Work Text:
Clark had hardly made it into the club when he felt eyes upon him; naturally, he assumed it was something he’d done to give himself away.
Every muscle in his body felt taut, the bow string just before the arrow fires. All he’d wanted was a night away from it all, but even this seemed too much to ask. If something was about to go down, he needed to get out of here before someone got hurt on his account.
He felt a large hand on the small of his back, heard a breath in his ear, and in the moments before he knocked them out or pushed them to the floor, his brain kicked in to remind him exactly what kind of club this was.
“First time?”
As coy as he could, Clark turned to meet the man. Not sure what he was hoping for, he had to conceal his shock when he saw the face only a breath from him. He recognised him instantly. Like ships passing in the night, where he was Batman often ended up too. But this place, this night, the insistence of the dark gaze upon him... Perhaps it was not merely a night like any other. Not every night need to include death and destruction.
“Hi there.”
The voice was just had he imagined it, less masculine and superficial than in clips caught by the paparazzi, but gruff, attractive, all the same.
“Hello.”
“I’m Bruce.”
“Clark.”
He had to stop himself from putting his hand out to shake it; the office job clearly getting to his head.
“And what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”
The scruffy over-sized suit, the glasses, the general bemusement – he was glad the disguise worked, glad that he might run away from himself for just a moment.
“Uh, I don’t know really. Came on a whim.”
A small smile passed Bruce’s lips, he ran a hand through the errant strands of his fringe which had fallen over his face.
“And what are you hoping for tonight, Clark?”
Bruce was, to the ordinary person, as silent and intimidating as expected, perhaps Clark should have thought better – given his profession – but the strange, dangerous aura pulled him in. Surely Batman wouldn’t kill some innocent guy he’d met in a club.
“Probably whatever you’re hoping for,” Bruce replied. cool as he could muster.
“Is that so?”
Maybe it was the 2.5 beers, the blaring music, the press of bodies against him that were not Bruce’s, or simply the need to know what was hidden beneath the dark layers, but Clark spoke before he could stop himself.
“Why don’t we get out of here and see?”
As Bruce took his hand, pulling his quickly through the crowd, Clark could feel the strength of his grip and did all he could not to grip too strongly in return – easy as it would have been to break a hand if he had wanted to.
Clark could, of course, not take him back to his place – there could be any number of things there that might give him away. And Bruce was not going to invite him back either, so Clark was glad when Bruce confirmed he had a hotel room across the street.
They barely spoke as they made their way into the lobby and up the stairs. All the way, Clark tried to remind himself this was not some trick, not some mission, and he could only assume Bruce was doing the same. He quelled it, pushing the thought deep down as he looked at Bruce’s ass as he walked the corridor ahead of him.
He’d barely made it into the room and slipped his shoes off when Bruce was pulling him onto the bed. His body was large, yet as Bruce clambered on top of him, he did not mind the feeling of smallness that came over him. Hidden in the shadows Bruce cast, Clark wondered how much of his face was still visible. Was he turning red, were his eyes wide and wanting – did Bruce know what he was doing to him?
Bruce’s eyes surveyed him as if he could see anything more than a peek of his collarbone, as if his eyes could penetrate the layers and see what was hidden beneath.
“Have you done this before?” Bruce asked, casually slipping Clark’s glasses from his face.
“I, uh, I don’t know what we’re doing.”
“Whatever you want.”
Wet, parted mouths drew closer. Clark could not resist any longer, craning his neck until their lips met.
Tongue pressing against each other over and over, uncaring of the indecency, of the mess dribbling down their chins. If Bruce let him, Clark would lick the spit from his skin once they stopped kissing, just to get another taste.
He’d kissed before, but never with such an urgency, never with the sense that they might devour each other.
They’d only been kissing for a few moments, when Clark felt it. Beneath the baggy layers, Bruce did not hide how quickly his cock had gotten hard. Scrambling, Clark’s hands moved to Bruce’s waistband, racing to unzip the fly, pushing the fabric down – moaning wet and breathy into Bruce’s mouth as he took his large cock in his hand.
“Fuck,” Bruce moaned as Clark began stroking the length.
With a steady press of his hips, Bruce began fucking his cock against Clark. As if any surface, hand, shirt, groin, was good enough as his hips stuttered back and forth. Clark thought Bruce might come just like that, using him like a warm fuckable surface until he came, ruining his suit – and refused to consider why that made him feel so good.
“Wait, wait,” Clark heaved.
As Bruce pulled back, still only a inch between their bodies, Clark worked quickly at his trouser zip and shucking his trousers low enough to pull his cock free. He was hard too, aching for it, and as soon as their cocks touch, Clark could not help but moan out into the night.
They both bent their heads to look, examining their swollen pink cocks. Bruce’s cock was longer than his, but Clark’s was thicker. If he didn’t move now, he thought he might come from the sight of this alone.
Clark did not have enough experience to know what he wanted to do. All he wanted now was to touch, to feel, and Bruce, slowly rutting his cock along the length of Clark’s, seemed more than happy to oblige.
“God, this feels good,” Bruce heaved, chuckling as Clark bucked his hips in answer.
Between their sweaty bodies, Clark pushed his hand down until he reached the cocks. In his firm grip, he took as much as their combined girth as he could. Maybe he’d give himself away with the strength of his grip, but Clark could not find it in himself to care. Stroking their cocks together, he felt the slickness of their precum spreading, the ease of their fucking growing by the second.
He was imagining all the possibilities, everything they might do. Even just touching like this was so good. But getting fucked by him, fucking him – the overwhelm of it all was so unexpected that Clark gasped out into the night. As he came, his hips jittered upwards taking all the pleasure he could from the contact. The sticky wetness of his come making their frotting all the easier.
“Oh, shit,” Clark whispered, feeling his body heat up as he realised what he had done. “Sorry – I, uh, didn’t mean to...”
“It’s okay,” Bruce whispered, his hips stalling and his hand coming up to stroke Clark’s cheek.
“Let me do something else,” Clark murmured, planting kisses on Bruce’s parted mouth, his hand still moving between them, wanting more than anything to make Bruce feel good.
“What?” Bruce asked.
Clark flipped their positions easily (much too easily) so that he rested on top of Bruce.
“Let me... suck you off,” Clark said, bashfully. A little surprised at himself for coming out with it so quickly, despite just how much he wanted to do it.
“Go on then,” Bruce murmured, nodding in assent. He pushed as his shirt, revealing a body even hotter than Clark had imagined.
Clark planted shy, awkward kisses on the length of Bruce’s toned body as he descended, stopping at intervals to suck small red marks into his pale skin. For his part, Bruce said nothing at all, but his deep, hitched breaths reassured Clark that Bruce liked it. He reached Bruce’s navel and licked at it, travelling down the dark trail of hair until he reached the base of Bruce’s shaft.
“I’ve never done this before, but... I’ll do my best.”
“You don’t need-“
Clark took the cock in one hand, angling it so the tip was near his mouth.
“No, no, I want to,” Clark cut in. “I want to.”
Tentatively, his lips touched the slit, his tongue tracing back and forth – taking in the salty musk of Bruce’s sweat and his own come. He ran his tongue around the tip a few times, imagining how much it how much it would fill his mouth, how deep it would go down his throat.
A wide O- shape, his lips stretched incrementally as he took it in inch by inch.
“Wait,” Bruce said.
He was less than half way; he suddenly feared rejection, that Bruce had thought better. But he looked up at Bruce – caught sight of the way he was looking at him, like he wanted to eat him alive, and knew better.
Unmoving, Clint watched Bruce blindly reach across to the bedside table and grab his glasses. Smiling, he slipped them back onto his face.
“God, that’s better. Go on, pretty boy,” Bruce’s voice left him even more a rasp than usual. The words cut through Clark like a knife; his whole body unused to such sweet affections.
Easy it would have been for Bruce to card his fingers into Clark’s curled hair and force his cock deeper into Clark’s aching mouth – and Clark would not have minded the force. But Bruce seemed to understand Clark was not much an expert at this, and this made Clark only want to get him off more.
For a while, Clark continued inching down, acclimatising his mouth to fullness it had never felt before. Then, he moved his hands from their spot on Bruce’s taut thighs to his own hair, resting them on top of Bruce’s hands. For a moment, he only revelled in their size, the throbbing veins he could feel running beneath the skin. Then, with a little pressure, he began pushing. Pushing his own head further down onto Bruce’s cock, until finally he felt Bruce’s hands add to the pressure too.
“Oh,” Bruce whispered. “You wanna be choked, filled up? You like my cock stretching your throat? Is that right, boy?”
It was the most vocal he’d been all night, and Clark felt his dick attempting to twitch back to life because of it. As best as he could, Clark nodded around the cock.
Bruce pushed his head down harder, fucking his hips up slightly into the wet hole of Clark’s mouth. Focusing on breathing through his nose was hard when all he could think about was how deep Bruce was forcing his cock into him. How much he liked the feeling of fullness, the oncoming ache of his jaw.
Bruce’s murmurs of pleasure continued, a string of words or sounds that seemed to have no meaning at all. Except encouraging Clark to pleasure him, to do whatever it took. The longer it went on the more his jaw went lax, he had most of Bruce’s large cock in his mouth yet he wanted more. The fullness was overwhelming and yet he was enjoying every minute of it, every possibility that might be next.
He wanted Bruce to pull out, come all over his glasses and go look at the mess of himself in the mirror. He wanted Bruce to hold the back of his head and keep him in place as he came hard down his throat.
Anything, God, he’d take anything.
And as if Bruce could hear his thoughts, his grip tightened in Clark’s hair, pulling at the roots a little. His hips bucked forward, Clark’s nose pressed into the dark hairs.
“God, I’m going to – fuck,” He hissed. “Shit.”
And there was so much, it was hard to swallow it down. Hard, but he tried anyway, even as he choked on cock and his own spit.
Fuck, you feel so good.”
Bruce held him there, until there was nothing left, every drop down his throat. When he was finally released, Clark pulled back, his body lurching for air. But he loved it; he’d never felt so alive.
“Come up here,” Bruce rasped, practically pulling Clark by the shoulder.
Mouth on mouth, their lips and tongue made up for the tiredness of the rest of their spent bodies. Pressing his tongue deeply against Clark’s, Bruce seemed intent to lap up the small remnants of his own taste. As he pulled back, a thin line of spit trained between their mouth before breaking. Clark could only imagine the state he was in.
“Next time,” Bruce heaved. “You do that to me.”
Clark could see the blush spreading on Bruce’s cheeks – knew that he must look just the same, but even more wrecked.
He nodded, uncertain whether next time meant only the next few hours, or when they awoke, or something else entirely.
Gently, Bruce removed Clark’s glasses, placing them back on the table, and motioned for Clark to come closer. Resting together, Clark knew that he ought to get up and leave, or at least undress so that his suit might not be entirely ruined by the morning. But as his face pressed into the crook of Bruce’s neck, he knew he wasn’t going anywhere soon.
For now they would sleep, both knowing they might need to slip away in the middle of the night if a call were to come about some new danger. Both wanting more than anything for the man beside them not to think they were leaving on their account.