling almost as much as his legs.
“You just taste so good,” Clark responded, stroking a hand up Bruce’s thigh.
He stood, knowing if he stayed down any longer he wouldn’t be able to hold back from eating Bruce out again. He felt like a man obsessed, and knew if given the chance he would gladly spend hours between Bruce’s legs.
Part of him wanted to flip Bruce over, to catch every moan with his own mouth and see Bruce’s face as he came, but he couldn’t deny himself the view of Bruce’s arched back with his symbol marking the base of his spine.
“Protection?” He asked.
“I’m clean,” Bruce responded, not that Clark could have caught anything from him anyway. He assumed that if there were any concerns over pregnancy, Bruce would have addressed them.
“Finally gunna fuck me, boyscout?” Bruce tilted his head, looking back at Clark with his eyes half lidded.
“Do you want me to?” Clark had his erection in his hand, and pressed the head of it against Bruce’s pussy, thrusting forward slightly in a way that meant it just slid through his folds, grinding against Bruce’s clit.
He supposed he could speed off and return to get lube fast enough that it would be a matter of seconds, but he couldn’t even bear the thought of being away from Bruce for that long. Plus, with how wet Bruce was, he was sure they could make do without.
“Do you need me to say it?” Hissed out Bruce.
“Yes,” Clark replied, tone teasing.
“You want me to beg for your cock? Want me to tell you how desperately I want you to fuck me?” Bruce’s tone was almost mocking, but the way he said it partnered with how his thighs kept twitching didn’t back up his attitude.
“Go on then,” replied Clark, hands falling to Bruce’s hips- and the size difference was enough that Clark could still brush against Bruce’s tattoo with his thumbs whilst holding a firm grip on the other man.
He frotted back and forth slowly, Bruce letting out an annoyed sound when his cockhead caught Bruce's hole on a push forwards, but the angle was too off for it to push inside, and Clark’s hold prevented Bruce from angling his hips or pushing back.
“Clark, please just fuck me.” He finally moaned out, and Clark shuddered.
He pulled back one last time, admiring how his own cock was glistening, coated in Bruce’s wetness, before finally pressing the head of his cock at his hole and pushing in.
Clark groaned and Bruce let out a muffled cry, hips jerking.
“You’re so big.”
“Too big?” Asked Clark, staring down at how Bruce’s pussy stretched over his cock. For all he wanted to push forwards, he didn’t want to hurt the other man.
“No,” responded Bruce, attempting to push back but failing due to Clark’s firm grip on his hips, “just fuck me.”
“So impatient,” teased Clark, but he relented and began to thrust in and out of Bruce, slowly pressing in as deep as he could before pulling out just enough that only the head of his cock stayed inside.
It was delicious feeling Bruce’s cunt clench around him, feeling how he attempted to fuck himself backwards in a desire to speed things up, but the more liesurely the pace the longer Clark could draw this out for.
“Harder- please,” Bruce moaned out, finally giving up on attempting to stay stoic.
“You beg so pretty,” Clark leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Bruce’s neck, folding his own body over the other. Bruce was by no means a small man, but in comparison to Clark he could’ve been mistaken for one.
Bruce let out a breathy moan as Clark continued to kiss and suck at his neck.
“I don’t want to hurt you Bruce,” Clark said, in response to another desperate attempt by Bruce to fuck himself backwards.
“I don’t care if it hurts,” replied Bruce.
Clark swore, the last of what little patience he had left vanishing. He adjusted his angle, then began to fuck Bruce ruthlessly, aiming each thrust at the spot that made Bruce react the most. He was sure that this would leave Bruce limping, but who was he to deny what Bruce so clearly wanted.
Unable to hold back anymore, Bruce let out a stream of high pitched moans, as Clark’s cock repeatedly thrusted into him.
The pleasure was building in Bruce’s lower stomach, and even though he knew by now that attempting to move was futile, he couldn’t help but try to push back into every thrust.
He felt like he was going mad with the feeling of it, his muscles trembling as he tried to tell Clark to go faster and harder, but he couldn’t seem to stop the desperate moans slipping from his mouth to be able to form words. When he tried to stop moaning, his breath caught in his throat until it broke and he let out a loud keening noise instead.
“You feel so good around me, Bruce you’re so perfect for me, so tight and wet,” Clark
“Oh God,” was Bruce’s only response. Any chance he’d had at forming a cohesive thought went out the window at Clark’s words. The other man rarely even swore, and Bruce had never imagined he’d have such a dirty mouth.
“You like that? Hearing how good you are? I can feel you clenching around me, can feel how turned on you are by this,” Clark’s thumbs brushed up and down the sides of Bruce’s tattoo, before one hand let go of his hips to reach down underneath them to where Bruce was split open on his cock.
He didn’t slow his pace as he began to stroke Bruce’s dick, just a gentle brush of fingers.
Bruce nearly wailed at the feeling and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer.
Clark could feel all of Bruce’s muscles tensing, could feel how he clamped down on his cock as the pleasure wound him up, coiling tighter and tighter.
It was with a firm pinch to his throbbing clit that Bruce finally came, the feeling of it crashing over him as he shook. Clark didn’t let off playing with the other mans throbbing dick, nor did he stop fucking him and the wave of pleasure continued, rushing over him, continuing longer than any other orgasm he’d ever had.
Clark groaned at the feeling, fucking Bruce through it before his hips stuttered, and he pushed deep inside as he came as well. He curled over Bruce, and pressed his face to the nape of his neck, inhaling the scent of him as he rode out the feeling.
When Clark returned to himself, he righted himself, and admired the sight before him. Bruce’s breathing was heavy and he trembled, laying limp on the table. Clark slowly pulled out, and admired how beautifully wrecked Bruce’s pussy looked with his cum leaking out of it.
Without thinking he reached out, swiping up his cum and pushing it back inside Bruce’s hole.
“Clark,” hissed Bruce, jerking at the sensation, clearly oversensitive.
“Ah, sorry,” He replied sheepishly.
Bruce grumbled in response, but did not protest as Clark pulled him up and scooped him into his arms.
“Nobody else is home,” prompted Bruce, letting Clark know that should he speed them to his bedroom they at least weren’t at risk of being seen.
Clark didn’t question why the house was empty, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and instead flew them to Bruce’s room, as fast as he could without making the other man uncomfortable.
Clark placed Bruce down gently, before getting a damp washcloth and a towel to clean them both up. Afterwards he lingered awkwardly, not sure whether Bruce would want him to leave. They hadn’t exactly talked about their feelings before all of this.
Honestly he was a little embarrassed about how aggressively he had come onto the other man.
“Lie down Clark,” Bruce said, voice rough.
“Oh, uh okay,” Clark climbed into the bed beside him, “are we- do you want to talk about this? Us?”
“Right now I want to sleep,” Replied Bruce tiredly, “with you next to me. We can talk tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Clark smiled, relaxing. He turned and pulled Bruce into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to his neck, and letting the beat of Bruce’s heart lull him to sleep.