Clark doesn't belong here and he can't take what this world's Bruce is offering him. No matter how much he wants to.
So things were mostly the same, and that was comforting.
Except for this...whatever it was.
Which was completely different.
“Mmmf!” he said, before it morphed into an embarrassing, “mmmmm” when Batman’s pliant mouth and very talented tongue interrupted his overview of the ‘how the hell did he get here and what happened to this world’s Superman?’ crisis.
And who would have thought Batman’s mouth would be so, well, soft and wonderful and warm?
Finally, after several moments he managed to break away. “Umm, B?” he squeaked out.
“Mmm,” Bruce responded, a smirk on his face as he moved to the Watch Tower console and began rerunning several simulations after editing the criteria for new contingencies.
“Errmm.” Clark cleared his throat. “What was that about?”
“It got you to shut up, didn’t it?”
“What?” Sure, it wasn’t unusual for Bruce to think he was better seen than heard, but kissing as a method of silencing? That was new.
“So...the kissing,” Clark tentatively tried again.
“Clark, a verb alone does not a sentence make. Your previous statement had neither an object nor a subject. I apologize if, like most English speakers, I require both to understand what the hell you are talking about.”
Clark stared at Bruce.
Bruce stared back.
Well, at least that hadn’t changed much.
“Yes, Clark,” Bruce said with some impatience, his eyes flickering back to the simulations that were running.
He moved forwards, slowly at first, and then, with his feet scuffing loudly against the perforated metal tile of the Watch Tower womb, he almost broke into a run. His feet must have been beyond his conscious control because, if he had thought about it, he would never have ended up standing before Bruce looking down from the slight difference in their heights to see the other man’s eyes.
Bruce only raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
His hands trembling, Clark reached out and ran a finger along the edge of the cowl, touching both skin and Kevlar. From Bruce’s cheek, he moved over the slope of his nose, covered by the mask, and then changed course to make a line from its aristocratic arch to tip, continuing on until his finger was resting on Bruce’s lips. Pressing the finger in, he watched the soft, slightly pink flesh indent. And then, because Bruce hadn’t stopped him yet, he put a gentle pressure on the finger before slowly pulling it down, eyes intent as it indented Bruce’s upper lip and then the bottom, just barely separating them to show perfectly white teeth.
He was lost in the textures: stubble over silk covered by smooth armor and then more silk, slightly chapped from the wetness of their earlier kiss. He didn’t realize he was moaning until it was interrupted by a growl as his finger was engulfed in wet heat. Then there was sucking and licking and, god, moaning around his index finger before his middle finger was sucked in too.
“You’re a tease,” Bruce accused, easing the fingers out to speak before sucking them back in. But Clark wasn’t really listening. He was leaning forward, determined to get the same treatment for his mouth without having to sacrifice it for his fingers.
Clark's ears were ringing, the sound of his heartbeat and his breath rushing loudly in his ears. He realized he was panting.
He was so hard it ached.
“Bruce. Oh god, Bruce,” he gasped, his voice sounding breathy and desperate even through the ringing in his ears. But he was beyond being embarrassed. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he confessed, surprising himself but not Bruce, who simply hmphed in acknowledgment.
Clark licked at Bruce’s lips as his mouth sucked on Clark’s fingers. And then, because no matter what he wanted, it wouldn’t work any other way, he pulled his fingers out with a pop. They were wet and glistening and so were Bruce’s lips, which were also slightly swollen. Clark’s dick twitched and for a moment he thought he would come.
This? It was like his darkest and most repressed dreams come true. Something he’d always wanted and never allowed himself to think about because it was impossible.
His Bruce was so cold. Even a pat on the back after a life-changing mission was an unbearable intimacy. And yet, here Bruce was, performing mock fellatio on Clark’s fingers, driving him crazy, almost making him come in his pants like a virgin teenager.
But this really wasn’t his Bruce.
Not his at all, was he? No, that was what the simulations were for. To find out how he had got here and how he could go back. How he could get out of this mirror universe where people didn’t like drugstore cologne with annoying commercials and prime time TV was not inundated with advertisements for face creams that didn’t work. A world where Bruce was ever so willing to, oh god, suck Clark Kent off. And damn it Clark wanted it.
But it wasn’t right. He wasn’t this world’s Clark Kent or Superman. He wasn’t anyone here. And that blow job? It wasn’t really his.
Right about now, he wished he didn’t always have to be so...ethical. It wasn’t fair! But, as his Pa always said, “Fare is what you pay to ride the bus, son.”
And it must have shown on his face, this realization, because Bruce was looking at him, his mouth, once red and wet, now curving down with a frown. “Clark, don’t be an--”
“I’m sorry, Bruce. You know I’m not your Clark. I mean, this world’s...it’s...damn it!” Clark broke off, his voice giving out. Then his hands were on Bruce’s face again and he was leaning down to brush his lips against the corner of Bruce’s mouth, dragging his lips up across his cheek to the edge of the cowl. He could feel the stubble and taste the chemical bite of the Kevlar. And Bruce was hard too. He could smell his arousal -- damn his heightened senses -- musky and undeniably something else that was just Bruce. He’d know it anywhere. His Bruce.
He wanted it so bad.
The door swished open and then closed, stirring Batman’s cape in the displacement of air, and then Superman was gone.
“Well. Damn,” Bruce said, his hand rising to his lips briefly, before he returned to his simulations.