Chapter Text
“Raise your arm up higher.”
“Like this?”
Bruce’s fist darted towards Clark as fast as a striking cobra. He instinctively raised his hand to catch it.
“No!” Bruce barked. “Don’t catch. Block with your forearm.”
Clark dropped him arm, trying not to let his discouragement show. “I’m good at catching.”
“Which is great when someone throws something at you. But when they throw a punch…” he beckoned with his hands, inviting Clark to swing at him. Clark complied, careful to keep his strength in check by throwing a weak jab.
He needn’t have bothered. Bruce blocked the punch easily, sidestepping as he wrapped his hands around Clark’s forearm. Before he knew it, Bruce had twisted his arm, and Clark was on his knees with his arm locked behind him. Even with his strength and resilience, he could feel the pressure on his elbow joint as Bruce pushed against his shoulder.
“You have to learn to use their momentum against them.” Bruce finished his thought as he let go of Clark.
He offered Clark a hand up, and Clark accepted it, even if he didn’t need it.
“Again.” Bruce got back into position, spreading his legs into a fighting stance.
Clark sighed inwardly as he got into position across from Bruce. They’d been at this for over an hour, and he felt like all he’d done was frustrate Bruce and embarrass himself. Clark knew that Bruce was an expert at every form of martial art imaginable, so it must be practically painful to watch Clark struggle with the basics of Aikido.
“This would be a lot easier if I didn’t have to hold back my strength,” Clark grumbled.
Bruce’s eyebrow arched. “Controlling your own body is half the battle. This is good practice for you, Kal.”
Clark’s stomach fluttered. He loved hearing Bruce call him by his true name so easily. He’d been raised Clark, true, but Kal-El was private. Special, especially since Bruce was the only person who had ever called him that.
Bruce used Clark’s distraction to his advantage. His fist flew towards Clark’s face. He instinctively lifted his arm—then his super-processing took over. He perfectly mimicked Bruce’s earlier move—blocking with the forearm, rolling his hands over to trap it, then twisting to bring Bruce down to his knees. Bruce slapped the mat under him twice, and Clark immediately let go.
“I did it!” Clark cheered.
“You cheated.”
Clark’s pride dissipated in a fit of confused frustration. “No I didn’t!”
“That wasn’t your body. That was your super-computer brain. You’re not going to have time to think when someone comes at you again for real.”
Clark bit back a sigh. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear this, but all I have to do is watch a dozen fighting videos and I’ll have this down. You’re the one who insists I learn it this way.”
“This isn’t something you learn by watching!” Bruce’s temper was rising, too. “It’s muscle memory and practice and sweat. It has to become instinct.”
Bruce stalked over to the bench by the mirrored wall, snatching up his towel and a bottle of water. He was sweating profusely. Clark hadn’t even begun to perspire.
“How am I supposed to learn this, then?" Clark asked. "I’m spending half my attention trying not to kill you with one punch, and the other half making sure I don’t fall on my face. I’m not human, Bruce, you can’t just ask me to shut off my powers like a switch.”
Bruce’s shoulders stiffened. Clark didn’t need to look at Bruce’s face to see his concern...or guilt. That was exactly why Bruce was forcing Clark to learn martial arts—in case he lost his powers again, he’d still have a fighting chance.
“You’re right.”
Clark blinked in surprise. “Wow. Did you just admit—”
Clark’s words cut off mid snark when he saw the small, lead box in Bruce’s hands. He must've had it hidden under his towel, and now he had it cupped in his palm. That got Clark’s heart rate rising.
“Here.” Bruce held the box out, not looking at Clark. “This might help.”
“Bruce, did you make—”
“Just open it.”
Clark cracked open the lead box. Inside was the most unusual ring Clark had ever seen. It was a single, thick band of completely clear material encasing three hair-thin lines of glowing green. The only other adornment was a glittering, square blue jewel.
“The kryptonite dust has been encased in a new, military-grade clear metal WayneTech’s been developing for years. No matter how hard it’s hit, it won’t shatter. Still, there’s an invisible kill switch on it. I need to program it to your thumbprint, so that only you can set it off. Once it’s set, the lead under the jewel will liquefy and coat the Kryptonite in three seconds. You won’t even have to take the ring off to get your powers back.”
Clark swallowed hard, and picked up the ring. It was breathtaking.
“What does this jewel do?”
“It’s a sapphire.”
“Oh. So it doesn’t have any special powers?”
“You could hawk it to pay rent on your apartment for the next year.” Bruce’s lip quirked into the barest ghost of smile before fading back into his poker-face. Which meant he was nervous. “If you don’t like it, I could put something else in. A diamond or an emerald—”
“Blue is my favorite color,” Clark said quietly. He slipped the ring on his finger, and felt his powers dampen immediately, just as with the medallion. Anxiety began to creep in from the edges of his excitement, but he fought it down. Bruce had gone to great lengths to make sure what had happened with the medallion wouldn’t happen again, and he trusted Bruce’s engineering.
“How’s it feel?” Bruce asked.
“Good. Looks good, too.” Clark lifted his hand to admire the ring, how the sapphire glittered in the workout room’s light. “But, I thought you said you weren’t going to make something like this.”
“I wasn’t.”
“What changed your mind?”
“The last night you stayed over.”
Clark mentally cataloged that night after they’d gotten back from their patrols. They’d eaten, talked, and then they’d slept entwined together in Bruce’s bed. It’s what they did every time he stayed over in the six weeks they’d been together.
“Nothing happened,” Clark said slowly.
“Exactly.”
Clark suddenly understood what Bruce was offering—and what he wanted. In this ring lay a whole world of possibilities, the key to things Clark had thought lost with the medallion.
“I understand if you’re not ready, Kal-El. We have things to discuss, boundaries to set—”
Clark crossed to Bruce in two steps. He grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him, hard, swallowing his words of reason.
“I am so tired of holding back,” Clark growled, sliding his hands down Bruce’s shoulders, down around his back. He kissed Bruce again, nipping lightly at his lower lip. Bruce groaned, clinging to Clark as he returned the kiss with fervor. Clark’s hands drifted lower, hunger making him bold as he palmed Bruce’s muscular buttocks through his thin cotton gi pants.
“I’ve been wanting you for two years,” Clark breathed, his kisses trailing down Bruce’s jaw, down his throat.
“We’ve had each other more recently than that.” Bruce’s words were part moan as Clark sucked the skin on his neck.
“No. You had me. You never once let me really touch you. It’s my turn now.”
Clark opened the top of the gi roughly, sliding his hand inside, over the white tank top Bruce had on underneath. He found the edge of the shirt and pulled up, running his fingers over the ripples of Bruce’s abdomen. Electric shivers coursed through him, guiding his hand higher until it skated over Bruce’s hard nipple. Bruce gasped as Clark pinched it, rolling it between his fingers.
“Should we go upstairs?” Bruce asked.
Clark considered. That plush bed was made to have sex in, and all they’d done is sleep. But, Clark could feel Bruce’s arousal against his thigh, hard and insistent, and it fueled the fire coursing through his veins. He palmed the bulge, squeezing it, loving the guttural moan his caresses forced from Bruce.
“I don’t think I can stop touching you long enough to make it.”
With one hand, he undid the tie of Bruce’s belt, and the gi top swung open as the black band hit the mat. Next, his fingers found the front tie of the loose pants, but he needed both hands to undo the tiny knot. Bruce made low, hungry sounds every time Clark’s hands brushed against his swollen shaft, and the sound made him delirious with want.
Finally, when the pants were loose enough, Clark pulled them down over Bruce’s hips, letting them pool around his knees. The only thing between him and Bruce’s magnificent cock was a flimsy layer of black cotton.
“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this, Bruce.”
Bruce’s breathing was erratic as Clark dropped to his knees in front of Bruce. He hooked his finger in the waistband of the briefs, and pulled down, hard. Bruce moaned even louder, his fingers digging into Clark’s shoulder in anticipation. Bruce was as hard as Clark had ever seen him, but this time, it was Clark who was in control. He was the one free to touch, to taste.
Clark wrapped his lips around the head of Bruce’s cock and sucked it down in one hard pull. Bruce’s yelp of surprise morphed into a tortured moan as Clark sucked him in earnest, holding nothing back. There would be time for teasing later. Right now he just wanted to glut himself on sweat and flesh and seed.
After what felt like only a few minutes, Bruce pulled himself out of Clark’s mouth with a groan. “No, not like this.”
Clark had to fight back the wave of annoyance. “Bruce, I—”
“Lay down. Please.”
Clark looked up at Bruce, anticipation growing as he complied. Bruce kicked off his pants and pulled off his underwear, and once he shrugged out of his gi he stood before Clark in nothing but his tank top. The effect was more intoxicating than if he’d been completely naked, the fabric highlighting the musculature of his arms and legs, showcased the hard length of his erection standing against the white fabric.
Bruce stepped over to the bench again, and Clark thought he was going for a drink of water. Instead, he came back with a small, clear bottle. Clark’s entire being tensed hopefully as he read the label.
“You have lube down here?” Clark asked, incredulous. “How did you know we’d need it?”
Bruce smiled down at Clark, splayed out on the mattress. “I’m Batman, remember? I’m ready for anything.”
Clark smiled back, even as he was tugging off his own sweatpants and underwear. He’d been wanting to try this again—the right way—since that last, unsatisfying time. He was practically squirming with need as Bruce uncapped the bottle and squirted a generous amount on onto his hand. To his surprise, though, Bruce didn’t smear it between Clark’s cheeks. Instead, he began massaging it over Clark’s cock. He straddled Clark’s thighs, rubbing his own engorged length along Clark’s as he leaned forward, so close Clark thought he was going to kiss him again.
“I want you to fuck me.” Bruce’s voice was low and hungry, and it reverberated down to the pit of Clark’s belly. “I’ve always wanted you to fuck me, Kal-El.”
Clark balled his fists, fighting for control. In all his fantasies, he never imagined once that Bruce would ever allow Clark inside him. “Do it. Before I lose it like this.”
Bruce nodded, and Clark didn’t miss the hesitation in his gaze. Even as Bruce was squirting another handful of lube and rubbing it between his spread legs, Clark reached up and palmed Bruce’s face.
“You don’t have to do this, you know. I would be more than happy with yo—”
Clark’s tender words melted into a long, guttural groan as he felt Bruce’s tight muscles opening over the head of his cock. It was exquisite, so much tighter, so much hotter than Bruce’s mouth, and every nerve in Clark’s body vibrated with the waves of pleasure coursing through him.
“I want to,” Bruce gasped, sinking down further onto Clark. His thighs quivered with the effort of controlling his descent, and he came to rest on Clark’s pelvis in one agonizingly slow plunge. Master of his own body indeed.
Clark didn’t trust himself to move. He craved the sweet friction, but he feared that he would spend the second he tried a thrust. Instead, he took a deep, steadying breath, focusing instead on Bruce’s expression of utter rapture.
Clark’s heart felt like it was about to burst, watching the tiny nuances of pain and pleasure dancing across Bruce’s face. How often had he dreamed of this—of seeing the face under the mask, of feeling the body under the armor? It was almost too good to be true, especially when Bruce opened his eyes and pierced Clark with his intense gaze, his crystalline eyes shining with nothing but love and trust.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Bruce slowly pulled himself up. Clark bit his lower lip as the pressure rose, then sank again around him.
“God, you feel too good!” he moaned. His hands flitted over Bruce’s thighs, up to his straining cock. Bruce yelped as Clark ran his thumb around the damp, swollen tip, slick with precum.
Clark’s touches seemed to rile Bruce up, and he began to move more quickly. His hips rose and fell, pumping Clark’s length inside his body. Clark whimpered and shook, trying his best to keep his own hips still, focus on pleasuring Bruce—
“Goddamn it, Kal, fuck me!”
Something inside Clark snapped. All the denial, all the restraint, all the sheer want came surging forth. He grabbed Bruce’s waist in both his hand and thrust up, hard. Bruce cried out, and for a moment, Clark’s heart stopped. He was sure he’d hurt Bruce.
“Like that! Again!”
Clark did, again, and again, driving up deep into Bruce’s slick warmth, yanking him down onto his cock. He let himself go, bucking his hips wildly. Bruce rode him hard and fast, keeping pace with every thrust, building the pressure within him until Clark knew he couldn’t hold on anymore.
Clark entire body seized as he came, his back arching off the mats and lifting Bruce up into the air. He held Bruce down to him at the waist, driving in as deep as he could as he released inside of him. Within seconds, Bruce joined him, his jism spurting between his fingers and spattering across Clark's belly as he frantically stroked his own cock.
Bruce sagged forward, panting softly. His forehead came to rest on Clark’s shoulder, and Clark reached up to cradle him even closer. The shift in angle made him slip out of Bruce’s body, and the cool air in the workout room made his wet, enflamed flesh tingle, but he didn’t care. Nothing could make him let go of Bruce in this moment.
“That was perfect,” Clark murmured against Bruce’s ear. He turned his head slightly, needing to see the look on Bruce’s face. It was perfectly serene, the first time ever Clark had seen Bruce so calm, so whole.
“I’m glad.”
“Glad?” Clark chuckled. “After that, the best you can say is glad?”
Bruce gave him a chagrined grin. “I’m more than glad, all right? What I’m trying to say is that I’m glad it was perfect for you. We can start over now.”
Clark’s brows raised in confusion. “Start over?”
Bruce placed a kiss on Clark’s cheek and rolled away, searching for his discarded towel. “No one’s first experiences should be mixed with pain and darkness, with someone whose face you can’t see.”
Clark couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of him. “Oh, Bruce.”
“What?” Bruce seemed genuinely taken aback.
“I didn’t go along with those games just for you, you know. I asked for them, remember?”
Bruce was quiet, mulling over Clark’s words as he pulled on his underwear and gi pants.
“You didn’t do it because it was the only way I’d let you close to me?”
“No. I did it because I really, really liked it. Did it look like I was faking it?” Clark stood up, reaching for his own pile of discarded clothes. “It’s something I’d consider doing again, too.”
Bruce sucked in his breath lightly, and he looked at Clark with new eyes.
“Even after what you endured? You don’t think it would be too much?”
He’d thought of that. He’d encountered some truly terrifying trials in his life, but none had gotten under his skin quite like what had happened in that warehouse. He had forced his brain to bury it deep, but he still dreamed of that night sometimes. Not just of the pain, but of the fear and helplessness.
“I know the difference between games and real torture,” Clark said slowly. “But, yes, it may take some time.”
“Take all the time you need,” Bruce said softly. He palmed Clark’s cheek tenderly. “I’m in no rush.”
Clark was just about to lean in for another kiss when the watch on Bruce’s wrist began beeping insistently. Clark immediately pulled away. He knew what that sound meant. Bruce’s face was already hardening into Batman’s calculated scowl as he checked the watch, his finger tapping on the smooth surface.
“What is it?” Clark asked.
“Bat signal is going off. I have to go.”
“Do you want me to come?” Clark already knew the answer, but he felt compelled to ask anyway.
“No. But there is something you can do.”
“Oh?”
“LuthorCorp has just unveiled their version of the AMC. It looks nothing like WayneTech’s…from the outside.”
Clark’s eyebrow raised, a half-smile playing on his lips. “But on the inside?”
“I have insider information that tells me the design of the rechargeable power core is identical to one designed by WayeLabs—”
“The one whose data and schematics were stolen in that break-in a month ago.” Clark finished Bruce’s thought.
Bruce nodded. “If someone could get a look inside, say someone with X-ray vision…”
“Then we could finally pin the break-in and theft on Luthor,” Clark said triumphantly.
“I think that’s a story that could use Clark Kent’s byline, don’t you?” Bruce said evenly, even as his eyes glittered.
“It’ll make the morning edition.” Clark smiled. He resisted the urge to kiss Bruce again. It was one of their ground rules—once Bruce was in Batman mode, it was strictly business between them.
However, Bruce surprised Clark by turning slightly at the door of workout room, just enough so Clark could see the softening of his steely expression.
“Take care out there, Kal.”
“You too, Bruce.”
As Bruce’s footsteps echoed away down the hall, Clark twisted the kryptonite ring off his finger. His powers surged back to full strength. He rolled the ring between his fingers, looking at the face. It was smooth all the way around except for the sapphire. Surprising. He’d expected to find the bat-logo engraved somewhere on it. Batman always marked his toys—
It hit Clark like a bolt to the heart. Kal-El wasn’t Batman’s toy, not anymore. He was his friend. His lover. His partner. He was his own man…and that man chose to be with Bruce.
He pressed the ring to his lips briefly before putting it back in the small lead box. He’d leave this on Bruce’s pillow in his bedroom, as a reminder of what he had to look forward to next time Clark came back. A small gesture to show him that he was wanted, needed, loved…as Clark knew he was in kind.
For the first time in their lives, neither of them was alone.