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tickle-bugs · 1 year

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Chase the Memory of it Still

Summary: Clark is deeply, madly, head-over-heels in love with the one person he can't have. What happens when he can have him, if only for a little while? Fake dating friends to lovers superbat hehe

this one's for @fickle-tiction as payment for being a goblin in her dms LOL love ya!! the sequel to this is in progress >:) also it literally doesn't matter but vicki has a jersey shore/boston accent to me. i won't justify it.

Edit: now with a sequel, But You Were Mine

Clark has never really cared much about his paycheck—not in the grand scheme of things, anyway—but fuck he really doesn’t get paid enough.

“Sorry, Mr…Kent, but no press is allowed at the event. You’re more than welcome to wait outside with everyone else.” One of the guards—a bald fella who looks way too excited to turn him away—crosses his arms.

“…in the freezing rain.” Clark attempts to wipe his glasses on a dry part of his outfit. All he does is push the water around on the lenses. His suit’s about three shades darker from the storm. Why didn’t he wear his coat?

“You all seem quite dedicated. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” The guard smiles at him and shifts his weight, looking straight ahead as if all six feet of dripping Kryptonian have just vanished. The doorman reopens the door and shows Clark his people—a swarming mob of reporters hunched behind metal barriers in windbreakers, using plastic bags to keep their livelihoods safe.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Clark clenches his fist until it shakes. Inhale, hold…exhale. He came all the way out to cold, rainy Gotham—wait. Gotham.

He glances past the guards and sifts through the noise of the gala until he finds the one heartbeat he knows better than anything. He smiles.

“Oh, my mistake. I thought he hadn’t shown up. My partner is right there.” Clark points. They both turn to look—would’ve been an excellent time to subdue them if he was feeling more brash—as he waves across the floor at Bruce.

He looks spectacular, honestly. His hair is doing that ‘I woke up this perfect’ messy thing, his shoulders are unfairly crisp under a three piece suit that’s probably worth more than Clark’s rent, and he just…glows. He’s chatting with a young woman who looks more than happy to fawn over him. Clark’s no longer staring but gazing, he feels it, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do. Maybe Bruce should stop being so…distracting.

He sees the surprise and hears the murmured ‘Clark?’ under Bruce’s breath. He thankfully doesn’t say anything else as he approaches, just glides over with a glass of champagne.

It’s at this moment that what he’s done, what he’s implied really sinks in, but it’s too late to turn back now.

“Hey, I left my invite at your place and these…upstanding citizens can’t find room in their heart to let me by. That’s what I get for showing up to support my partner, huh?” He hopes his emphasis isn’t too much, but he really, really doesn’t want to stand outside after all of this effort.

Bruce’s expression lands somewhere between pleasure and disbelief, minute and restrained as always. It’s only the uptick of his eyebrow and the slight narrowing of his eyes that gives him away. Bordering on amusement, but not quite.

“That’s unfortunate. What seems to be the problem?” Bruce sips. The guards shift uncomfortably. Clark tries to quell his shit-eating grin.

“I guess they think you’re outta my league.” Clark can’t help but snort a little. Bruce rolls his eyes.

“Mr. Wayne, can we see your invitation please?” Baldy clears his throat and plays official, knowing damn well it won’t make a difference. Bruce hands it over without a second glance.

“You look handsome.” Clark winks at him. He could smell Bruce’s cologne before he even walked over. At this proximity, he’s starting to get a little weak in the knees.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” Bruce reaches past and adjusts Clark’s tie. Nice touch.

“Alright, Mr. Kent, you can enter.” The guards shuffle aside. Just to be an asshole, Clark shakes all the water off his form like a dog, splattering both the guards with the rainwater they tried to keep him in. Their shouts of confusion and disgust are the perfect soundtrack to his entry.

Bruce offers an arm as if he hadn’t seen a thing and leads him over to the coat check, as if he would have a coat to check. He takes Clark’s glasses off his nose, dries them with his kerchief, and puts them back. Clark wrinkles his nose at the gesture—it’s so Bruce to just…do it himself.

“Thank you. I’m so sorry,” Clark sighs. The lenses are terribly smudged. He plans for a headache.

“You owe me. Boyfriend? Really?” Bruce passes him a glass of champagne.

“I know, I know. I tried to get by as press and when I saw you, I panicked. Lex is here and Lois and I have been trying to corner the bastard for weeks—“

“Hold my hand.” Bruce extends a palm. Clark chokes on his drink. If champagne wasn’t trying to migrate into his lungs, he would’ve taken a serious crack at x-raying and double-checking it was really his Bruce.

“Clearly you’ve never done this before,” he murmurs, the very same palm sliding down Clark’s back. “Casual affection is key. We’re being watched.”

Bruce subtly laces their fingers together as they walk through the crowd. Clark tries to appear as put-together and boyfriendy as possible, but when he looks around, every single eye in the place is on him and Bruce. He starts to sweat and doesn't take another breath until they arrive at a little private corner on the far side of the room.

“So, you were saying about Lex?” Bruce leans against the wall, scanning the room over the rim of his glass. His eyes catch back on Clark, warm and intense.

“I, uh…he’s here.” Clark swallows. He’s starting to feel dizzy. This is a lot. He’s used to the grit of Batman or the gentle gruffness of Bruce. Bruce Wayne is a whole different creature.

“Mhm. He’s looking for R&D investments again. I was told it’d be rude for me not to attend.” A wry smile crosses Bruce’s features. He breaks eye contact to scan and it gives Clark the wherewithal to finish his thought.

“Lex is pulling his whole ‘get rid of anyone with superpowers’ shtick again. Really mad at me specifically, as usual. I’d bet you ten bucks he has a Kryptonite ray upstairs. He’s probably in the process of building more…or something worse.”

“You have a plan?”

“I was going to go up there and, yknow—“ he mimes smashing something— “but I can hear about twenty people whispering about us and I don’t want to make you look bad. Not that you look bad, you look great! I just know your reputation is important and I put you in a weird spot and I’m sorry—“

Bruce shushes him. Clark blinks and splutters, because who shushes people, but suddenly Bruce is so close that he can’t think. He can see the tiny scar on Bruce’s lip, the one he lies and says was from a household accident. Clark wants to brush his thumb over it.

He feels entirely normal about Bruce Wayne.

“Stop overthinking. You’ll hurt yourself.” Bruce roughly pats Clark’s cheek. Clark has to actively shift his focus from the calloused warmth of Bruce’s hands to his eyes.

“Okay, ouch.” Clark rolls his eyes. “I’m just…this is your element. I’m not good at this.”

“If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to stay.” Bruce tilts Clark’s chin down. Brushes some schmutz off his face.

“I got us into this. It’s alright.” Clark can’t look him in the eye. He’s so painfully aware of all the ways Bruce is touching. A perfectly choreographed performance for the outside eye. An act.

For a moment, he indulges himself, allows his mind to wander to a different world where Bruce might do this for him anyway. Somewhere so gently domestic that their rituals of touch are sacred. He wonders what it might be like to have a Bruce that’d dote on him like this, even while fussing at him.

Of course he has it now, but it’s not the same. Not when the eyes of hungry spectators cling to them from every shadow.

“I’ll arrange for someone to pick you up.” He already has his phone out and is halfway through dialing by the time Clark can grab him. Bruce spins out of the hold and starts walking away, still dialing.

“Bruce.” Clark yanks him back by the bicep. “I can survive mingling for a few hours. It’s no different than using a cover. What do I need to know?” Clark releases him only when it’s clear his stubborn streak is done rearing its head. Bruce works his jaw for a while and then sighs.

“When you’re talking to these people, they’re going to try and get to the center of you. Try not to lie. The truth will always be easier to remember. Just repackage it.” Bruce adjusts the clean lines of Clark’s suit with his fingertips, procedural and routine. Clark wonders briefly how many times he’s done this.

“Makes sense. Anything else?” Clark takes a measured breath.

“We have to sell this. People need to see easy affection before they believe that we’re…doing okay. Now, imagine someone’s watching us—“

“Are they?” Clark tries very hard not to scan the room. He starts to sweat.

“Shh. Someone’s watching us and you notice. They’re definitely gossiping. What do you do?” Bruce raises an eyebrow. The light of the obnoxious chandelier on the ceiling gives him a gentle glow. His eyes crinkle at the corners just slightly, even without a smile, and it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. The surge of emotion in Clark’s chest knocks him off balance.

“Well, staring isn’t—“

Clark kisses him breathless.

Bruce leans into it, one hand cupping the back of Clark’s neck. There’s a perfect sunburst of giddy adrenaline—his hands find Bruce’s hips and pull them closer. Bruce’s heart thunders in his chest yet his hands are steady as they brace against Clark’s back. Clark cups Bruce’s jaw and brushes his fingers through the gentle stubble there, lets it tickle at his fingers.

Clark breaks them apart with a quiet, triumphant chuckle—years worth of watching, waiting, and yearning all cresting towards this one moment. He can hear their comfortable status quo shatter as he does, but it’s worth it. It has to be.

“Wow.” Bruce smooths his hands down Clark’s chest. He can’t tell anymore if the heartbeat thundering in his ears is Bruce’s or his own but he doesn’t care to know—if it’s the former, he’ll combust. Or faint. Somewhere in there.

“How’d I do?” Clark manages to adjust his glasses without snapping them clean in half.

“I might have a few pointers,” Bruce clears his throat and looks away.

“We have plenty of time.” Clark steals another kiss and thanks the universe that Lois isn’t here to talk some sense into him.

……..

“So, you and Mr. Wayne, hm?” A blonde woman with a massive fur shawl wound through her arms sidles up with a glass of champagne. Clark freezes at the snack table.

“Hm?” He hides the multiple horderves in his hand behind his back. He’s very acutely aware that he shouldn’t be unsupervised right now, but Bruce is being flocked by investors with no hope for escape. He sneaks a pleading glance in Bruce’s direction.

They do lock eyes above the crowd, but the horde encircling him has the tenacity of seagulls on the boardwalk. Bruce apologizes with his eyes. Clark resigns himself to perish.

“Phyllis Hough, a pleasure.” She extends her hand to him and he takes it out of practice, kissing the knuckles. Her skin is so dry and clammy that he has to bite back the urge to gag.

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.” He presses his lips into something like a smile.

“Forgive me for intruding, but you’ve been the talk of the party since you arrived. How did you and Bruce meet?” She sidles too close, like they’re sharing a secret about someone else. Her demeanor reminds him too much of the foxes that used to terrorize his chicken coop growing up.

The truth is always easier to remember. Just repackage it.

“Well, he…needed my help. We met through work. We realized we worked well together and after that, everything sort of fell in place.” Clark shrugs.

“That’s just darling. My husband and I met on a mission trip to Ghana.” She points to a deflated puddle of a man who’s leaned up on the bar, looking like he’d rather disappear than be here.

“A mission trip? That’s so…necessary.” Clark smiles and tries not to throw up in his mouth.

“I adore helping the less fortunate. It’s a hobby dear to my heart.” She places a hand on her chest, showing off the obnoxious diamonds on her bony fingers. Diamonds likely stolen from the same places she claims to ‘help’.

“Ah, Mrs. Hough. Looking lovely as always. Do you mind if I steal Clark from you?” Oh thank god.

Bruce gives her a quick spin, using the move to squeeze closer to Clark’s side. He winds an arm around Bruce’s waist. Bruce rests his hand overtop Clark’s and he can’t help but grin like an idiot. He’ll never get over the little zing of his nerves every time they brush hands.

“So soon? We were just getting to know one another.” Mrs. Hough tries to slide back into their space. Bruce stares her down, but not unkindly—just a blank, mannequin-like stare and a smile that almost looks real.

A tense silence blooms between them. Clark’s sure if he listens just a bit harder, he’ll hear Bruce cursing this woman to high-heaven in his head. The silence stretches on.

“Forgive us. We haven’t spent much time together this week. I’ll admit I’m a little clingy. I never like to be far from him.” He cups Bruce’s cheek and gives him a quick, chaste kiss. Bruce chases his lips and lingers longer. Clark actually gets a little lost in it until a feeble cough splits them apart.

“Well, who am I to interrupt love?” She strains the word strangely. “I best take my leave. I’ll see you around, gentlemen.” She waves over her shoulder and traipses back into the crowd. As soon as she leaves, Clark heaves a deep, weathered sigh.

“How do you do this? I’d rather chew off my own fingers than rub elbows with these people.” Clark takes Bruce’s glass from his hand and downs it. The fizz is nice, but it might as well be water. He starts munching on his poached horderves.

“Trust me, it’s not fun for me either.” Bruce grumbles, plucking a cracker with crab dip from Clark’s little stash.

“Why do it then? Why pretend?”

“It’s part of the job. You know that better than anyone.” There’s something so very tired in Bruce’s eyes. Even as he smiles, it’s empty and rueful—the light doesn’t make it to his eyes.

“You don’t have to do that with me.” Clark squeezes his shoulder. Bruce’s gaze drops to the floor and his shoulder sag minutely, the tiniest give in his guard that Clark’s privileged enough to see. For a moment, he’s not Bruce Wayne but Bruce.

He doesn’t lean to catch Bruce’s eye—he knows he hates that—so he just stands there and rubs circles into his shoulder.

“I like who you are under the mask.” Clark offers him another cracker. Bruce takes it and taps it against Clark’s last ones, as if they’re holding glasses, and pops it in his mouth. Clark snickers. Only Bruce could make something so dorky look so charming.

“Am I dreaming, or is that you, Bruce?” A feminine voice cuts through the din with ease. Clark catches the moment that Bruce’s muscles lock up and the eyeroll before he turns around. Just like that, Bruce Wayne returns.

A woman in a long green gown slinks across the floor. Her posture sets her aside from everyone else in the room—her stance is powerful and lithe.

“Vicki. It’s been a while.” Bruce gives her that practiced smile he’s been wearing most of the evening. His posture is so unnecessarily rigid that Clark rubs his back before he can think better of it.

“How’ve you been, Brucie? Hear you’re gettin’ into some interesting trouble. Speaking of trouble—“

“Vicki Vale, Gotham Gazette.” She sticks out her hand to shake. Tall, blonde, terrifying eyes—yeah, he could see how she would be Bruce’s type. Definitely an ex.

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.” He shakes her hand. “I thought press weren’t allowed in.”

“I have my ways. So do you, it seems.” She winks and passes him a flute of champagne. He graciously accepts.

“Ah, well. Perks of being around this guy I suppose.” Clark bumps Bruce’s hip a little. Bruce looks so startled by the motion that Clark can’t help but laugh a little.

“Listen, Clark, I’ve been with Bruce before and—“ she leans in close but doesn’t whisper, like she’s giving the world’s most public secret— “He’s honestly a softie under all the suits and cars.”

“I am not a softie. I can hear you.” Bruce shoves his hands into his pockets. Even though he’s turtling, there’s a levity to it.

“He has a thing for stubborn asses who get into trouble, ‘cause he is one. If that’s anything like you, you’ve got a good thing going here.” She smacks Clark’s chest with the back of her hand. Her honesty is…jarring, but not unfun.

“Oh, do you now?” Clark raises an eyebrow at Bruce over the rim of his glass.

“It’s not a thing. I don’t have a thing.” Bruce grumbles, the faintest hint of pink tinging his cheeks.

“Kinda sounds like you have a thing, Brucie.” Clark grins. Bruce scowls. He might be pushing his luck but it’s the only fun he’s really had all night.

“You two been together long?“ Vicki snatches a fresh glass from a passing waiter like a viper.

“Few months. Feels like longer.” Bruce doesn’t skip a beat. Clark hopes his smile makes Bruce’s tone sound less under duress.

“Wow, that’s pretty serious. Congrats.” She raises her glass in salute. Clark wants to cut in—that absolutely felt sarcastic—but Bruce gives his hand a squeeze.

“Can’t imagine life without him.” Bruce gives him such an earnest look that Clark has to avert his eyes before he gets too hopeful. His stomach twists. Play the part.

“Do you got somethin’ you like most about him?” Vicki locks onto Clark and he jumps a little. She dissects him with her gaze in that way only journalists can. He does his best not to shuffle under her scrutiny.

“Vicki, I hope this isn’t an interview.” Clark gives her his best stern stare.

“If it was, you botched it.” She bumps shoulders with him. “I’m kidding. Off the record. I haven’t seen Bruce glow like this, ever. Just lookin’ for your secret.“

That sends a sweet, traitorous flutter through his ribcage.

“Do you want to dance?” Bruce abruptly turns on his heel and shoves his hand into Clark’s personal space.

“Do…you want to dance?” Clark furrows his brow. Bruce looks like he might explode.

“Come on.” Bruce pulls Clark onto the dance floor.

“Bye, Vicki!” Clark calls over his shoulder, but Bruce is spinning him into the gentle embrace of violin song faster than he can resist. They glide far, far away from that corner of the room, losing her verdant silhouette in the crowd.

“Be honest. Did you just run from your ex?” Clark laughs, trying to keep in time with Bruce’s steps. He’s always had two left feet, but Lois had forced him to go to ballroom dancing classes with her enough times for him to pick up some semblance of rhythm.

“No.” Bruce leads just a little too fast for the music at hand. Clark drags his feet in an effort to slow them down.

“I don’t buy it. You would’ve been happier to see Harley than Vicki.” Clark almost dips Bruce on autopilot. He course-corrects pretty quickly and pulls a tight-lipped Bruce close instead. Nearly cheek-to-cheek, Clark takes the lead as easy as breathing.

Clark isn’t sure when he started humming, but he lets the music take them both. Bruce allows him to maintain the lead, surprisingly, and he guides them languidly around the dance floor. He even twirls Bruce, shocked he gets away with it, but he’s too wrapped up in whatever this is to question anything.

When Clark pulls back a bit to tease, Bruce is staring at him with those wide, pretty eyes.

“What?” Clark can hear the gears in Bruce’s head turning, even when there’s nothing to say. A remarkable talent.

“I…didn’t know you could dance.” Bruce shifts his hand from Clark’s shoulder to his back.

“I’m full of surprises.” Clark grins. Their form slowly morphs from proper ballroom to a casual, dance-in-the-kitchen kind of waltz--Clark links his fingers with Bruce’s and leads them by the hands, they somehow find a way to get closer to one another, and they end up in a slow, gentle sway.

“We should dance more.” Clark spins Bruce again and they end up back-to-chest, arms crossed over Bruce’s torso.

“You can’t be serious.” Bruce’s ears are adorably rosy. Clark chooses to remain alive and not comment on it.

“It’s good for you, Bruce! Lord knows you could use the smiles.” Clark spins them again, back to proper form. Bruce’s whole face scrunches and he stops in his tracks. A tinnitus-like sound ringing gently from Bruce’s ear and into their personal space makes Clark wince a little.

Of course he’s wearing comms.

“Diana’s got Lex cornered upstairs.” Bruce leans in and murmurs low in Clark’s ear. He fights tooth and nail against a full body shiver.

“Diana’s here? You called for backup?” Clark adjusts his glasses.

“If anything we’re her backup.” Bruce scoffs. “We need people to see us disappear so we have an alibi. Act natural.”

Clark walks away. Bruce yanks him back by the bicep and leans in close.

“Flirt with me. No, no—Clark, like you mean it.” Bruce compensates for the awkwardness by messing with Clark’s tie, but it starts to look like a tic more than anything else. Clark caresses Bruce’s cheek but it looks more like he’s wiping something off his face.

“I’m trying!” He huffs. “This isn’t exactly my skillset.”

“You had all of…that a minute ago—“ Bruce gestures at him— “where’d it go?”

Clark tries to summon ‘that’, whatever that means. The best he can do is scowl uncertainly and lead them back into an awkward sway.

“You could at least pretend like you like me,” Bruce huffs, uncharacteristically petulant. Clark almost gives himself away then and there.

“I’m not good at this.” He swallows and averts his eyes.

“Come on, American Pie. You’ve gotta be working with more than those doe eyes.” Bruce’s devilish smirk genuinely tears the breath from Clark’s lungs. He takes a ridiculous inhale to buy him time until—yep, there it is, the smirk disappears.

“Nope. This pie is fresh outta doe…eyes…that was going to be a dough joke but I think I should let it die.” Clark lets his forehead collide with Bruce’s shoulder as they sway, relishing in the comforting pat on the back that he gets.

“That would be merciful.” Bruce laughs.

“Did you just laugh?” Clark perks up.

“No.” Bruce’s jaw tightens. He can’t kill the sparkle in his eye though, no matter how hard he tries. It’s there and it's stunning, like the cosmos in its depths.

“You actually think I’m funny. You laughed at my joke!” Clark doesn’t realize that he’s dipped Bruce until they’re nose to nose, sharing the space of a breath. He quickly pulls him back up.

Enough dancing. Clearly he can’t handle that.

“I think you are…moderately amusing.” Bruce rolls his eyes. Clark squints.

“I think you are super…man.” Clark drags out the pause. Bruce all-but-scoffs.

“Seriously?” He shoves Clark’s chest. There’s a fondness to the gesture that makes his heart ache.

“You wanna laugh. I see it in your eyes, you do this squint—“ Clark pokes Bruce’s nose, mostly because he can’t do anything about it.

“I don’t want to laugh. I want to punch you.” Bruce gives his best scowl. Clark’s finger on his nose cuts most of the threatening aura.

“You’re smiling though. You are!” Clark scritches beneath Bruce’s chin as a fond gesture, something Lois often does to him.

Bruce squeaks.

“You are beyond immature,” Bruce huffs, jerking away from the touch. Clark’s brain struggles to reconcile what he just heard with what he’s seeing, as a suddenly perfectly-stoic Bruce adjusts his suit jacket.

Clark reaches out to do it again and Bruce latches onto both of his arms to push him away. Clark pushes back with no strain, as if the grown man clinging to his wrists weighs no more than bracelets, and repeats the gentle tickle.

Bruce smashes his chin down to his chest as a couple of scratchy snickers force their way free.

“No way.” Clark beams.

“Don’t you dare. Do not. Clark—Clark.” Bruce starts to back away. Clark snakes an arm around his waist and holds him tight.

“What? I’m flirting.” Clark presses his fingers into the curve of Bruce’s waist and it earns him a headbutt—thankfully avoiding the glasses. He finds a spot beneath Bruce’s ribs that gets a snort.

“You’re so cute. I wish you’d smile more.” Clark worms his fingers beneath the curve of Bruce’s jaw, chasing that squeak that opened up such beautiful horizons.

“I am not cute, you dick.” Bruce tries to bite at Clark’s fingers.

“Mmm, I disagree.”

“I’m going to bury you in the shallowest of graves.” Bruce grits out, curling into Clark’s shoulder. A strangled squeal flies out upon contact with his ears and Clark stays there, fascinated by the degree of squirming happening in his immovable arms.

“I’m sure you will.” He persists until finally, finally, a choked giggle emerges. It’s quiet enough to float beneath the ambient noise of the gala, but it rings loud and clear in Clark’s ear.

“Are you coming? Otherwise, I’m taking him to Arkham myself. He’s…irritating.” Diana’s voice is a tinny pinprick in Bruce’s ear, but Clark still picks up on her message. He stills his fingers.

“On our way,” Bruce murmurs. As soon as the connection is severed, Clark steals one more squeeze at his side before they vanish to the service corridors to meet Diana.

…

“Boys. You’re late.” Diana looks up from where she’s been braiding the Lasso of Hestia. On the other end, Lex Luthor hums an irritating tune.

“Busy day,” Batman grouses, flexing his fingers. He makes his way over to the contraption in the corner and starts picking at the wires.

“Whatcha got over there?”

“A highly concentrated laser stocked with a rainbow of Kryptonite strands. We were right on time.” Batman dislodges something with a mighty crack. In his hands, a glass capsule full of suspended Kryptonite crystals glitters in the light. The lenses on the cowl flick blue as he analyzes them further.

“Well, Lex, you’ve just made me ten dollars richer.” Superman puts his hands on his hips. He can feel the faint, crawling fatigue starting to burrow into him from the proximity of the Kryptonite, but he resists it. He yanks a handful of wires free from the machine, crushes the focus, and kicks the motherboard hard enough to disintegrate it.

“I hope your investors don’t hear about this,” he tuts, crossing his arms. “I’d hate for Wayne Enterprises to leave you in the dust for the…what, sixth year in a row?”

“We’ll see who’s laughing soon, Man of Steel. Your supposed altruism is nothing but your own selfish desire, fueled by greed—“

Superman knocks him out before he can finish.

…

“What the hell do you gel your hair with? Cement?” Bruce ruffles Clark’s hair again with a scowl. It doesn’t move.

”Mrs. Duvet’s Quick-Dry Iron Hold gel. Otherwise it gets super obvious when I’ve been out flying.” Clark carefully starts pulling strands to the front, mimicking Bruce’s helmet hair.

“Of course you do.” Bruce continues carefully messing with his hair. Clark shivers at the fingers on his scalp.

“I can just wet it and shake it out real quick?” Clark grabs for the sink handle and starts sizing up how to fit his head into the basin.

“I’d rather not leave a soaking wet bathroom for the custodians.” Bruce runs his hands beneath the tap, then holds them towards Clark. “May I?”

He nods numbly. Bruce runs his hands through Clark’s hair and he utterly melts into it. Oh, it’s a crime this won’t last.

“Looking like, uh, we had sex is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” Clark starts fiddling with his tie. He can feel his face heating up at the idea of it.

“There is an art to it. Here, let me.” Bruce takes the ends of the tie and gives it a quick full Windsor with practiced hands. Then he loosens it just right.

“Honestly, Bruce, no one will notice if I sneak out. I’m just some reporter they’ve never heard of.” Clark’s eyes dart to Bruce’s lips for a moment.

“These people have nothing but time and wealth—they’re always looking for gossip. We disappear and you don’t come back? In two days, someone will find you and hunt you down for the exclusive on our ‘tumultuous relationship’.” Bruce fiddles with Clark’s shirt collar. Undoes a button.

“So I’ll tell them we went our separate ways. Big deal.” Clark clears his throat.

“Vicki and I broke up eight years ago. To this day, she still gets harassed by paparazzi on her way to work. Maybe that doesn’t bother you, but what are you going to do when people with cameras and time start realizing how much you disappear from the Daily Planet?” Bruce makes an exasperated hand gesture that seems to lack a target.

“Fair enough.” Perry and Lois can only protect him so much. Bruce, regrettably, has a point.

“We’re playing a part. After this, you won’t have to worry. I’ll give a statement that we quietly split and in a week or two, you’ll be left alone. Let’s focus on getting out of here.” Bruce returns to fiddling with Clark’s hair.

Clark takes Bruce’s hands in his own. His breathing stutters a bit.

“Can I kiss you, Bruce?” Never has a question felt so heavy, so precarious.

“Is there someone in here?” Bruce’s voice drops low, eyes darting to the stalls.

“No! No, I just thought it’d be easier to…y’know…rather than faking it.” He can’t bring himself to look Bruce in the eye. He loses track of whose heartbeat is thundering in his ears. He feels like he’s back in high school and fumbling his way through practicing in the mirror.

“What?” No going back now.

“It would just be for a minute or two. It might be more effective than pretending. We could kiss a little. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Clark shrugs. Yeah. Logic is good. This is strictly a business arrangement. Friends kiss sometimes. They’ve been through hell and high water together, this should be easy.

Bruce stares at him for a long while, long enough to make him sweat, to make him sick. Years of friendship and trust suddenly hang in the balance and he’s not ready for that. He’s not ready to lose that. What the fuck has he done?

“I—“

“Are you…reasoning your way through making out with me?” Bruce puts his hands on his hips, expression utterly unreadable.

“Maybe?” Clark swallows.

Silence envelops the bathroom. Clark starts running through ways to retcon the worst mistake of his life—passing it off as a joke? Yeah, that might work. He starts to fumble his way through the syllables of an apology, when—

Bruce laughs. Hand on the wall, shoulders shaking, laughs. He tips his head back as the last snickers float and echo. He looks at Clark down the length of his nose, still beaming. It’s the rarest thing he’ll ever see and he commits every detail to memory.

“I don’t think anyone’s asked so nicely before. Is this how they do it in Kansas?” Bruce unravels Clark’s tie in seconds. He wraps both ends around his knuckles idly, hanging his wrists off of Clark’s shoulders.

Clark grabs both sides of Bruce’s head and kisses him deeply to shut him up. Bruce tilts his head and pulls Clark roughly forward, slamming them both into the wall. He lets out a beautiful little noise as his hands slide beneath Clark’s jacket and absolutely ruin the clean press of his shirt. Clark has half a mind to hoist Bruce onto one of the sinks, but he resists.

He’s beautiful. It’s the only clear thought that runs through Clark’s head as he starts unbuttoning the buttons of Bruce’s shirt. He tilts Bruce’s jaw up and presses tender, lingering kisses down the column of his throat. Bruce pulls at Clark’s hair, forcing his head up, and catches his lips with a growl.

“That’s how we do it in Kansas.” Clark breathes, hovering in Bruce’s personal space. His glasses are fogged and smudged but he can still see the tantalizing tilt of Bruce’s lips.

“Again, I have a few pointers—“

This time Clark does pick him up. Bruce’s eyes go wide.

“Nevermind.” Bruce pulls him back in with a forearm around the neck. Clark surges forward and mouths beneath Bruce’s jaw. He can feel Bruce’s heartbeat nearby and he hunts for it, spurred on by the storm of his own want. When he finds it, he sucks slow and steady against his warm, soft skin until he’s sure it’ll bruise. Bruce lets out a keening whine that stutters into a gasp, gripping Clark’s shoulders. His thighs clench around Clark’s waist.

Clark’s better judgment grabs him and he breaks them apart. Bruce doesn’t move away and that lights his brain up like a Christmas tree. He hovers there for far too long, fighting tooth and nail against the urge to chase the adrenaline. Bruce looks utterly sinful in his grip, flushed in a way Clark hasn’t ever seen.

The concept of self-control comes to him in a whisper like it’s foreign. He remembers himself.

“Are we…good?” Clark vaguely realizes he’s still holding Bruce and sets him down. He’s buzzing from head-to-toe, like he’s just taken a full day’s nap in the sunlight. He’s not entirely certain he can feel his face. He touches his own lips reverently.

“What? Oh. Yeah, c’mon.” Bruce grabs him and leads them through the venue.

When Bruce pulls him through the party and towards the front doors, he doesn’t even process the prying eyes and whispers. All that matters is Bruce’s hand gripping his own.

Clark’s determined to catch this shooting star in his hand, even if it doesn’t last. Even if it burns him down the line.

#my fics #dc #superbat #bruce wayne #ticklish!bruce wayne #clark kent #diana is here im not tagging her #SORRY I FORGOT TO ADD #ask to tag

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blorb-el · 1 year

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lil snippet [376 words] of tooth rotting established relationship superbat fluff set in the purring au [kryptonians purr, that’s basically all you need to know] sometime after tacere and sometime before unnamed and still unplotted sequel. its pillow talk but g rated

"Bruce," Clark murmurs. "If you don't stop doing that I'm going to start purring on you."

Bruce smiles lazily and continues to card his fingers through Clark's hair, enjoying the loose-limbed weight of his partner resting across his chest, satisfied and warm. Clark makes a muffled nmrgh sound and presses his face a little more into Bruce's body. God, he's getting nuzzled. Maybe Clark wasn't-

Oh. No, he wasn't joking. Bruce feels it before he hears it, a low, slow vibration against his torso. He continues to stroke his fingers through Clark's hair, and a slow dawn of happiness rises in his body. Clark feels so safe with him that he lets himself purr. Bruce watches Clark's shoulders relax even further after a few moments. He hadn’t even thought that was possible. The man’s practically liquid. Nothing short of the world ending could stop him continuing to be here, continuing to tease Clark’s soft hair between his fingers as Clark’s heart-warm body rumbles with contentment draped over his own. God, Bruce wishes he could purr back.

After a few minutes, Clark turns his head, resting his chin on Bruce’s chest, looking up to him languidly. The mate markings on his cheeks and forehead are glowing faintly, and a smile traces the corners of his mouth and eyes as the rumbling purr continues. Bruce diverts his hand for a moment to stroke Clark’s cheekbone with his thumb, feeling the line of greater warmth on the marking, and Clark closes his eyes. Bruce tries not to compare it to petting a dog or a cat. It’s Clark. He’s better. Although…

“Hey,” Bruce murmurs, and watches the sweep of Clark’s thick eyelashes as those unearthly blue eyes open. He slowly blinks at Clark, feeling a little like an idiot and a lot in love. Clark looks puzzled for a moment but then, his eyes brighten and he snorts, his stupid smothered laugh he doesn’t do around anyone else.

“You dorrrk,” he says. The effect is completely ruined by his sappy smile and the slight flip on the r, persisting from his rumbly purr. Bruce, unnatural contentedness lightening his whole being, grins at Clark, and Clark rolls his eyes and then slow blinks back at Bruce. “I love you too.”

#-_-'#my writing #superbat #kryptonians are aliens #tacere #uhhhh i guess the verse tag is #urvishulahdh #i feel like bruce perhaps flirted with selina also using this technique #[slow blink]#she had the same reaction as clark [thinks bruce is so wonderfully cringefully awkwardly endearing at showing love; rails him about it]#the secret of urvishulahdhverse is that kryptonians are a little catlike but bruce is a lot catlike #anyway. posting bc this will probably not make it into said sequel. or if it does it'll be literally months bc the kryptonian superbat #fic is. demanding most of the very limited Productive Words

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plasticfangtastic · 8 months

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Cozy Corner Kinktober Day 21-- (3 for me)

Behind the Scenes

A Homelander X Tek Knight fanfic, and Maeve is here.

Cozy corner kinktober– prompts: 18. Voyeurism, 10. orgasm denial, alt. Kink of choice– Exhibitionism.

A/N: Tek is gonna be OOC a bit bcuz honestly he’s only been in 1 ep and god knows what he's gonna be like in S4, so am inspiring him heavily on Bruce Wayne just to help myself here (used to write superbat fics back in HS), so sorry ‘bout that… I also set this in s2 so I don’t think Tek Knight’s tumor would be as advanced as it is in gen V so his hole fetish has been toned down, as I imagined it would’ve been something that slowly progressed over time… from kink to straight up fetish.

TW: masturbation, whatever the fuck is up with Tek Knight Hole fetish, angst, both men are being pervs, Bisexual Homelander, cum swap.

word count: 5.2K

Nothing beats an ex-lover when you need the strongest distraction after being utterly humiliated.

Edgar said no lies as he equated him to a manchild. His verbal lashing stabbing deeply into every insecurity, even threatening with terminating his contract had barely raised his blood pressure. He hadn’t cared… ignoring him and educating him in what he really was… what Vought really was and how meaningless he was in return… more than condescending… it hurt… it made him want to fly to his apartment and burn it down.

Instead he was at Tek-Knight’s afterparty, mingling with lesser A-listers and wondering what had gone wrong in his life that he had to smell the foot fungus on people’s mouths.

He turned to look around after escaping another pitch for his next film, Homelander couldn’t think of doing another film when he was feeling so terribly down, his sinuses burning as he tried to not drown himself in self-pity and crying… wanting so dearly to speak to his brother in private, just to hear his words of affirmation and encouragement.

His sole consolation came in the shape of other members of the Seven being subjected to the same meandering– not that they seem to be suffering too much.

Homelander eyes Maeve as some above average publicist chatted her up.

“Want me to get that for you?”

Homelander turned to spot a sharply dressed man, their shoulders rubbing at the same height as he offered a glass of bubbly.

“Sparkling White Grape Juice. Had to go all the way down to the kitchen to find a single bottle for you.”

“I don’t need it.” Homelander said just as sharply as this Italian suit made him look.

“Your tongue is looking 15% paler than usual. You’re parched.” he replied pushing the glass closer to him– "She's aroused.”

“You fucke–

“The publicist. She is being extra flirty… If I had to guess, she its already planning on how to get Maeve to fuck her in the parking lot.”

Robert turned to face him as a red glove delicately ripped the glass off his hand, he gave it a sniff to make sure it was clean, pleasantly surprised that was the case– even the juice smelled clean.

“I know you think I have a death wish but please…”

“Stop analyzing me.”

“So who ticked you off? Couldn’t be Maeve because you wouldn’t leave her alone if that was the case? Was it Matt Damon over there– he’s so snobby? Or was it in the office?” He stared at him trying not to chuckle, seeing that slight squeeze of his jaw– Is it that new cute little thing? Or a wHole other thing?

“Stormfront doesn’t bother me.”

“Bzzz.” He chuckles while taking a sip of his champagne– lie to all those cocsuckers but you can’t lie to me John.”

“Don’t call me that.” The glass made a slight crack but it kept its shape.

“Thought you reinstated my privileges after so long.” He looks down at the rim of his glass, happy he took a sip, and the mark his lips left behind– have some pity on me. I'm going through some health issues.”

Homelander turns to stare at him, undressing him from toe to head, looking at the density of his bones, his heart for any blockages, abnormal palpitation or growing tissue, his lungs for unusual growths then as his sight sets on Robert’s head he freezes, squinting at the mass.

“Going to try some medications. Just a scare but the Doctors aren't sure how they are gonna crack this titanium skull of mine– oh the irony of an indestructible body being the reason behind my demise.” He chuckles dryly hiding the slight tremor on his voice expertly.

“Chemo?”

“And go bald!? Jesus John… I know you’re mad at me but don’t pray for my downfall. You think people would see my movies if I became ugly?”

“I don’t think it matters, nobody who comes to see your crap has any taste… or eyes.”

That earned a smile on the other man, as he saw his tongue lick his lip, Homelander had finally found a distraction.

“This party it's so boring– want to play a game, Tek?”

Tek Knight blushes before a snide smile crossed his face, leaning even more closer towards Homelander knowing there was no reason to whisper into his ear, he just wanted to see the hairs of his neck raise as his silvery voice susurrated, Homelander couldn’t help but to choke back a moan, as the tip of his nose rubbed his ear.

“I’ll play anything you want, John. Just to help you smile again– so heads or tails?”

He was so smooth with his words, no wonder he was so popular, always around Homelander’s sphere when it came to those important women focused rankings.

Homelander knew the rules like the back of his hand, just as he knew how this man would never leave the house without that stupid casino chip on his breast pocket, if he knew Homelander was going to be in the vicinity… neither liked letting go.

It had been a torrid and sudden affair– the first time they’ve met had been like a smack across the face, Madelyn had wanted a team-up to help boost Homelander’s image, to have the world’s greatest detective and up and coming TV name staple teaming up with the world’s greatest superhero– It was the stuff of legends.

There was a maturity to Tek Knight that other supes didn’t have, the way he handled the masses was smooth, the way he poise himself and dressed was the definition of suave, he was born for the camera and it loved him, his little warming exercises even had a charm to them while Homelander still struggled to control his secret stutter… deep down he believed they wanted him to study the weaker supe, to copy him, to spend time with him and discover how to be better… he never expected to find himself drawn to him, Tek read him with ease learning how to handle him more than anybody else… he didn't use tricks to mess with him just used his gifts to learn how to speak to him, Tek hated deceith just as much as he did– quick to call bullshit even from Homelander.

He didn’t like the boy’s scout persona either… It was being able to speak freely to set the fire inside Homelander… There was this unspoken rule amongst all supes… Some clung to the belief they were too moral to fall trap to the factoid, while others just kept their mouth shut knowing the consequences would be too great if the lesser flock heard them… but here… Tek didn’t care, he had no desire to care.

Maybe that’s how Homelander found himself on top of him, maybe that’s why he didn’t flinch at the taste of bourbon on his lips, maybe that’s why that stupid green chip bothered him so much, he could’ve ripped it off his hand easily. Catch it mid-air as he flicked it. Turn around and ignore him for the rest of the party or simply leave.

But Tek knew he was too transfixed now watching the gold sparkle under the low light as the chip dropped back into his hand and hid under the heel of his palm.

“Heads.” Homelander said looking at the compound fracture at the base of his glass.

Robert grinned, lifting it to reveal the faceless side, Homelander groaned.

Rules were simple… 1 hour… don’t get caught… each round progressively gets more and more dangerous… they could not go where the others couldn’t see, no flying out of state or running underground, they had to stay where they could see or hear each other no matter what, or it was an instant disqualification.

“What’s the prize this time?” Homelander began to walk towards the balcony of this venue, not wanting any of the people who caught the coin flip to pry any further– or…?”

“The usual.” He smiles as he follows him.

Close enough that he doesn’t need super senses to smell him, to feel his presence rubbing against him, hithering closer as they close glass doors behind, he can’t never fully forget the feeling, just how Tek made him feel, the way he knew how to touch him and where to touch him, how delicate his touch was for how deadly it could be, he swallowed.

Looking down and thinking of jumping into the pool several floors below, anything to maybe get away from him… feeling like a deer caught in the crosshair of a pack of wolves.

Homelander watches the heads below, minding their business knowing the party was just a couple steps behind, crossing his hands in front of him as Tek takes out his phone, leaning closer until he’s resting his entire weight against him, his thumb presses play– it didn’t matter what his screen was playing, just a decoy… for any lucky passerby to simply see two men hanging out having a laugh at some stupid video.

“Want to play for 1 hour, this time?” Tek said softly, hiding his excitement.

“Jesus, you think my time it’s worth pennies?”

“It's my party.” he laughed lightly.

“Fine. You're so gonna regret this when it’s my turn.” That was the childish glee that Tek liked so much… this softer and playful side that only he could be privileged to.

It really should’ve never happened, the mission was over and the room was covered in soot and guts, watching each other heave, sharing few words, staring at each other for too long, jumping throats before the bodies grew cold. They had no idea why… not after… only that he liked him… he liked John… he liked knowing this secret half that so few could be privy to, it was a rush to be the bearer of such secrets, to see that soft look on his face of bliss as they held each other's arms… but they could’ve never been together, even if Tek Knight’s demographic could’ve been more forgiving… nobody would allowed them to be together… so it was nothing but a fantasy– nothing but a dream within a dream.

“It’s not fun if you make it easy.”

Homelander sighs and lowered his zipper, hearing the sound of his facial muscles move as Tek looked down.

Homelander stroke the limp member slightly, getting tutted by his friend, he groaned and stroked harder, looking at the monkeys beneath still unaware of what he was doing, low enough to make sense of what they could see, his blood pressure increase knowing how bad it would be, how bad it would fucking destroy him if they caught him stroking his cock next to a man.

Tek made the game harder, sliding his arm across Homelander’s shoulders, knowing his hand was out of frame enough that he could stroke his ear without being noticed from the party, his nails caressing his chin, he hissed wetly as his touch drew circles on his cheek leaning his head lightly into his digits– some people caught wind of them, seeing exactly nothing, just two friends laughing, something cute at most, a phone camera took a photo from behind catching all the indecency and nothing.

Homelander was so fucking hard as he heard the fan make commentary.

“No cumming, yet… you know the rules.”

“Fuck off.” Pre-cum coating his gloved fingers, he watched his cock twitch against the cold wind, wanting badly to just end it, feeling the burn building under his stomach– my turn!”

He tucked it, leaning down, hiding his face as he tried to breath himself back together, force it if he could, but he couldn’t help but laugh awkwardly, feeling the adrenaline coursing thru his veins, swallowing the intoxicating perfume, Homelander shoots a cautious look behind examining the room and the building for their next spot.

“Anywhere in the hotel grounds… we don’t leave the place…54 minutes left!” Homelander hisses.

“How many casualties allowed?”

“2 per person max.” He begrudgingly said– can’t make a scene… too many big names… journalist… photographers… we make it look like accidents.” Homelander looks him straight into his soul– already got Stan Edgar breathing down my neck.”

It hurt him to deny himself, but Robert didn’t argue, just massaging his neck to help him cool down.

Both men smiled at each other.

Counting every tick.

The game began.

It was a maze to navigate, to find blind spots, to discover empty halls and ignored crevices and staircases, Homelander and Tek Knight chasing each other from a distance, giggling like naughty school girls the closer and closer they got to being caught, watching their displays of debouchery with amusement as they grow increasingly more horny and frustrated, they couldn’t cum until the last set or until one gave up, edging until it was unbearable.

Homelander rubbed his aching hardened member against the pillow of some stranger’s suite who had foolishly left the balcony open... Robert listened to his meandering waltzing around the room, sniffing some girls lace underwear while frothing his cock, being just a pitch louder than he should for the other man’s pleasure before he had settled on the bed and now Robert could feel his own cock about to break, his balls heavy and swollen and the pre-cum stain dampening his suit as it twitched around his hand.

Homelander loudly suckled on his fingers, wetting them until they were covered in a thick layer of drool.

Letting out the most obscene moan as he slapped his own ass, earning a dirty glance from the soon to be loser-- Tek had broken into the suite below drinking in their minibar just hearing the action with eyes closed as he stained the bed with pre-mix… as he tried to calm his cock and definitely to avoid coming from the sounds of Homelander fingering his pussy, choking as the wet squelching sounds grew furiously louder.

“That couple just finished having dinner downstairs… you might want to hurry up… should be here in a couple minutes tops.” He mumbled trying to calm down as Homelander moaned louder calling his name inside desperate whispers– fuck…”

He pressed the right spots, twisting his back as he sped up his rutting, feeling sweat drops down his nose as he got closer and closer to cumming, as his fingers dug deeper enough to bring that pleasurable pressure, gasping as the pain had started to become so unbearable.

“Quit.”

“No!” He stopped throwing the pillow against the wall, turning on his back, breathing heavily.

“John… Come meet me in the bathrooms… now.”

“You giving up?”

“No.”

“Then I am getting a cold shower.”

“John if you don’t come meet me in the bathrooms I’ll go find somebody else to join me.”

He didn’t like that tone… he used it so much on Robert it was no surprise the actor had learned it worked both ways, Homelander sat on the bed, putting his suit on after dousing his groin with cold water, glad the padding hid his half-mast.

Flying out the balcony and hopping back to their party searching for him amongst the crowd of drunks.

Maeve caught him coming back, caught the fluster in his step and the flush on his cheek under the coloured light.

Biting her lips, knowing what was happening… she should’ve known that when these two knuckleheads got together they would either try to out-bitch each other or play their stupid dirty game…

She used to wonder if he would make her less miserable if he had been able to be with Robert, if his anger and obsession wasn’t fueled by projection… Neither man could’ve ever been together, and he had taken it out on her, obsessing on the only woman in his eyes (supposedly).

Maeve knew just how hungry they were… touch starved… letting their hands touch just never for too long just constant light brushes… just bumping shoulders here and there for a second too long… Maeve at least found joy in seeing him suffer even if it was returned to her x10 worse.

She took a glass, a canape and followed him discreetly.

He entered the empty bathroom, tapping on each cubicle as if he was a mere human finding nothing until the last stall.

Sitting on the disabled toilet with his ankle over his knee and two glasses of champagne.

“So romantic.”

Placing the glasses on his sides, he dug into his breast pocket to pull out a flower head, extending his fingers towards him– slightly wilted and small, a once vibrant rose bud… but just as fragrant as the rest.

Showing up at his penthouse always carrying roses, making him know what those pretty women in the movies felt when their hands were filled with a bouquet… Homelander had gotten plenty in his life… given many as well… so the magic should've died out... yet here he was a twenty-two year old sheltered boy swallowing nervously as his cheeks heat up in front of the boy he liked.

Jittery and bashful from a single rose… just small enough he could hide it in his jacket… no matter where they would go… if he could get away with it… if he knew he could… Robert would make his heart flutter.

He picked him by the collar, scrunching the fine fabric of his suit before risking it all on his lips, Tek Knight took a second to react, entertaining his hands as they leap towards the exposed flesh of his neck, digging into his scalp as their tongues twist.

Slamming themselves on the wall letting the unlocked door rock back and forth, Homelander's lips plump as he suckles and licks every ridge, alcohol and peppermint pungent on his tongue, wanting to savor him, wanting to swallow every drop of drool of Robert’s tongue, wanting so desperately to fill this anguish.

Kissing him was the cure to a million ailments, it filled him with just as much happiness as it made him die… it was agonizing knowing how much his body wanted Tek… how much it missed him, his breath could’ve been sulfur and he would would’ve choke on it gladly… just agony… if he could be that foolish young man again to try to change time... Homelander still wouldn’t hesitate jumping back into this car wreck, he would hurt himself on this soft silky lips over and over again.

Tek pressed his knee in-between his tights, dropping his hands over his arms, ripping the gloves with force until his naked hands rubbed against each other, his left fingers latch on the zipper pulling it to feel more skin, wanting to feel the buttery feeling of Homelander’s being.

Homelander returned the favor, skillfully opening his shirt, knowing he couldn’t just rip it off– that had been hard to explain before.

Feeling every hurried heartbeat against his hand, feeling every inch of hardened muscle on his smooth chest.

“Want to call it quits, John?” He sussurated into his neck, suckling on the crumbs of heat he could get– come on, sugar. I want you so fucking bad… I want to die inside you…” tracing his chin the tip of his tongue, Homelandeer shuddered whining as the pain in his pants grew unbearable once more, crying into his hand as Tek Knight licked his ear– I want you to fuck me so fucking hard I’ll need crutches.”

“Robert!” he hissed, pulling his head wanting to kiss him more, quick pecks laughing quietly into him, panting constellations into his neck– give up and I’ll make you feel like fucking Madonna.”

He parted, taking a pair of steps back stopped by the toilet’s edge, close to coming undone.

“Lower your pants. Game hasn’t ended.”

He undoes his belt letting it flop on his sides, teasing him as he takes his sweet time lowering his zipper… he’s hard, twitching in the warm air. Homelander doesn’t copy him turning towards the exit, brushing close enough to tease the man, hands quickly grab him by the hip pressing himself against him, rubbing his length on America.

“I want to make this more fun, you pervert.”

He pushes the door, leaving him behind, stopping by the basin, a wide grin on his face.

“Fuck that stupid fucking glass. You and your weird hole kink… You know Knight… I find your thing funny so amuse me…why else bring those here– You know I don’t drink.”

“To celebrate my victory of course.”

It had been a gradual thing, to witness his fixation evolve, that naivety inside Homelander had wilted into bitterness and seeing Tek’s humiliating exploits almost comforted him… that he broke without him.

They would never be more than a rendezvou, they clung to each other wanting to make every second longer than before, parted by the wild current they still swummed against it, hoping to meet in the middle, content to just brush their fingertips.

Over the years as time settled on them while their hearts remained inmature, Homelander had noticed this unusual proclivity, it began as simple fascination, pensive stares, fingers caught drawing circles repeatedly, burning his finger as it follows the edge over and over… watching him fuck a tree engrossed him, cackling as he got worse and worse, he had been so good that he can’t find pleasure in people anymore– he thought.

Wishing it was him.

Homelander cocked his head watching the man spill on the floor, bucking his hips, hissing and gasping as the bubbly fizzles around his sensitive head and his hole, tickled by the fizz in a way a tongue could never, it was growing warm and sticky, as he pushed the expensive drink with his girth, the cold made him shudder now the smooth wet glass licked his cock back.

Homelander leaned down whistling to catch his attention.

Robert stops abruptly– Homelander bare it all.

It was hard to believe there was a time where he was shy and nervous, where he had to teach him what to do, where he was too afraid to bend over for him, now he purred as his fingers teased his entrance, pushing in, stretching himself just a tad– Robert mouth watered, wanting to bury his face in there, the glass no longer as appealing.

With his belt dragging on his ankles, he quickly found himself on his knees.

Homelander gasped– guess he wasn’t the only one allowed to play dirty, he thought. One hand firmly using a glass fleshlight and the other spreading his cheek, Tek squeezed and slapped as his tongue drew circles, as it reached deeper, slobbering into his chin… the taste strong and salty.

Homelander had to hold the base of his cock, leaking pre-cum into the polished floors.

“This is the women’s bathroom.”

Both men flinched, eyes and muscles ready to neutralize the threat yet all Tek Knight could muster was a shrug before returning back to his meal.

Homelander twisted his back, careless fingers vaguely attempting to push him away, stifling a laugh as he stares back at Maeve, she looks at the exit knowing there’s a passerby in the hall cursing at the out of service sign.

“Please tell me you haven’t killed anybody tonight.”

Homelander shook his head biting his lip as Tek sped up his tongue, lowering it until he was suckling on the sensitive perineum, biting it, and kissing it, not stopping as he stared at Maeve briefly, not hiding his annoyance.

Back then she was the one next to him in the magazines… always running after her… she was the one that was the most special, she was the one that understood him the best, who suited him best… horseshit, he told himself.

“Only 1 person, my bad.” Tek Knight kisses his ass standing up, pulling his pants with one hand and carrying the glass with the other– I quit.” He grumbled.

Coming into the champagne glass, looking at his load as it mixed with some bubbly before leaving it on the sink.

He took to the basin after taking a handful of paper towels, washing his hands without care while soaking the towels.

“Hey…” Homelander took his shoulder.

“What?”

“You can’t just quit!?”

“I can’t stand her.” His smile is still so charming as he speaks, looking down as the washes off the sticky champagne stains off his groin– go! be a tattle-tell if you like Maeve… nobody its gonna fucking believe you.”

“Don’t be like that… Maeve isn’t going to do such thing… right, Maeve?”

“Don’t care. You can have him now if you want, Ms. Cockblocker.”

Before Meave could answer back, she was met with an accusatory finger on her face, Tek zipped his pants after doing half the job, just clean enough that he could survive whatever was left ot the afterparty but Homelander wouldn’t let him leave, his hand pulling on his elbow keeping him firmly in his presence.

“Ignore her… we always did love an audience.” He turned to Maeve– you stay right there and keep watch, understand?” He growled, eyes flickering red towards her direction.

“What do you want anyways?” He said still miffed but relaxing around Homelander’s grip.

“Just making sure you two weren’t going to be covered in blood… dunno if you know this Knight but there’s a lot going on right now.”

“Yeah right. You just wanted to ruin my fun… like you always do.”

“You think I want your se–

“Both of you shut up! Maeve learn to mind your own business and you don’t antagonize her… she’s here because she wants to watch that’s why! She has what three bottles in her already!”

“Two and a half… fuck you drink a lot of merlot.” He seemed disgusted at the choice– please tell me you had the moscato, it was simply refreshing!”

“I don’t like moscato.” she chuckles– and am not drunk, I'm tipsy.” she laughs with a sleepy smile.

“You’re just another pervert who wants to see his ex get fucked in the ass by his other ex... so be quiet and enjoy the show."

She tried to wipe that shit eating grin on her face.

“Forget about her and just think of me… I want you… I won… so my price is you sucking me off…” He took his face stroking his neck, forcing him to look directly at him– Robert…”

“You didn’t win. I quit. That means the price is null…” both looked so needy, Robert's darkened eyes almost pleading him to make him stay where his lips couldn't.– suck me off first… please, baby… I’m upset.”

“No, you sore loser…”

“You’re so cruel.” He moped.

Homelander rolled his eyes taking the glass before skulking the contents, Robert got hard immediately, watching Homelander lick the rim clean before forcing him into a salty sweet kiss.

Cum frothing from the friction.

They danced their way back into the cubicle, grinning as the toilet lid squeaked under his weight, Homelander threw his boots and his tights off with enviable effortlessness giving Mr. Vernon plenty to take a hold off, he squeezed his thin legs, savoring the velvety texture, his cock hard and leaking, Tek took it giving it a few pumps, licking his taste off lips with anticipation, his mind solely focused on John, Maeve ceased to exist even if the stench of merlot didn’t, he only wanted this.

“Thanks baby.”

“Only because you’re cute, John.”

Throwing his head back as the other man took his manhood, slurping and swallowing, each stroke followed by his mouth, Homelander placing his hand firmly on his neck pushing him further, he could feel him chuckle against his length.

Homelander came hard and embarassingly quick, whimpering as he buckled his hips.

But Robert was glad regardless.

Tek didn’t stop moving his lips, wanting him to grind his teeth some more, he let it out with a wet pop, gasping with a satisfied smile, kissing his legs and thighs wishing to leave hickeys and burns.

“You swallowed.” He sounded so disappointed it touched the other’s heartstrings with guilt.

“My turn.”

Tek pushed him back, standing up weakly, leaning to his side to take the second glass of champagne he had left on the floor before.

“Lick it.”

Homelander obliged, licking the edge creasing his nose as the fizz got on his nostrils.

Maeve grimace was short lived, Homelander hand tugged on that pesky belt, pulling him out once more, stroking him roughly, as his tongue parted his lover’s needless toy.

Maeve sat not minding if her skirt got damp, biting her lips as she saw the blonde get on his knees.

Transfixed as she watched his head bobbed, clenching her legs as the man sung loudly, they spoke with only looks, whispering to each other, Robert encouraging him, to look past the flavor, Homelander groaned, displeased but he would cooed him, coaxed him to keep going, coaxing gently to take it deeper, playing with his hair as the man flat tongue made him see the runnign waters of the river styx, rutting his hips into his throat as he saw death welcoming him.

Maeve hand stroked her clit, taking short breath as she tried to not make a sound, her pussy soaking her fingers as she traveled a little further, wanting to fill herself with anything but not wanting to make a show for the bastards either.

Maeve had to look away, she had peeked into something forbidden. It seems for Homelander had leaped into his mouth, kissing him, burning him, Tek was seeing stars, the mixture of salt and french sweetness coating his tongue.

Craning his back as the other man’s weight pulled him down– he saw his John from all those years ago, how nervous his hand was, cupping his cheek, searching for cues to deepen their kiss, to know Robert had wanted him just as much as he had.

He always had.

Fame, fortune and the admiration of many didn’t compare to being Homelander’s.

He wished he hadn’t been greedy.

He wished he had been happy to just be the mistress.

He wished he hadn’t been the clever one that turned to that once naive boy and told him that it could never be.

He had to cut him out of him like he was cancer.

No matter how much he wanted him, no matter how much it hurt to see him running after that redhead.

He looked up to catch her, smelling her arousal and regret.

“Come to my loft… John… just for tonite…” he susurrated– I want to be yours…”

Homelander smiled, half lid eyes and bruised lips gave him a soft yes.

Maeve ran out the bathroom wanting to find something to wash away the confused feeling in her stomach, thinking of that cute publicist that had been eyeing her all night.

Robert’s ear followed her heels, as John kissed him while fixing himself doing just enough of a good job that cameras wouldn’t notice how disheveled he was, he had done a good job considering he hadn’t stopped kissing his lover for most of the ordeal.

“I’ll be a good boy and get the bath ready for when you get home, Tek.”

“I’ll get the condoms on my way home then.”

“Why? We are gonna run out of them anyhoo” he growled into him, licking Tek's lower lip, gnawing on him until a scarlet drop fell on his tongue– see ya in a jiffy, Robert.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I’ll go first.”

Homelander rolled his eyes, kissing him goodbye for the time being.

Ignoring the crowds as they both left to attend more pressing matters.

Glad to meet again as if they were just those hopeful stupid kids yet again.

#homelander #tek knight #homelander fanfiction #tek knight fanfiction #the boys fanfiction #my fic tag #personal #cozy corner kinktober #homelader x tek knight #homeknight?#Hometek?#TekHome?#not proofread sorry #I am esl sorry for grammar #hometek #holelander

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littlediscoveredstars · 20 days

Text

A WIP from my Superbat fic! More like a deleted scene, but still!

Clark frowns down at his hot chocolate. He'll need to reheat it before drinking. "They're so different, Lois. Gotham...it's just so..." How can he possible describe this?

 "Let's say Metropolis is a cheese, right?" Lois rolls her eyes at the metaphor but she doesn't complain outwardly. "You can clearly see the moldy parts and once you cut it off, the rest is fine. That's how Superman handles the crime here. He cuts off the bad parts, saves whoever needs it, and life goes on."

 "But Gotham," He continues, "is like a loaf of bread. You only see mold once the spores have been there long enough; and once you see one, there's mold everywhere. It's completely different and unless Superman can somehow see every spore...it'll never go away."

 Lois raises an eyebrow. "Isn't cheese made of mold?"

 "No." Clark corrects her with slight irritaiton. Okay, maybe a little more than slight. "It's bacteria and rennet, but that's not important. What I'm saying is that, in order for Superman to help Gotham, he needs to understand how Batman handles Gotham."

 Lois sits up, the concern returning to her face. "Clark, you have a lot on your plate. Maybe you should tell someone else about this. Someone who can actually help you." She holds up a finger just as he's about to speak. "I'm not saying I won't help. I'm your friend, so that's obviously my job, but I mean someone from Gotham. Are there really no other heroes besides Batman?"

 "Not that I've ever noticed. The Bat works alone. And I've already been told off by the police department."

#superbat #fanfic #writing #wip sneak peek #superman #clark kent #lois lane

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acapelladitty · 11 months

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I would like something superbat related perhaps where one of them has a certain device that the other one has the remote to 👀or something to do with tits or both, what ever you want

I heard the words "Superbat" and "tits" and momentarily blacked out, only to awaken and find this all typed up in frenzy 🥴🥴

To any outsider, Wayne Manor would look almost abandoned at such a late hour as the lights dimmed into darkness and any visible movement of the denizens within was lost to the disappearing sun. However, hidden away amongst the vast collection of rooms, sat a master bedroom which currently held two of the most powerful and dangerous men in the world.

The room was surprisingly warm; a result of the two bodies which refused to be parted as a continued session of heavy petting forced the air between them to grow electrified with excitement.

Bruce's broad chest visibly moved. Rising and falling in time with his quickened breathing, his hands brushed across the sheets as Clark ground himself loosely on his lap with a distinctively lazy pace, the thick muscle of his ass wickedly rough against his confined cock.

Clark had long discovered that Bruce possessed surprisingly sensitive nipples and he loved to flaunt that knowledge, using it to guarantee a fun reaction from the typically-stoic features.

Case in point, Clark dipped his head low to capture Bruce's left nipple between his teeth. Biting down with a very controlled pressure, the low whine which slipped free of Bruce's lips as his calloused hands moved to press harshly against Clark's exposed back was almost enough to have him come right then and there. It was a sinful sound, almost pathetic in its earnestness, and it sparked an unfamiliar possessiveness deep within Clark's chest.

His face flushed, Bruce arched his back to allow Clark easier access as his fingers slipped even higher to tug at the slight curls which formed at the base of Clark's neck. Things had been quiet the last few days and, with Bruce's children taking up the mantle of Gothams protectors for the evening, both men had taken full advantage of the peace to blow off some steam.

"Clark." Bruce said, the word both a warning and an encouragement which was swiftly taken on board with a cheeky grin as Clark easily switched targets.

Mouth busy as he worried at the pink nub with a playful shake of his head, Clark brought up his fingers to pluck at Bruce's other nipple, the sensitive nub still slicked by his saliva.

The dual sensation of teeth and fingers drew a fresh groan from Bruce as his fingers tugged roughly at the curls his digits were still wrapped within.

Clark swiped his tongue across the nipple within his mouth before pulling free but he immediately found his lips captured in a filthy kiss as Bruce struck out at him like a cobra, snaring him with a growl that ignited a noticeable twitch in Clark's cock as it bobbed against his stomach.

"Bruce?" Clark asked, pulling away enough to press their foreheads together. "How much longer do you think we have?"

"Long enough." Bruce growled as his hips jerked impatiently. "But if you don't get a move on, country boy, the-"

His words halted by Clark's lips on his own once again, Bruce responded with enthusiasm as Clark's hand traced out a slow but definite trail down his chest towards its intended prize.

#superbat #b-booba!!!!#bruce wayne #clark kent #superman #batman #bruce x clark #batman x superman

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ao3feed-superbat · 4 months

Text

You ok? No but I will be

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/45yi71G by PartyPirate Bruce wasn’t feeling good, he hadn’t felt right for a long time. But day’s like these were the ones that had him questioning if he would actually be able to get back up again and fight. Words: 1442, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M, Other Characters: Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Clark Kent Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, SuperBat - Relationship Additional Tags: Depressed Bruce Wayne, Autistic Bruce Wayne, He's tired ok, Good Parent Bruce Wayne, Proud Parent Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, the boys fight, But it's also in sibling love, Damian Wayne is a Little Shit, as per usual, They worry about their dad, Clark Kent Loves Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent is a Ray of Sunshine, Bruce Wayne is his moon, Bruce is trying, Found Family, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, medication mention, slight talk of nausea, I tried to keep it light and not go into to much detail read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/45yi71G

#ao3feed #superbat #world's finest #Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne #Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent

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qcomicsy · 1 month

Text

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

I didn't like how I organized before so here it is in a separate post.

Tagged by: @atlas-likes-writing

Thanks for the tag man!!

My Wips

For organization's sake reasons I'll Separate by color Batfam black and Spideypool - Deadpool red.

Marvel

Why you only call me when you're high. (Poolverine concept. One phrase).

Tonight I'll give all my love in the backseat. (Spideypool. PWP)

A looot of unamed docs (spideypool mostly.)

The first time Wade died I threw up (Spideypool. Oneshot. Angst.)

Spideypool ideas. (Concepts, loose chapters, lists, mostly unfinished. Rough Draft. Mostly angst but some PWP).

Call out my name (Spideypool/ Cablepool. Oneshot. Unrequited love + Angst)

I'm prepared to do this sacrifice'. (Team red. Spideypool. Spideydevil. Darepool? Crack fic + Comedy + Identity Porn + Idiots in love + Changing places).

Getting of Bullying. (Spideypool. Loose dialogue.)

Spiderfam. (Spideypool. Rough draft. Idea abandoned)

Back of bones (Spideypool. Angst + PWP).

The Aftermath. (Spideypool. Angst + Older Peter Parker. Future setting)

Party. (Spideypool. Enemies to lovers + PWP + Cannot adjacent + Oneshot + Pre-Spider-Man/Deadpool canon).

Spideypool Fanfic. (If I'm not wrong the first one I wrote about them, never finished, so early I haven't yet even read a Spider-Man comic. Characterization heavily based on fannon and Andrew's Peter Parker haha.)

Jay (Batfam. Jason centric Angst. + Recovery fic + Slice of life)

He doesn't love me. (Batfam. Jason centric. Angst + Oneshot).

Jason & Duke. (One shot. Fluff + Angst. Kind of.)

Duke & Damian. (One shot. Slice of life+Heavily dialogue)

Damian Wayne (Future! Au. Never finished)

Gothamite Tales. (Batman. Slice of life + Gotham city centric)

Jason told him once. (Dick centric. Early draft, very old. Never finished.)

Dick Grayson (Dick centric. So, sooo old. So many grammar mistakes I had no idea how to write him. Still keep it for emotional attachment reasons. Very rough draft. I bet it is a very fannon too. Oneshot. Angst.)

I'm not gonna dance. (Superbat. Fluff + Idiots in love + Can be headed as platonic to, but oh well. Why not?)

A bat is a winged rat. (Posted. Batfam. Angst + Hurt comfort (kind of?))

Tim Drake (Character sheet).

Jon. (Jon centric. Character study.)

Honorable mentions where the wip is unamed but the folder isn't:

1. Two years ago I learned that the guy who I used to argue in one of my classes is Wade's friend (Spideypool. Comedy. Bittersweet. Peter centric).

2. Chicken. (Spideypool. Crack + Comedy + Porn without plot).

3. BodyGuard. (Spideypool. Enemies to lovers + Violence + Slight gore (is Deadpool c'mon) + Smut + Comedy + Action + Unwillingly buddy cop team up).

4. Lois Lane and Bruce. (Batfam + Lois Lane. Finished. + Crack + Oneshot).

5. Nice Future. (So unfinished I only have a rough draft and character sheets sorry).

6. Duke Thomas Centric (The one's with him and Jason/Damian are here)

7. Battrip. (Oneshot. Rough drafts. So sooo fannon. From YEARS AGO. Love her so much).

I already tagged everyone :)

Total: 32 wips. Jeez!

#my wips

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tardrewrites · 2 years

Text

Morning

SuperBat/ClarkBruce (Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne or Superman/Batman)

Warnings: none!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He knows strange. He’s a superpowered alien who’s friends with more superpowered aliens, and give or take a couple of regular guys. He saves the world as frequently as the average human brushes their teeth; at least twice a day if they’re good ones.

Humans, that is. Good humans. Yes. He knows strange. He knows how to live with it, to adapt and to condition. He prides himself on this - on his abilities, his connections, his identity; his Kryptonian and Smallville roots alike. He knows strange. He gets over strange.

But this? This is different.

This is the first time anything even remotely close to intimacy (along with permanence) has weasled its way into poor old Clark Kent’s lousy little life. But then again, this isn’t Clark Kent.

Clark Kent is not bundled up in a thousand-dollar duvet, nor is he bombarded with the scent of expensive shower gel and the slight hint of blood. It is not Clark Kent who carefully opens his eyes to gaze upon his morning companion, just as it is not the billionaire playboy on last week’s front pages of both The Planet and The Gazette’s papers who shifts in his sleep, perceptive even when essentially unconscious.

No, it is not Clark Kent. It is not Superman. It is not Brucie and it is not The Bat.

It’s just Kal, who isn’t from around here. And Bruce, who decided to change that.

Kal (he prefers Clark, although he can’t help but recall the jolt of energy which coursed through him that night when Bruce had referred to him by his traditional, given name) knows strange, yes. And this? This should be strange. And really, it is, technically. It is strange that the man with the great big ‘S’ on his chest has slept in, and has awoken to find himself in the grip of not an enemy, but of his teammate and good friend - very good friend.

His mind drifts to the headline, and he feels himself smile softly into the filtering sunlight. Who knew the Dark Knight left his blinds open in a show of admittance toward the morning sun? Perhaps it was for him? For Clark Kent? The thought would have melted him, had the sun not been rejuvenating him.

‘BRUCE WAYNE: THE BISEXUAL(!?) BILLIONAIRE IS NOW IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH AN OUT-OF-TOWN REPORTER - CLARK KENT?’

He won’t tell the man beside him - the same one who he has yet to become accustomed to the hardcore cuddling skills of because, really - Batman? A cuddler? - that he has The Planet’s article stowed away somewhere in the depths of his apartment, but he’s sure he already knows.

Jason has it framed in his rarely inhabited room in the manor, where the Superman just so happens to be; the place where he engages in procedures such as sparring with Batman and talking over important data and JLA operatives and beating him in Mahjong and watching him brood before offering to take him to that fancy Mexican place that makes the country boy feel impoverished and very, very white, all before fighting over the love life of his third adopted son and subsequently tiring each other out by entirely unrelated means down in the master bedroom - you know, the usual teammate stuff.

And it’s strange that the pair of them should be able to engage in such behavior. It really is, but it isn’t bad. It means that the world is changing and, however daunting change may be, this change is for the best. Earth is reforming at long last, and the World’s Finest are a very, very large part of this executed eventuality. And so they find solace in this, in the sum of the fortune which they have waited years upon years to be repayed.

That article was published three years ago on a Monday morning. This day exactly, Clark thinks. It was strange then. So new and so fragile. And it is fragile still. However, he has now come to the realization that it is not strange to sink into the arms of your lover in the shining light of the early morning.

Superhero or not, Kal who is long since from around here has that right, and he is perfectly aware of it. It is not strange for Bruce Wayne to be faithful, to be happy and to be healthy; for Batman to finally find the right notes in the harmony, to work with his team - with his beloved.

It is not strange when Clark buries his nose into soft, dark hair so very similar to his own and yet completely, devastatingly unique. It is not strange when he allows his eyes to flutter shut and to focus on the stuttering heartbeat of Bruce Wayne as he awakes, groggily grasping his partner’s forearm and leading it to lay atop his muscular abdomen. No, it really isn’t strange.

“I love you,” Clark says, slightly still hampered. Even without any super capabilities, he can see Bruce smile. Who knew Batman smiled? Kal.

Kal did.

“Mmh,” is his reply. Bruce leans into the tender kiss which is planted on his temple as his Superman holds him close, like Clark is afraid his Bat will fly too close to the big ball of light right before their window. Clark loves him. He hates to quote his cousin, but Great Rao does he love him.

Batman falls deeper into his silk pillows and almost nuzzles his way somewhat under Superman’s head, his hot breath on the shell of the man’s ear.

“Kal,” he whispers.

“Mmh,” said man grins, opening his eyes. He is met by eyes the color of the sky after … a hurricane. And that- that is okay. He loves him.

Bruce brings a large hand up to his face - cradles him, the near invulnerable Man of Steel - and brings their lips together in a sweet, lingering kiss. It’s more effective than any dosage of morning coffee. “Kal." His eyes flutter closed while he breathes against Clark, lashes brushing his bruised cheekbones.

“Clark,” he inhales. “Clark, I believe- I believe I have to marry you.”

A beat. A few more, with the appearance of some particularly chatty birds down below in the courtyard outside. Clark grins widely, pointedly gazing into the dark circles of his fiance’s shut eyes.

“Have to?

The man sighs, running a hand down the entirety of his bone structure - which is very good, even Superman says so - before meeting Clark's eyes once more. Bruce grumbles, but Clark knows him, knows the raw sincerity in his rasp and the emotion in his clear eyes. “I want to, Clark. I want to marry you.”

No, he tells himself, knows himself. It isn’t strange at all.

“Then I guess I’ll have to make a trip to the thrift shop for a new suit,” Clark kisses his future husband, “Something vintage, maybe ‘73?”

Bruce scoffs. “I retract my offer.”

“Well, I retract your retraction!”

“You can’t-”

“I’m calling Dick.”

“Clark-”

“I’m calling Jason. I'm getting up to do it right now."

“Kal.”

Not strange in the slightest.

#superbat #clarkbruce #bruceclark #kalbruce #brucekal #bruce/clark #bruce/kal #worlds finest #batman/superman #batman x superman #clark x bruce #bruce x kal #superbatfam #superbat fic #superbat drabble #tardrewrites

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