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Bruce would have been lying if he said he wasn’t excited about the new game he and Clark had cooked up. After the raving success of the first role play at his office, he and Clark had been randomly brainstorming some other scenarios together like mad. They had an ever growing list and tonight’s game was at the top of Bruce’s wants.
He entered the Gotham University library and adjusted his tie and backpack straps as he surveyed the scene. It was late at night, only a quarter of the way through the semester so there were only a few clusters of eager students at the tables that ran down the centre of the building. It was quiet, peaceful, just like Bruce remembered it to be when he had attended the school years before.
Heading to one of the small single tables near the back of the library, he set up shop, laying out the advanced theoretical physics textbook, binder, various pens and pencils, highlighters and sticky notes. He had spared no expense to make it as real as possible. Hanging his jacket over the back of the chair, Bruce sighed and headed for the stacks. In the back of the library, one of the last few rows carried the physics books and journals and Bruce started to pull random books out, flipping through them quietly, trying to find one the would pique his interest as the anticipation for Clark’s arrival roiled in his belly.
-
There was a rush of displaced air, strong enough to ruffle the pages of Bruce’s books, but that was where subtleties started and ended. A strong hand grabbed him by the throat and slammed Bruce into the table. His chest took the brunt of the force, but a hollow thud echoed on impact. Anyone in the immediate area would have heard it, would have come to investigate, but no one did. No one was around to stop them. No one was around to help.
With terrifying easy, inhuman strength forced Bruce on his back, rolling over page 326 of Advanced Physics. Clark stepped between his legs, pushing his chair back without any are of how it dug into Bruce’s calf. He reveled in his control, didn’t shy away from teasing just how powerful he really was. Black leather draped over his shoulders, the cent of smoke still clinging to his skin. He wasn’t slouching now, wasn’t play meek, docile Clark Kent, and didn’t seem to care who made the connection.
His eyes flashed crimson, so quick anyone who didn’t know better would mistake it for a trick of the light, and anyone who didn’t? Well, they ought to know just how dangerous their position was.
“We’re going to have a talk, Wayne.”
-
Bruce didn’t have time to react as he was slammed chest first to the table and then manhandled onto his back. It was all smoke and no fire, but oh how the smoke billowed. It was perfect. All the sound and fury but none of the actual pain or danger, just enough to get Bruce’s adrenaline running and set the tone of the scene. The flash of red eyes was more than enough to take Bruce’s breath away as he struggled, gripping Clark’s wrist tightly.
“There’s… there’s nothing to talk about.” it felt strange but he made sure there was a waver in his voice as he toned down his tough talk, “Let me go… you think the cops are… gonna look kindly on this?”
There was no point in the meta analysis of the situation so Bruce let himself sink into the role. He couldn’t let Clark get the upper hand, needed to outsmart the idiot before he did something stupid. It wasn’t Bruce’s fault that Clark was the one selling cocaine on campus. He had made his own choices and now he had to take responsibility for them.
-
All Clark had to do was shift his grip. He made his thumb press into Bruce’s frantic pulse, pressing against his carotid with an almost casual cruelty, and suddenly that waver in Bruce’s voice was a lot more sincere. He smiled with too many teeth.
“The charges won’t stick. Smart boy like you should’ve know I’d have a plan. Or did you think I wouldn’t find out it was you?”
There was a line of realism that came with the words, old demons brought up by old dialogue, but it had never been exactly like this. Clark never needed to deal with whistle blowers. He had been an asset. People protected their assets. Once upon a time, he used to think that made him important, not just a tool, but it gave bitterness to his performance.
“Or that your money would protect you?”
-
Bruce grit his teeth, eyes widening a little as he felt his pulse pushing against Clark’s thumb and he tightened his grip involuntarily and he froze with a huff of his breath. The muscle next to his eye twitched as his brow furrowed, the fear starting to bleed out on his features.
It was relatively easy to drudge up the old memories of school, the awkward days when fear ruled his life and schoolyard tyrants reigned supreme. The fear of not being able to protect himself, that was a little harder, but when he remembered that Clark could certainly kill him whenever he wanted, it grew a lot less difficult.
“No, I…” it was too much to speak with Clark’s strong hand around his throat and his sharp, unearthly eyes giving Bruce no quarter. He had to look away and swallowed hard, “I didn’t… please… jus’ lemme go…”
-
Clark inhaled deeply, like he needed a breath to steady himself, but there was something shamelessly lascivious about the way he dragged his eyes down Bruce’s face, taking in his parted lips and the blush that darkened his features. It was too easy for him to pry off Bruce’s hand, pulling his grip off of his own wrist and pinning Bruce’s arm above his head.
He stretched Bruce underneath him, made him arch up on his toes to avoid discomfort, and Clark covered him with body, feeling the heat spread across his thighs. Bruce’s heart hammered against his rib cage, so close Clark swore he could feel it.
It was a calculated move. Clark didn’t actually need to hold Bruce’s hand to keep him pinned. With Clark’s fingers pressing against the surface of the table, he still kept Bruce trapped. It still fed fantasy.
“I could snap your neck right here. I could make you disappear, no one will know you’re gone for weeks.” He said, shifting his hold and tracing his thumb down Bruce’s throat, pressing over his Adam’s apple just enough to make him squirm.
“Or I could teach you a lesson.”
-
It was like he could physically feel Clark’s eyes on his skin and he couldn’t deny wanting more. “Please…” he sputtered as his hand was pulled off and held down above his head, his back arching as he tried to keep his shoulder from pulling too much.
Bruce kicked and wiggled at the death threat, one foot moving up to push against the chair. It helped ease the strain on his back but it also tucked Clark in nicely between his legs so that when he felt pressure on his Adam’s apple and squirmed, it gave them both some heated friction.
“Don’t…” he pleaded, his voice cracking as his eyes darted over Clark’s face, his pupils wide, dreading what sort of lesson Clark was willing to give, “I swear, I won’t… I’ll tell the… I’ll make them drop the… charges, okay? I can… I’ll help you…”
-
“You will,” Clark agreed smoothly, his breath hot against Bruce’s cheek as he eased his choke hold around his throat to run his palm down Bruce’s chest. His fingers fanned over his ribs, moving lower to press against his hard abs, and Clark’s eyes darkened, blue almost swallowed by black. He felt the tension in toned muscles as they jumped beneath his touch then moved lower, undoing Bruce’s zipper and palming at his cock. He felt it harden against his hand, drooling precum all over his boxers, so responsive when Bruce’s pulse raced in desperation.
“You’re going to do everything I tell you to, or I’m going to make you wish you were never born.”
Then Clark surreptitiously pushed the chair closer, better for Bruce to get leverage on.
-
“I will, I will, I swear I will, I’ll t-..” Bruce’s breath hitched as he gasped, Clark’s hand like fire even through his shirt, “St-… stop….” he tried to pull away from Clark’s touch though his hips betrayed him, pushing up into his palm with the help of the chair.
His eyes rolled back as he rolled again Clark, grateful that his pants were undone though the heat in his cheeks was almost as high as between his legs. “Oh god…” his whined loudly, “Please…”
Whether the please was for Clark to stop or for more, Bruce wasn’t going to make the distinction. It was both at once. His eyes fluttered open, looking up at Clark, imploring him for mercy. “Please, Clark… you… you don’t wanna… you don’t wanna do this……..” he was breathing hard, hard been for a while now, but the burn of the adrenaline, of the blood pounding past his ears was nowhere near as delectable as Clark’s hands on him.
-
Clark tensed, just for a second, just to make sure. Then he pressed a kiss along Bruce’s jaw, right below his ear, a tender, quiet show of affection that almost broke scene. Until his hand tightened around Bruce’s cock in a maddening grip, pumping him hard, and Bruce’s slacks pooled around his ankles.
“You get off on this, don’t you?” His sneer laced his words, amusement and disgust and need all balancing on a knife’s edge. “Look at you, Wayne. You’re all wet and we haven’t even started. You get off on knowing your stuck up friends will see you like this, begging for it. Maybe if you beg pretty enough, I might let you go before they catch us.”
-
The gentle kiss was more erotic than everything Clark had done to that point and he couldn’t help sighing with pleasure as a spurt of precum leaked into the man’s hand. He understood the hesitation, it was still difficult for him to keep going when Clark said ‘stop’ but that’s what the safeword was for. It added a layer of realism to the scene and, really, how often would ‘protein bar’ come up during sex?
The sigh turned into a sharp grunt as Bruce’s knee tried to jerk up, hindered by his trousers. He pulled against Clark’s hand, trying to get his hand free while his other grabbed at the fabric of his shirt as he tried to deny what the other was saying.
“No… no, no, no.. please…” he choked back a breath, grimacing as his body triple-crossed him, thrumming beautifully under Clark’s hand. Bruce wanted to get his leg around Clark but the trousers wouldn’t allow it, he wanted to give Clark more pleasure as well and he squeezed his thighs, arching his back with a breathy exhale, “Please, Clark, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…. don’t do this… I swear I… I’m… please… please….”
-
Clark let him struggle. His grip frustratingly loose, on Bruce’s wrist and his cock. It was still more than enough to keep him trapped. He watched Bruce writhe for him, his gorgeous prize splayed out and wanting. and completely helpless, for this moment, this one agonizing moment that burned itself into Clark’s thoughts like a brand.
“Almost, pretty boy, but not good enough.” he laughed, careless in his indifference, but his hands were trembling, ever so slightly as he forced Bruce into the table, kissing him hard. He pushed his way into his mouth, claiming what was his with teeth and tongue, blunt even teeth spilling copper between them when he got too rough, and Clark couldn’t stop thinking about what a sight they made, what anyone would think if they found Bruce like this disheveled and greedy, and it went straight to his cock.
He never let Bruce catch his breath, pulling away without warning. In the same breadth he had him pinned to his front, bent obscenely over the desk. Clark reached around him, grabbing Bruce’s tie in one hand and jerking hard until he could hear him gag through expensive satin.
“I think I could get used to you like this, Wayne. Maybe I’ll let you work off your inconvenience.” Clark spat, letting his other hand stroke down Bruce’s ass, peeling down his briefs, but his breath hitched as his fingers slipped between his crack to find Bruce slicked open and prepped for him, so easy for Clark to fuck his fingers into.
-
Bruce didn’t even have time to try begging again before Clark was on him, pushing him down hard. Page 326 never stood a chance let alone 324 and 322. The kiss was possessive and rough and Bruce whimpered into it as his fingers dug into Clark’s shoulder hard enough to draw blood had it been a normal thug. Clark wasn’t, of course, and the only misplaced blood was in Bruce’s mouth.
Clark pulled away far too soon and Bruce followed him, trying to lean up to catch his mouth again but the man had other plans and he found himself face down on the table. “Cl-acknnghh….” Bruce’s hand scrambled to grab hold of his tie a brief moment of panic spreading heat through his entire body. The second of panic turned into one of triumph when he heard Clark’s breath hitch and he planted his feet so he could push his hips back, eager for more.
It was a strange desire for one who prided himself on his absolute control over his life to be put in so vulnerable position. One who depended on his independence, will, and ability every second of every day. It was only a game, and though he’d be actually and figuratively fucked if Clark decided that it wasn’t, Bruce did have the control. It was the illusion that he didn’t, that he was at Clark’s complete and utter mercy, that he could let go and not have to worry, not have to plan or organize or analyse or prepare in that singular moment that gave Bruce the relief that he needed. That he could trust Clark so completely, that level of faith was freeing in a way that nothing else was.
With a choked cough, Bruce reached back with one hand, a silent request for just a touch of affection as he arched his back and bit his lower lip, looking back at Clark over his shoulder. “Pl-… please….” there was a light sheen of sweat over his brow and his expression was pulled into a grimace but there was a clear look of excitement in his eyes, the glint of a shared secret between the two men.
-
The grip on Bruce’s tie eased as Clark took his hand, gently skimming his fingers along the inside of his wrist before tracing along the center of his palm, a quiet reminder that he was still here, that he wasn’t going anywhere. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Bruce’s tie where it laid between his shoulder blades, a cut of black across the broad expanse of his back. Clark kept the shirt on, captivated by the way it hid away the years, like every scar, every bruise never happened, that the muscles beneath his touch weren’t as solid as steel.
All an illusion, all a game, but Clark trembled down to his toes, aching with want.
He pulled out slowly, feeling Bruce shudder against him as his grip settled across the other man’s hips before dragging settling on his middle back, keeping him trapped like it was no effort at all, His pants fell away with the rustle of fabric, and Clark bit back a sigh as he ground his length across his partner’s stretched out hole,
“I’m going to have to teach you, Wayne.” He sneered. “You don’t get everything you ask for.”
He fucked into him quickly, sinking into Bruce’s heat at a brutal pace. Clark could feel him coming apart for him, like warm silk dragging over his cock. Delirious pressure drove him for more, left him panting with want, but every time Bruce got too loud, Clark pulled on his leash.
-
Bruce closed his eyes and rested his head down onto the textbook as he imagined what his friends would say if they saw him now. “Please… Clark, I…” he whispered, throat sore and gravelly, “I won’t…” he huffed out a sharp breath when he heard Clark’s pants drop and he jerked forward, the hand that had requested comfort moving to press against the table, fingers curling to try and grip the wood when he felt the thick shaft of his cock against his entrance.
“Please…” it was the last thing he could get out before he was impaled on Clark’s cock, the table inching forward with each thrust. Bruce gasped, glad for his foresight and the hand scrambling for purchase found it on the far edge of the table. He glad that Clark could keep his moaning under control because there was no way that Bruce would have been able to do it himself. The sweet tightness of his tie was strangely comforting and enhanced the full feeling of Clark inside him.
He could feel his orgasm building, the unmistakeable pressure pooling low in his belly and the quiet grunts and murmured threats from Clark only made things more acute. His own cock was leaking a near steady stream of precum, soiling the table and the front of his shirt but how could he care? How could that matter when Clark was right there making it impossible to think beyond that very moment in time.
-
Bruce let out a broken, animal sound and Clark wanted to make him sob. He yanked back the tie, forcing Bruce to strain backwards for relief and licked a wet stripe down the long column off his throat, stopping just before his high collar. He tasted the sweat off his skin, draping himself across Bruce’s back. There was nowhere Bruce could turn, nowhere he could move as Clark took what he wanted, punching the air out of his lungs with every trust. Whispering filth in his ear, “Look at you. You’ve been begging for this ever since I came here, begging for me to take you apart. You don’t care who sees. You don’t care who knows.”
He forced Bruce to turn his head, to stare down that long empty hall. Through the shelves, he could still catch a glimpse of the main entrance, knew that it wouldn’t take much for them to be caught.
The tie dug into Bruce’s skin, leaving his neck an angry red, and Clark pushed him towards release, panting in his ear as he chased his own pleasure. “What are you going to tell them when they catch you? What are you going to do when they watch you come?”
His grip shifting around Bruce’s tie, cutting his air off completely. It was as good as any countdown, racing to the moment Bruce would finally, finally fall.
-
It was too much and not enough but Bruce couldn’t ask for more, couldn’t ask for Clark to stop without ruining the game and he wouldn’t have wanted to. He panted hard, eyes closed until fingers in his hair forced him to turn his head, to look down the library, to see how vulnerable and wide open they really were. It was breathtaking, almost as fully so as the tight tie around his throat that was suddenly tighter, cutting off air and blood, making his vision swim.
One well-placed thrust across his prostate and Bruce came hard, a silent thing, mouth open, eyes half-closed as coil after coil of hot seed spattered the table. His muscles were tense from the orgasm and his ass clenched around Clark’s cock, rhythmically at first before he slumped onto the table, legs unable to hold his weight. It was then that he squeezed with purpose, huffing breath after breath, trying to milk Clark to his own release.
-
Rao, Bruce felt so damn good, bearing down on him with agonizing pleasure. Clark cried long and low, so loud he was sure the people on the other end of the floor heard him, but he didn’t care. He watched his partner come apart, heard his breath hitch and pulse race even as he fought for air, and when the tie around his neck loosened, Bruce gasped so greedily. Still Clark pinned him down, pressing him into the table and fucking him like a man possessed, like he wanted to crawl into his body and take everything Bruce was still too afraid to give. He pounded into him, harder and deeper, making his cheeks bounce with every thrust even as his mate lay limp and exhausted beneath him.
With monumental effort, Clark pulled out and dragged Bruce with him, little more than dead weight as he tumbled into his chair. Clark held him there, a hand fisting in his dark locks as he stroked himself, just once, twice before he came all over Bruce’s flushed, pretty face with a guttural groan.
-
Bruce’s orgasm was only the start of things, it was where things got more intense, more emotional, more real as Clark kept taking, pushing Bruce past his limits to where he hadn’t even thought he could go. Clark didn’t let up, forcing Bruce to stay focused even though his mind felt like mush, making him hyperaware of each tremble of his thigh and each waver in his threats.
He grunted as he hit the chair, exhaustion making it take a moment longer than normal for him to raise his eyes to watch Clark’s face as he came. Fingers tightened in his hair when he did and Bruce had to close his eyes even as he tried to keep them open to see the pleasure on Clark’s features. It was beautiful. He reached up and grabbed hold of Clark’s hand so it would stay in his hair after he was finished.
The warm cum dripped down his forehead and cheek but he couldn’t raise his hand to clean himself off, having to be satisfied with licking a dollop off his bottom lip. It was out of character but Bruce was okay with that, enjoying the quiet panting as he tried to wipe the smile off his face to keep the scene going.
“I… you…” swallowing thickly, Bruce managed a somewhat distressed look, though the inability to articulate anything of significance was quite genuine, “Please…” it seemed as good a thing as any to say.
-
Clark’s knees buckled, threatened to send him to the floor, but he stroked his hand through Bruce’s hair, endlessly gentle Somehow he found the strength to move into the chair beside his partner, falling a little too heavily, so that the wood creaked beneath him. He drew Bruce in, sliding his arms around his waist before ghosting his palm across his quivering flank, from his waist to his ribs and across his chest until he could cup his best friend by the chin and he could kiss him. Really kiss him. Soft and sweet and languid, quietly asking for Bruce to give in like he hadn’t before, tentatively swiping his tongue across his lips. He could taste himself there.
“It’s okay, Bruce.” He promised, his fingers skimming across his throat, subtly loosening the tie an inch further. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”
He reached into his pocket, for a handkerchief that he wiped across his partner’s cheeks, cleaning him up as tenderly as he did everything else. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins, and Clark’s eyes were still hooded with want, but he came back into his skin and wanted to make sure Bruce was there with him.
-
Bruce moved sluggishly when Clark pulled him in, grateful for the super strength that helped when his will alone couldn’t surmount the lead in his limbs. He settled into Clark’s lap, the warm, strong hands moving over his body, reminding him where his edges were, where his skin and the rest of the world met.
The kiss, the feel of Clark’s soft lips, brushed away the last of Bruce’s resistance with a gentle hand, allowing him to sink in, one arm slipping around Clark’s shoulder to keep them close. When the kiss was broken, he let his head drop forward a bit, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he stroked the back of Clark’s head with one hand. Every inch of him was buzzing and Clark’s voice soothed the intensity down to an extremely pleasant hum. He was so gentle, so kind and loving in these moments that Bruce was always sure his heart was going to explode from it.
When he was cleaned off, he found the strength to raise his head, hand coming to cup Clark’s cheek, thumb smoothing just under his eye. “’M here…” he murmured with a smile, tilting his head to kiss Clark lightly, “That…” he sighed and kissed Clark’s cheek, down along his jaw to his neck as he shifted a bit to hug him firmly, breathing in his scent, face pressed tightly in against his neck.
-
Clark looked at Bruce with open adoration. He let himself feel, savoring the warmth of Bruce’s skin, his lover’s pulse thrumming through his ears. With every rise and fall of his chest, Clark waited in the silence between his breath for Bruce to come back to him, and when Bruce kissed him, Clark wanted to give him everything.
“Shh… It’s okay. It’s okay.” He braced Bruce along his back, keeping him pressed against him as he reached for Bruce’s backpack (backpack!). There was a bottle of Gatorade within reach, and he uncapped it before gently nudging his partner with his chin, slowly coaxing him to drink.
“Small sip,” he whispered, voice shot to Hell. His leather jacket felt too tight, his clothes uncomfortably sticky, but it was worth it. It was all worth it.
-
Bruce didn’t want to move, it was a silly, illogical desire but he didn’t care. He was in Clark’s arms, safe, secure… sleepy. With a grumble, he yielded, raising his head though he nosed along Clark’s hairline on the way up and peppered him with kisses before taking a drink.
He indulged himself, staring into Clark’s alluring eyes as he drank, wondering how he had gotten so lucky to be chosen to be with him. He had never trusted someone as much as he trusted Clark, not even Alfred. With Clark, it went deep, straight to his bones, straight past all of the walls and safeguards around his heart as if they were nothing.
A few more sips of the juice and Bruce took hold of Clark’s hand to guide the bottle to his lover’s mouth, wanting him to drink a bit as well. “Thank you…” he breathed out, resting their foreheads together, unable to stop smiling “Clark, that was… god, I love you so much…”
-
There was no point in arguing with Bruce, never mind that Clark could probably still bench lift a bus if needed. The way his arms trembled right now, it might need to be a small bus, anyway. But Clark nearly inhaled the drink, a kernel of pride settling in the pit of his belly at the declaration. It had taken so long for Bruce to be comfortable saying the words, even hearing them had been a stretch.
He flushed pleasantly, closing the distance between them with a tender kiss. Eventually they’d have to break away from this moment, but not now, not yet. Clark wanted this to last for as long as it could.
“It wasn’t too much?” He asked softly, switching to x-ray vision in the (quite literal) blink of an eye to search for signs of damage, but his fingers traced the marks around Bruce’s throat where his tie had been cruelest. They’d talked about this beforehand, but sometimes the reality was more than what they were prepared for.
-
“No…” Bruce replied just as quietly, his head tilting back a bit for Clark’s little examination. There was a bit of discomfort but nothing permanent or overwhelming. He cupped Clark’s face with both hands before running them down his neck to his shoulders and then to his elbows, lightly (he probably couldn’t have punched his way out of a wet paper bag just yet) massaging his muscles, feeling the little tremble in them, “Too much for you?”
If it had been, they wouldn’t do it again, that was for sure, and Bruce watched Clark’s reaction carefully. “I mean, you…” he raised his eyebrows slightly, in case he was entering dangerous or upsetting territory, “You were very… convincing…”
One hand kept at Clark’s elbow and the other moved back to his face, just wanting to touch him everywhere. It was for Clark’s benefit, of course, but it helped Bruce stay grounded, keep connected with him until they had to step out of their bubble and into the real world.
-
Clark turned into Bruce’s hand to kiss the center of his palm. An old hello, an old promise as much as a quiet apology. He reached up to trace along the back of his partner’s nape, wondering how bad the marks would be in an hour. It wasn’t their first time with asphyxiation, but it was their first time bringing it into this sort of scene. Clark wasn’t overly cautious with most things, but here he made an exception.
“It was good for me, would like to be a little more careful next time,” he said diplomatically. These sort of marks might just add to Bruce Wayne’s reputation though. If they hindered Batman’s work in any way, he was sure he’d hear about it.
Bruce’s statement gave him pause.
There were bullet holes in his jacket, hidden by sleek leather. It came from a time where forced simplicity had hurt a lot of people, when he’d let himself be greedy and reckless and took everything the worst of Metropolis had to offer. It was a power thrill like no other, but tainted at its core. Clark still remembered that he thought he had the world at his finger tips. He reveled in thinking he was the only black man who could scare the cops. When he got older, he realized they were scared of all of them, but he was the only one they couldn’t actually hurt.
He walked his fingers down his partner’s throat, settling them on his shoulder before he managed a small smile. “I was never a boy scout.”
He kissed Bruce again, one last time, before asking, “Are you good to move?”
-
Clark’s kiss to his palm had Bruce smiling fondly and he was gad that the man of steel had enjoyed himself without going too far past his comfort levels. If it wasn’t fun for both of them then it wasn’t fun at all.
The hesitation and the little smile that didn’t quite reach Clark’s eyes, paired with the revelation that he never had been a boy scout piqued Bruce’s curiosity but also prevented him from pushing further. He returned the kiss and nodded with a sigh, he was able but his will was a little less resolute. They needed to get cleaned up before they were caught, that much was obvious, but Bruce wanted just a little more time.
Leaning in, he kissed the corner of Clark’s mouth before nosing at his cheek to get him to move his head so he could kiss along the column of his throat. Pushing his shirt and jacket out of the way, he gently nipped Clark’s collarbone.
“Come on, lover, let’s get out of here…” it took enormous effort for Bruce to stand up and he kept a hand on the table to maintain his balance as he tugged up his trousers to make himself presentable. The backpack provided the necessary hand towel to clean off the table and all the books and pens and paraphernalia were stashed back inside. The library would find a generous donation check in the mail from an anonymous donor in the next day or so but for now, Bruce was happy to focus on making it back to the manor, “Did you fly here?” he could always call a cab, but where would the fun be in that?
-
Clark exhaled deeply, tilting his head back to give Bruce unfettered access, humming contentedly before he helped his partner to his feet, dropping a kiss on his shoulder. He had the decency to look sheepish. “I’m sorry about your books.”
He did his very best to sound sorry. Sort of. It didn’t really work.
“One second?”
There was a blur of motion, and suddenly the table was scrubbed clean and smelled faintly of bleach. Bruce found a leather jacket draped over his shoulders and Clark scratched the back of his head nervously. “Well, let me worry about taking you home.”
He sidled up to his best friend’s side and slipped a hand into Bruce’s front pocket, drawing him in. It was a good day to fly.