Clark moved so the dildo could slide out of his body, and he lay back down to catch his breath. He didn’t even bother to turn the machine off, since he knew he was gonna need it in a matter of minutes.
He glanced at the door, and his heart skipped a beat when he noticed it was ajar. Bruce really had been here; it wasn’t some fantasy his lust-addled brain had come up with.
And the knowledge that Bruce had been here, and had seen him get fucked by a machine while jerking off and moaning, really should make him feel ashamed and embarrassed instead of turned on and disappointed that Bruce hadn’t stayed.
He tried to drag his mind away from what could’ve happened if Bruce had stayed, if Bruce had smirked at him, looking him up and down slowly, then reaching out to wrap one of his big hands around Clark’s cock, joining in. Clark would’ve come hard, then tried to explain what was going to Bruce even while he was still being fucked by the machine.
Bruce would’ve hushed him, telling him they could discuss that later, that they had better things to do. Bruce would’ve taken his clothes off, revealing muscle and bare skin, maybe there’d be bruises and fading scars, and Clark would worry about him all over again. Bruce was human – an extraordinary human, yes – but still human and they hurt so easily, even covered in kevlar.
Bruce would’ve moved the machine away, slowly, until it slid out of Clark, and he’d give the machine an interested look, as if he was already working out how to improve it, and then he’d settle between Clark’s thighs, smirking down as Clark lay there, still a little dazed from his orgasm and Bruce’s presence, but already feeling hot and needy and desperate and Clark would grab Bruce’s shoulders and pull him closer – trying to be careful and not hurt him, and Bruce would move with him, lie on top of him, a warm body against his own, and he’d enjoy that for a moment before pulling back so he could slide his thick, hard cock inside Clark.
He wouldn’t need any prepping, still open from the machine, but Bruce would feel so much better, he would be bigger and stretch Clark a little, and he would slide in slowly and pull back every now and then, teasing Clark, and then he would push in hard, balls-deep, making Clark scream with how good it felt to be filled by a real cock, not the cool metal one. Bruce would take him hard, thrusting in deep, a different rhythm from the machine, and it would feel good, so good, and maybe then the itch inside of him would finally be sufficiently scratched.
Clark whimpered, feeling the lust take over. Bruce was already gone, disgusted no doubt by what he had seen, and all Clark had was a machine that could only just take the edge off. Oh, the machine had multiple settings, there was even a hole for him to fuck, but he had tried that and it wasn’t as satisfying. There was nothing to touch or caress or hold.
He moved down the bed, lifting his head so he could get the dildo back in. He groaned as it pumped inside of him. Bruce’s dick would’ve felt so much better. Or maybe Bruce wouldn’t mind switching it up and getting fucked. He could straddle Clark, lowering himself and letting Clark penetrate him.
Clark wrapped his hand around his cock again, closing his eyes and imagining that, imagining Bruce gasping as Clark’s cock filled him, Bruce riding him and loving every second of it.
The orgasm cleared his brain for a moment, and the guilt slunk back in. He wasn’t supposed to jerk off or fantasise about Bruce, he was supposed to figure out why his body had decided that what it needed was sex, and lots of it, never enough. Had he gone into heat, like some animals did? Nothing in his database had mentioned that, but then there were lots of things that the database didn’t mention, like this machine that Clark had stumbled across months ago and after figuring out what it did, had put away, glad he hadn’t had company.
Maybe it was a side-effect of being on Earth? Maybe it was a new type of Kryptonite? A poison? If only his mind would focus on something besides sex and how good it felt to lie here and be fucked.
Clark sighed, hoping this would be over soon. He needed answers in order to stop this from happening again. He couldn’t go through another round of this.
*
When he returned to the Daily Planet, Perry yelled at him about sick leave and five days without hearing from him and then put him to work on some puff piece about a bakery that had been in the same family for a hundred years, and Clark figured that it could’ve been worse and if he played his cards right, he might get some free donuts out of it.
He went to work, both on the article and his side-project of figuring out what was wrong with him, but even after spending a week sifting through the database and other information available to him, he wasn’t any closer to finding an answer. He did consider asking Kara if she knew anything, but the idea of calling his cousin and going ‘so, have you ever felt the need to have sex for five days straight?’ was a mortifying one.
Surely he could figure this one out himself?
Or. Well. There was one other person who knew about it. Or at least, knew a little bit about it, and had the resources and intelligence to help him find an answer.
The thought of telling Bruce and asking him for help was even more mortifying than the thought of asking Kara, but he knew that if anyone could help him find an answer, it was Bruce. Maybe it was something that only affected male Kryptonians, and if it had something to do with the Earth’s sun, Kara wouldn’t know anything about it anyway.
He hadn’t heard from Bruce since his visit – and once Clark’s brain was able of rational thought, the evidence was even more damning than a door that was ajar. He definitely needed a word with Bruce about breaking into his Fortress. Sure, he had agreed that Bruce could visit to make use of Clark’s resources, but breaking in was ridiculous.
Perhaps that was the key to getting Bruce to help him. Anger was better than shame, and if Clark explained things clinically, they could both put the awkward moment behind them and work together to find a solution. He couldn’t stand the thought of never being able to work with Bruce again just because of something to stupid.
Hopefully, Bruce wouldn’t be too disgusted with Clark to help.
*
Arranging a meeting with Bruce took another week, and a lot of reminders from Clark and eventually Alfred, until Clark could finally see him in Wayne Manor, late at night.
Bruce was still in one of his well-tailored suits, sitting behind his desk and glaring at Clark as if Clark had just punctured all the tires of the Batmobile.
It was a tempting thought.
Clark gave Bruce an awkward smile, trying to ignore the nervous squirming of his stomach. He was here for Bruce’s help, and Bruce would surely enjoy lording that over Clark, and Clark would take Bruce’s smugness happily if it meant talking to the other man again.
“So, you broke into my Fortress.”
There was the tiniest of flinches from Bruce, but he quickly got back to glaring. “I called. You didn’t pick up.”
“You still broke into my Fortress.”
“If all you want to do is yell at me, you could’ve done that over the phone. Same if you needed security advice.” Bruce got up. “If that is all, I have better things to do.”
“Wait.” Clark jumped up as well, licking his lips nervously. “About… the other thing.”
Bruce’s shoulders stiffened. “What other thing?”
“The other thing in the Fortress. That you saw.”
“I didn’t see anything.” The denial came too fast, too hurried, and Clark could hear Bruce’s heartbeat speed up.
“I can’t figure out why it happened,” Clark told him, deciding to bite the bullet. “It was the first time that happened to me, and I need to know how to prevent it.”
Bruce frowned at him. “Prevent it? But you were…” He gestured vaguely at Clark. “I mean, I have no idea what was going on, since I didn’t see anything.”
Well, if Bruce wanted to go with denial, Clark could work with that. It was better than disgust and sneers. “It seems to have been a biological response to an unknown trigger,” he explained, folding his hands in front of him. “It lasted for five days, although the week before it started, I was already feeling restless and on edge.” Which he had noticed, but could only explain now.
Bruce stared at him, his posture stiff and awkward, but he nodded. “Biological response?” he asked.
“One of, er, increased arousal,” Clark replied, and he knew his face was red. He glanced out the window. “Unusually increased arousal.”
“Like a heat,” Bruce muttered, and Clark nodded again. “And you want to know how to stop it from happening again?”
“Yes,” Clark replied, relieved that Bruce was looking a little intrigued now.
Re: Bruce/Clark, heat - Fill, 2/?
He glanced at the door, and his heart skipped a beat when he noticed it was ajar. Bruce really had been here; it wasn’t some fantasy his lust-addled brain had come up with.
And the knowledge that Bruce had been here, and had seen him get fucked by a machine while jerking off and moaning, really should make him feel ashamed and embarrassed instead of turned on and disappointed that Bruce hadn’t stayed.
He tried to drag his mind away from what could’ve happened if Bruce had stayed, if Bruce had smirked at him, looking him up and down slowly, then reaching out to wrap one of his big hands around Clark’s cock, joining in. Clark would’ve come hard, then tried to explain what was going to Bruce even while he was still being fucked by the machine.
Bruce would’ve hushed him, telling him they could discuss that later, that they had better things to do. Bruce would’ve taken his clothes off, revealing muscle and bare skin, maybe there’d be bruises and fading scars, and Clark would worry about him all over again. Bruce was human – an extraordinary human, yes – but still human and they hurt so easily, even covered in kevlar.
Bruce would’ve moved the machine away, slowly, until it slid out of Clark, and he’d give the machine an interested look, as if he was already working out how to improve it, and then he’d settle between Clark’s thighs, smirking down as Clark lay there, still a little dazed from his orgasm and Bruce’s presence, but already feeling hot and needy and desperate and Clark would grab Bruce’s shoulders and pull him closer – trying to be careful and not hurt him, and Bruce would move with him, lie on top of him, a warm body against his own, and he’d enjoy that for a moment before pulling back so he could slide his thick, hard cock inside Clark.
He wouldn’t need any prepping, still open from the machine, but Bruce would feel so much better, he would be bigger and stretch Clark a little, and he would slide in slowly and pull back every now and then, teasing Clark, and then he would push in hard, balls-deep, making Clark scream with how good it felt to be filled by a real cock, not the cool metal one. Bruce would take him hard, thrusting in deep, a different rhythm from the machine, and it would feel good, so good, and maybe then the itch inside of him would finally be sufficiently scratched.
Clark whimpered, feeling the lust take over. Bruce was already gone, disgusted no doubt by what he had seen, and all Clark had was a machine that could only just take the edge off. Oh, the machine had multiple settings, there was even a hole for him to fuck, but he had tried that and it wasn’t as satisfying. There was nothing to touch or caress or hold.
He moved down the bed, lifting his head so he could get the dildo back in. He groaned as it pumped inside of him. Bruce’s dick would’ve felt so much better. Or maybe Bruce wouldn’t mind switching it up and getting fucked. He could straddle Clark, lowering himself and letting Clark penetrate him.
Clark wrapped his hand around his cock again, closing his eyes and imagining that, imagining Bruce gasping as Clark’s cock filled him, Bruce riding him and loving every second of it.
The orgasm cleared his brain for a moment, and the guilt slunk back in. He wasn’t supposed to jerk off or fantasise about Bruce, he was supposed to figure out why his body had decided that what it needed was sex, and lots of it, never enough. Had he gone into heat, like some animals did? Nothing in his database had mentioned that, but then there were lots of things that the database didn’t mention, like this machine that Clark had stumbled across months ago and after figuring out what it did, had put away, glad he hadn’t had company.
Maybe it was a side-effect of being on Earth? Maybe it was a new type of Kryptonite? A poison? If only his mind would focus on something besides sex and how good it felt to lie here and be fucked.
Clark sighed, hoping this would be over soon. He needed answers in order to stop this from happening again. He couldn’t go through another round of this.
*
When he returned to the Daily Planet, Perry yelled at him about sick leave and five days without hearing from him and then put him to work on some puff piece about a bakery that had been in the same family for a hundred years, and Clark figured that it could’ve been worse and if he played his cards right, he might get some free donuts out of it.
He went to work, both on the article and his side-project of figuring out what was wrong with him, but even after spending a week sifting through the database and other information available to him, he wasn’t any closer to finding an answer. He did consider asking Kara if she knew anything, but the idea of calling his cousin and going ‘so, have you ever felt the need to have sex for five days straight?’ was a mortifying one.
Surely he could figure this one out himself?
Or. Well. There was one other person who knew about it. Or at least, knew a little bit about it, and had the resources and intelligence to help him find an answer.
The thought of telling Bruce and asking him for help was even more mortifying than the thought of asking Kara, but he knew that if anyone could help him find an answer, it was Bruce. Maybe it was something that only affected male Kryptonians, and if it had something to do with the Earth’s sun, Kara wouldn’t know anything about it anyway.
He hadn’t heard from Bruce since his visit – and once Clark’s brain was able of rational thought, the evidence was even more damning than a door that was ajar. He definitely needed a word with Bruce about breaking into his Fortress. Sure, he had agreed that Bruce could visit to make use of Clark’s resources, but breaking in was ridiculous.
Perhaps that was the key to getting Bruce to help him. Anger was better than shame, and if Clark explained things clinically, they could both put the awkward moment behind them and work together to find a solution. He couldn’t stand the thought of never being able to work with Bruce again just because of something to stupid.
Hopefully, Bruce wouldn’t be too disgusted with Clark to help.
*
Arranging a meeting with Bruce took another week, and a lot of reminders from Clark and eventually Alfred, until Clark could finally see him in Wayne Manor, late at night.
Bruce was still in one of his well-tailored suits, sitting behind his desk and glaring at Clark as if Clark had just punctured all the tires of the Batmobile.
It was a tempting thought.
Clark gave Bruce an awkward smile, trying to ignore the nervous squirming of his stomach. He was here for Bruce’s help, and Bruce would surely enjoy lording that over Clark, and Clark would take Bruce’s smugness happily if it meant talking to the other man again.
“So, you broke into my Fortress.”
There was the tiniest of flinches from Bruce, but he quickly got back to glaring. “I called. You didn’t pick up.”
“You still broke into my Fortress.”
“If all you want to do is yell at me, you could’ve done that over the phone. Same if you needed security advice.” Bruce got up. “If that is all, I have better things to do.”
“Wait.” Clark jumped up as well, licking his lips nervously. “About… the other thing.”
Bruce’s shoulders stiffened. “What other thing?”
“The other thing in the Fortress. That you saw.”
“I didn’t see anything.” The denial came too fast, too hurried, and Clark could hear Bruce’s heartbeat speed up.
“I can’t figure out why it happened,” Clark told him, deciding to bite the bullet. “It was the first time that happened to me, and I need to know how to prevent it.”
Bruce frowned at him. “Prevent it? But you were…” He gestured vaguely at Clark. “I mean, I have no idea what was going on, since I didn’t see anything.”
Well, if Bruce wanted to go with denial, Clark could work with that. It was better than disgust and sneers. “It seems to have been a biological response to an unknown trigger,” he explained, folding his hands in front of him. “It lasted for five days, although the week before it started, I was already feeling restless and on edge.” Which he had noticed, but could only explain now.
Bruce stared at him, his posture stiff and awkward, but he nodded. “Biological response?” he asked.
“One of, er, increased arousal,” Clark replied, and he knew his face was red. He glanced out the window. “Unusually increased arousal.”
“Like a heat,” Bruce muttered, and Clark nodded again. “And you want to know how to stop it from happening again?”
“Yes,” Clark replied, relieved that Bruce was looking a little intrigued now.