Chapter Text
Clark’s vision was a swirling heat of a far away gruff voice and the bright burn of the red sun radiation emitting from the overhead lamps. He groaned and tried shifting where he lay, but he found that as he tried to move his arms, he was met with resistance. He glanced down to see that his wrists were restrained. His eyes traveled further down to his bound ankles, grazing over the slow tenting of his dress slacks. It seemed that he was loosely cuffed to the medical bed he lay on. While he had seen his erection barely contained by the thin fabric, he hadn’t felt the discomfort until he attempted to move again. The light friction of the cloth rubbing against him had him cursing. Ma and Pa Kent would have been ashamed to have heard him. Not that now was the best time to think of his parents, Clark thought in a daze, or perhaps it was if it helped him will his brain into clarity.
His skin was slick with sweat, and his eyes were rolling and struggling to stay focused as he gripped at the railing of the bed. Somewhere in a far away place in his mind, he was surprised that the thin metal rod didn’t crumple under his grip. He logically knew that he was powerless due to the red sun radiation, but the more base instincts in his brain forced him to continue to struggle against his restraints. Perhaps once he was out of them he could finally take care of himself. Just the thought of the contact of his hand on himself, stroking himself to completion was enough to send a shiver down his spine. Clark whimpered at the idea.
Oh Rao. What kind of torture was this?
He could hear his own voice saying something. Whatever he said sounded foreign and far away.
He could only register parts of what he was managing to moan out,
“Touch me. Please—God. Rao…”
An over stimulation of feeling in his lower half rocked his body, causing Clark to arch his back and fight against the restraint. The cut of the cold metal against his wrists felt so good against the burning heat of his skin. The movement alone of the cuffs roughly sliding along his skin was enough for him to grow even more painfully hard.
“Please, God please, I need it. I want it. Just touch me God damn it…” He heard himself beg incessantly until he could feel the pinprick of tears in his eyes.
Movement above him graciously brought his thoughts back to the surface and he briefly looked up at the smudge of black leaning over him. There was a misty quality to everything he took in. As a gentle leather clad hand carded through his hair he heard himself let out a strained moan.
The hand immediately snatched itself away from him and Clark let out a whine at the loss of contact. The hand rested itself tantalizingly close to him. If only he could reach out and feel that smooth leather again.
He hated how silent the room was. It was as if not being able to hear every life form on the planet was as deafening as the lust that was dampening all of his senses. Silence like this could eat him alive—
Someone was talking. Or perhaps they had been speaking the entire time. A low octave registered in his ears. Something rough, but comforting and familiar twirled through him as he listened.
“...Clark, I don’t know how much of this you are processing right now, but just know that the Batcomputer is analyzing the pollen and creating an antidote as I speak.”
Clark’s unfocused eyes drifted towards the cowled man. He wished desperately to be able to look through the white lenses to see those beautiful cool blue eyes. Clark was opening his mouth before he could even think to stop himself.
“Batman, please touch me. Just, I’ll do anything, anything you want—” another bout of heat rocketed through his body, cutting him off briefly with a gasp, but Clark quickly picked up his rambling again.
“I lov—”
What was he just about to say, the small still active logical part of his brain screamed.
“I love that mouth—So pretty, would look so good stretched around me. Please I need to cum—”
Clark moaned in response, and possibly even came a little bit in the tux slacks that were definitely part of a rental.
***
The night had been young as Lois had put it so aptly. It was a little past nine when they had arrived at Wayne Manor for the annual Christmas charity gala. His press pass was pinned neatly to his lapel while he saw Lois quickly slip hers into her clutch.
“Um, Lois shouldn’t we be wearing that?”
“Not if you want to get an actual story tonight, Smallville” she replied with her lips tugging upwards into a knowing smile.
“Don’t give me that worried look. Now get to it and cover the gala, maybe try to get a statement from the host, while I go over to the orderves and ask Mrs. Powers what off-shore assets her husband is hiding their money in these days.”
“You’re not actually going to do tha—” and she was already gone. Great.
Clark swiveled his head around the ballroom to catalog the people he should take statements from before the speeches start. He mulled over what Lois had said. It would be hard to find Bruce Wayne in the frenzy of socialites and whose-who of the Gotham upper crust. Even if he found him, Clark highly doubted that the crowd around Wayne would part for a reporter in a rented nylon tux. The playboy was also probably looking to only talk to certain attendees tonight and most likely would disappear with said attendee before the end of the night.
Clark sighed to himself. Just his luck that Lois insisted that he come as her date to the gala.
“Come on, Clark. I can’t go alone,” Lois had said while typing something on her computer.
“Just take Cat. She usually covers the metro beat anyway.”
Lois had turned sharply towards Clark and trained her eyes on him.
“Well maybe if someone was actually grateful for having his story covered last week when he was in tights in space, then maybe I wouldn't have to ask Cat Grant for anything,” she finished wryly while holding Clark’s gaze.
Invulnerability did not protect you from Lois Lane’s glares. Clark gulped.
It wasn’t that Clark had been successfully emotionally blackmailed by what Lois had said. He knew that Lois would continue to cover for Superman no matter how many galas he didn’t attend. However, he had memorized the small tells of her expressions and while she tried to hide it, he knew what she had wanted to imply.
Well maybe if someone hadn’t broken up with me right before the gala, Lois had never said and would never say. But he knew. He knew the betrayal she felt when he admitted that he had fallen out of love. There was a part of him that had wanted to stay with Lois, to see if they could make it work. But he couldn’t bring himself to continue to risk her life just so he could see if he could rekindle his love for her. She was too important to be wasted on a hero who couldn’t give his all to her in the way she deserved.
And thus here he was meandering around a painfully gaudy event looking for an air-headed CEO, who while seemingly good-hearted would probably rather deliver god-awful pick-up lines than anything profound on the charity he was sponsoring this year. If anywhere, Clark mused, he might find the billionaire crammed in some coat closet with his pants around his legs and the lucky woman of the evening.
Now where were those coat closets, he thought a little absently strolling to the edge of the ballroom and out a side door to a hallway in the manor. He needed a little fresh air from the event anyway.
He had just made it a few steps into the hallway when a silky voice called out behind him.
“Hey there, what’s someone like you doing leaving the party so early?”
Someone like you, now what is that supposed to mean?
Clark spun around with mid-western righteous fury on his heels. Of course he had heard the footsteps, but he was bewildered to find a flushed Bruce Wayne leaning against a wall, dangerously close to him. He could hear the hushed breathing of the man with ease, not needing to stretch his hearing any further than an inch. Wayne reached out towards him and Clark flinched back not knowing what to expect. The other man brushed his lapel and gently touched his press pass.
“And here I was going to help you out. Maybe liven up the party just a bit for you,” Wayne said looking up through his lashes at Clark as he moved his hand from the pass to the journalist’s tie.
“I just thought you were leaving because you found the party boring, but it looks like you were intending to find something else. Perhaps a story with something more amusing than a charity gala?” He drawled with the slow speech of someone who had been drinking. But he sounded far from the ditzy rich boy Clark had been expecting. There was something more coiled and vicious in the man, hiding behind that delicate bone structure and pretty long lashes.
Bruce’s hand was still on him, lightly touching his shoulder. It was some time before Clark found it in him to splutter indignantly at the insinuation that he would be lurking around the other man’s home for some morsel of a scandal.
“I was just looking for the coat closet.”
Bruce narrowed his eyes, “There are several coat checks in the ballroom. Why do you need to find a coat closet?”
To find you, he wanted to say but now he realized how crazy that sounded. He had truly just wanted to find a quiet place to get away from the crowd. The outdoor seating areas were evidently closed due to the weather, and Clark had figured he may not be let back inside if he slipped outside for a short walk. So here he was in a back hallway in Wayne Manor, that with his luck had happened to be open, and with one very unhappy Wayne in it. And his hand was still on Clark.
He did not want to get kicked out of the gala. What would Lois think of him then?
So screw it, he thought. Wayne had said that he had come after him to liven up the party, so maybe that was the distraction Clark needed to get the man off his back. He tucked away the surprise of being approached by a billionaire playboy and the revelation that the lucky lady in the coat closet could be a lucky man in a hallway.
Clark slid his hand up to where Wayne’s was resting on his shoulder, and pulled it to his chest.
“Well Mr. Wayne, you’re right I may have been looking for something else. I think that something you could help me find. Maybe a way to liven up the party?” he tried to say in the most suave way he could muster through his thick frames and rumpled suit jacket.
Wayne quickly gripped Clark’s tie and started loosening it.
“Call me Bruce and what kind of host would I be if I refused?” he said in a low voice that shot right to between Clark’s legs.
Clark was blushing furiously now. This had possibly gone too well.
“You are not used to this at all, are you?” Bruce said, slowing his work on the reporter’s tie.
“Not at all,” he squeaked out, which was met with a low chuckle. It had a soft warm ring to it, like the light sweetness of honey in tea.
Clark only had a moment to drink in the sound when the rumbling of something tunneling underground pricked his ears.
“Get down!” He shouted, pushing Bruce to the floor just as a wart covered plant tendril burst through the hall, from the direction of the ballroom, and wrapped itself around Clark. He could have easily burst from its grip, but with one last look at the sprawled out Bruce Wayne, he knew he could not risk blowing his cover here. Not yet at least.