Work Text:
In the end, even Bruce hadn't expected this.
“Clark,” he says, gritting his teeth so he doesn’t dwell on the conflicting reactions elicited by the sensation of Clark’s fingertips trailing from his ribs down to his navel. “Clark, stop.” His hands strain against the chains looped around his wrists, binding him to the headboard. Clark had melted the links together, the action both coldly deliberate and done with casual ease, as if using his powers to restrain an ally isn't something he has to think twice about. Bruce should have found it odd that Clark was holding the chain at all, but seeing him float over to the lake house entrance wearing his usual pleasant expression hadn't pinged Bruce's paranoia. The lake house is his personal space, but he had come to expect the others to visit at will.
He'd had no reason to believe that Clark was compromised when he followed Bruce inside, but there's no other explanation for what he's doing now.
“Where were you before you came here? Did you have a run in with anyone?”
Clark doesn’t seem to hear him. The pad of his thumb rubs over Bruce’s nipple until it perks up into a hard nub. He teases the other one in turn until both are pert and pleasure sparks through Bruce's nerves even as he tries to tug himself free. Clark’s other hand remains around Bruce's naked hip, holding him in place; Bruce's clothes lie in tatters on the bedroom floor.
“Clark, look at me,” Bruce tries again, desperate to keep his voice even as his mind races to solve what kind of influence is gripping his teammate now. Mind control? Some kind of kryptonite? There's no distinct physical change that Bruce can see, no change in Clark's body temperature, no strange tint of color to his skin or eyes, no scent or glitter of pollen.
His words finally get through to Clark, who stops staring in the direction of Bruce's heart to meet his eyes.
“Come down to the cave with me,” Bruce entreats, trying to keep his pulse steady. “Let me check you over. I think you've been compromised-”
“And why would you think that?” Clark asks. “I'm in complete control right now.”
“No. This isn't you. Have you encountered Luthor recently?”
Clark's laugh is a low, disbelieving sound. “You think Lex Luthor is the reason we're here right now? I suppose, if we trace the whole mess back to its roots, he definitely had a hand in things. But, no. The only reason for all this is you, Bruce.”
Bruce doesn't know what to make of that. He fights not to flinch when Clark's hand moves down to his pelvis. “Okay, then, let me help you solve the problem. We're a team now, you know that you can always reach out to us for anything.”
“Oh, this isn't anything the others can help with. And I wouldn't call it a problem. I'm just coming to collect my due.”
“Is there something you need? I'd be happy to finance whatever's necessary-”
Clark's neutral expression folds toward disapproval. “I don't need your money. What I need is this.”
He leans forward to rock his hips against Bruce's, and Bruce has to acknowledge something he's been trying not to think about ever since getting restrained. Clark is aroused. The heat of his flesh burns where it touches Bruce, and to his chagrin, his own cock responds with interest. From the quirk of Clark's lips, it hasn't escaped his notice.
“Seems like you need it too.”
Bruce swallows, glancing away and willing himself not to react when Clark grinds down against him again. Unfortunately, his rising horror at the unfathomable situation can't stop his body from responding to a touch that, if he were honest with himself, he's dreamed about more than once before.
But not like this. Never like this.
Even in Bruce's nightmares, in that desolate barren world, Superman would never do this.
Clark reaches up to grasp Bruce's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes again. The smile on his face is benign. Frightfully ordinary, and that's what disturbs Bruce most of all.
“Don't you owe me this, Bruce? After everything you put me through?”
His eyes are so clear, staring through Bruce like he can see past the bone and muscle into Bruce’s wretched, rotting core. The hand on his chin comes to rest on his throat and his heartbeat skips as the fingers close into a loose grip.
“If I can’t have this, then what else do you have to give me?” Clark murmurs, the pressure of his hand increasing with each word until Bruce feels the beginning of a strain on his airway. “There must be something. You can't really think you've paid off your debt, can you?”
Bruce gives a miniscule shake of his head, trying not to tempt Clark into tightening his hand any further.
“We're in agreement. Good. So, are you going to pay with flesh? Or in blood? It's your choice.”
Bracing his other hand against the bed next to Bruce's head, Clark leans forward to kiss the bruise forming on Bruce's neck. Right above his jugular.
Clark could tear through his throat without any effort at all. He could rend Bruce apart the same way he tore the door right off the Batmobile. Or sear him to ashes before Bruce has even the chance to scream for help.
And Bruce would deserve it.
I killed you. I hunted you like an animal and hurt you in retaliation for a hurt you had never done to me. I killed you and then ripped you back out of the grave to satisfy my own guilt.
This is the very least that I owe you.
But death can only be paid once. And Clark deserves more satisfaction than that.
“Okay,” Bruce says, choking back the bile that threatens to rise. Clark lifts away from his throat and he inhales quickly, too quickly, as he fishes up the words. “You're right. You can have me. You can take what you're owed.” His eyes fall shut after he gives his permission, some kind of instinct to protect himself from what's to come next. As if pretending he can’t see it will make it cease to be real.
Clark's voice is pleased as he answers, “Your cooperation is appreciated. I didn't want to force you, but I had no intention of leaving without what I came for."
Bruce is expecting to be touched, but not at all for Clark to take his cock into his mouth, swallowing him down to the base in one move.
“Wait, Clark-” he gasps out, hands wrenching away from the headboard to no avail. The pain in his arms contrasts sharply with the delicious warmth of Clark's mouth. Clark only hums in response, teasing Bruce with his tongue as he works Bruce’s dick in and out of his mouth several times. Bruce bites his own lip hard enough to draw blood as he fights the urge to buck into Clark’s throat, but the tang of his blood causes Clark to chuckle, before deep-throating him once more.
He releases Bruce with an obscene pop of his lips when he deems Bruce to be sufficiently hard, and then he rises from the bed, walking toward the nightstand with purpose. At least it seems like he doesn’t plan on taking Bruce dry.
Bruce closes his eyes again, burning with shame at the undeniable arousal that pulses through him. It wars with the deeply unclean feeling of being used, but that has nothing on his guilt. The fact that he thought things were okay between them, that he thought he had begun to atone for what he had done…he was delusional, stupid. Selfish for thinking that he had bridged the divide, one that he caused in the first place.
He grimaces as Clark’s finger prods at his hole, lube not yet warmed by his body heat. Bruce has to remind himself to relax, to welcome Clark in, even though his chest is tight with anxiety. This still doesn’t feel real.
Unfortunately, it starts to become a lot more real once Clark works a second finger in, stretching him to prepare for his dick. Superman is, as expected, terribly well-endowed, and Bruce hasn’t taken anyone that large in quite awhile. If the circumstances were different- if they had met any other way, if they were anyone but themselves, then Bruce might actually enjoy himself. Clark is neither too gentle nor too rough; he preps Bruce methodically, taking the time to caress his prostate once he finds it. The pleasure is offset by the slightly amused expression on Clark's face. Despite his unflagging erection, his demeanor seems more like that of a man partaking in a somewhat diverting hobby than sex. It washes over Bruce like ice water, the reminder that this is nothing more than a collection of something long overdue. It isn’t as if Clark actually desires Bruce the way Bruce desires him.
Still, for an assault unexpected sexual encounter, it could be worse. Bruce knows he should be contributing more to the effort, but he knows Clark won't release his hands, so there's not much he can do but lie there and take it.
By the time Clark has prepared Bruce to his liking, Bruce’s own cock is dripping precum on his abdomen despite the uneasy feeling in his chest that he can’t rid himself of. He tries to balance his breathing as the condom gets rolled on. After everything he’s gone through, this is barely a trifle. And yet his heart can’t stop racing, sweat gathering on his palms and his vision going blurry at the edges.
“Don’t tense up,” Clark says, and then he’s pushing in. Easier said than done, and Bruce stares off into the middle distance so he doesn’t have to see that hatefully mild interest on Clark’s face as his cock sinks into Bruce inch by inch. The fit isn’t easy, and Bruce is starting to ache despite how much Clark slicked him up beforehand. But pain is something he can work with. The discomfort will keep him from mistaking this for anything else.
The roll of Clark’s hips is gentle at first. It makes it easy for Bruce to dissociate. He doesn't think about Clark's hands on his hips, or his chafing wrists. The slow pace gives him a kind of distant pleasure that he can ignore in favor of letting his mind drift. There's a whole binder of things he needs to deal with at WE this month. Meanwhile, word on the street is Black Mask is back in town, which is always a pain.
Not to mention all the League matters. Bruce still needs to give Victor hanger access. And Diana said she found some files that might be of interest to him, but she hasn't yet had the chance to stop by.
His thoughts trail off when Clark draws to a halt, his grip on Bruce tightening enough to be painful.
“Hm,” he says, peering down at Bruce, looking slightly bothered. “You’re not giving me much to work with here.”
Then take the hint and free me, Bruce wants to snap, but that would be a mistake. He has no right to make demands.
“Sorry. If there's something you'd prefer-”
“A little enthusiasm would be nice. But I didn't come here to watch you fake it, so let's give this a try instead.”
Clark lifts Bruce's hips, tipping his legs back until he's close to folded in half and seated in Clark's lap. With his arms suspended above him, the position isn't exactly comfortable, but Bruce has barely a moment to register that before Clark begins fucking him at a pace that leaves his legs shaking.
“Wait,” Bruce begs as Clark grinds deeper in him than he was reaching before. It's on the edge of too much, and that's why he's the hardest that he's been all night. Christ, Bruce is predictable.
Clark, meanwhile, does not wait. He doesn't even slow down, instead leaning forward to kiss Bruce on his bloodied lips, his tongue delving in deep, making Bruce's head swim. It's not at all how Bruce imagined a first kiss between them might go. But that was never more than another delusion, anyway.
“That’s better,” Clark says after he lets Bruce surface for air, pleased with himself. Bruce bites his lip again to hold back the useless little sounds slipping from his lips each time Clark slams back in. “I should’ve figured this is how you like it.”
Now that he has Bruce’s number, he’s ruthless. Bruce is inescapably present now, his mind abuzz with the filthy tableau of noise they're making: the rattle of chains tying him down, the slap of Clark's skin against his, the desperate breaths and almost whimpers that Clark drags out of him. Still, it takes him a moment to tune in when Clark starts talking again.
“I know you like your routines, and I’m willing to work with that. So find three openings in your weekly schedule for me, and I’ll do my best to stick to it.”
“Three?” Bruce chokes out as Clark changes his pace to short, hard thrusts that abuse his prostate.
“I deserve that much, don't I?” Clark asks coolly. “It shouldn't be more than an hour at a time, though I suppose that depends on your willingness to accommodate me. If you can't decide, then I'll take you at my own convenience.”
He shifts as Bruce tried to dredge up the words to respond, and drives himself all the way in again.
“It can't be convenient for you to- fuck- to leave Metropolis whenever I ask,” Bruce manages to say after a minute. He wants to touch his straining cock so badly, but the chains digging into his arms are a stark reminder of why he can't. Clark is no help; when his hands go wandering, it's only to torment Bruce's nipples again, pinching until each sting makes his cock twitch against his stomach.
“Actually, you're right,” Clark says after a moment. “Why should I work around your schedule? Why should I limit myself to only a few times a week? You gave yourself over to me. I own you, now. I can use you whenever I want, isn't that right?”
His blue eyes stare into Bruce's, challenging him to deny his words. This is a test, Bruce knows, and there's only one right answer.
So, as he's shattered apart by each of Clark's savage thrusts, Bruce finally gives into his fate.
“Y-yes. In payment of my debt, you...you can do whatever you want with me.”
“Good. Glad we worked this deal out. Don't worry, Bruce. Maybe one day you'll finally balance the scales.”
Right.
This is nothing more than a transaction. An obligation that Bruce will be paying off for the rest of his life.
With that, Clark finally reaches toward Bruce's cock and begins jerking him off with rough, demanding strokes. It isn't so much for Bruce's pleasure as his own, as Bruce's hole squeezes down with each painful tug. He's desperate to reach his orgasm and hopefully black out from this nightmare.
“Tighten up for me,” Clark commands, and Bruce tries to do so, clenching down around the massive length filling him to his limit. But his strength is drained, and his arms exhausted. He ends up slumping into Clark's hold as the pace increases. Clark should be reaching his own climax soon, but his expression remains infuriatingly impassive, even as he releases Bruce's cock and gives it a good, hard slap.
The stinging pain sends Bruce cresting over the edge, his vision whiting out as he comes with an anguished sob. It takes at least two minutes for his senses to come back online, and then he's barely conscious enough to feel Clark biting a bruise above his collarbone shortly before he finishes too.
He's overstimulated when Clark gives a few final thrusts as he rides out his orgasm, but once it ends, Bruce simply feels hollow. For a few breaths, he can pretend that the weight of Clark surrounding him is an embrace, a lover's tender hold. But it only lasts for a minute before the truth comes crashing back down.
“Not bad,” Clark says from somewhere far above him. The sensation of him pulling out causes a broken noise to escape Bruce's mouth, the sudden emptiness wounding him more than he expected. He clenches helplessly around nothing, already missing Clark's warmth, already dreading the next time he has to do this. Unfortunately, it's much sooner than he's ready for.
“I'll give you fifteen minutes to recover,” Clark tells him, patting him amicably on the ass before he gets off the bed. The tears that have been pricking at his eyes finally overflow, and he can hear Clark's sigh of disapproval. “C'mon, shape up, Bruce. This is what you signed up for when you brought me back. Try to get some rest. I'll be back in a few.”
The mattress shifts as he stands, and then Bruce is cold, empty, and alone again.
The sound of the chain breaking apart above him draws him back to reality. Warm hands carefully lower Bruce's arms to his sides, rubbing softly at his aching wrists.
“How are you feeling?” Clark asks gently, pressing a kiss to each wrist after he checks them for damage.
“Sore. Good,” Bruce grunts at him. “You?”
"A little wrung out, but good otherwise. Here, hold on.”
Clark carefully wipes Bruce clean with a damp towel, and then gets up to dispose of it; Bruce squints his still damp eyes open, glaring until Clark rejoins him, the bed dipping back down with his comforting weight. Bruce shifts forward until Clark wraps his arms around him, burrowing his face in the crook of Bruce’s neck. His hug tethers Bruce to the present without being tight enough to trap him. The skin to skin contact is soothing, as is the tickle of Clark's breath against his bruised throat. He'll have to wear turtlenecks for the next week or so to avoid the embarrassing questions.
Clark allows him a few minutes of silence, just running his fingertips up and down Bruce's spine. He finally speaks up after Bruce shifts and makes a disgruntled noise at the crick in his shoulders. “Shower now or later? I'll give you a massage once we're clean.”
“Later. My joints aren’t up for moving right now.”
“Cuddle first, got it,” Clark says, his voice rumbling against Bruce’s chest. “If only people knew Batman was the snuggly kind,” he teases.
“Do you want people to know? Should I go out and fuck a few strangers, let them spread the word?”
“Absolutely not.” Clark’s voice dips into his Superman register, but the hitch in his breath gives him away.
“Maybe the aftermath is something you'd like to stumble upon,” Bruce suggests as he cards through Clark's disheveled curls. “Clark Kent finds out his slut boyfriend can't keep it in his pants for even one measly fundraiser and decides to teach him a very thorough lesson."
“Okay, you bring up some interesting points. We can discuss it in the debrief.”
Bruce tugs at his hair to scold him. “I know you think you're making fun of me, but you're the only one who calls it that.” He's never referred to their post-sex discussions this way, and it's slander every time Clark implies that he has.
“It's because I know you're thinking of it that way in your head,” Clark says, smiling. He presses a kiss to Bruce's cheek, and then his eyelids, his lips. “You were perfect. Was it what you were hoping for too?”
“Exactly what I needed, like always,” Bruce promises. He draws Clark into another languid kiss, and then lets him rest his head on Bruce's chest again. People also don't need to know that Batman is Superman's favorite pillow.
“I'm telling you now that cuddling might warp into sleeping.”
“That's fine.” Bruce moves so that Clark can fit more comfortably between his legs, and then reaches over to dim the lights. “There's time for everything else later.”