Title: A breath rose up (Reference) Fandom: DCU (Golden Age like World's Finest cover art) Summary: Engaging in 'deviant behavior' would indubitably be less stressful than trying to understand the workings of the adolescent mind. Rating: Adult. Content some readers may find disturbing. Credit and blame: Gloss helped me get started, Jack cheered more, and Te encouraged me on the last leg. Jamjar and TheFourthVine both did an excellent beta reading. All mistakes are my fault. "Oh!" Dick says, his face going bright red. "I didn't know -- I'm sorry. I'll -- talk to you later." He shuts the door very quietly. Clark is already entirely dressed by that point. Bruce frowns at him, then buttons his own pants with deliberation. "If you're in so much of a hurry to get out of here --" "I'm not," Clark says, and glances toward -- probably through -- the door. "But it would be best for you to --" Bruce rubs his temples. "I'm aware of that, thank you." Clark smiles and leans in to kiss his cheek. "I'll leave you to it, then?" "You will not." Bruce glares at him. "This isn't just my problem." He glances toward the door. "But -- Robin -- surely you can't just leave him in that state." "You have to work with him, too. Come on." Clark can be amazingly recalcitrant for someone who dives into burning buildings without an instant's thought, but he tags along, if slowly. He's five steps back when Bruce knocks on the door to Dick's room. "May I come in?" Dick opens it a second later. He's wearing an extra sweatshirt and his shoes are off, and he avoids Bruce's eyes. "It's your house," he says, uncharacteristically sullen. Bruce glances back to make sure that Clark is still there, and not somewhere over Tunisia, and walks in. "It's your house, too," he says, and that gets him a very quick look from Dick before he goes back to staring at his feet. "And -- you didn't do anything wrong." Clark clears his throat. "I'm sorry, Dick. We should've locked the door." Dick's look of scorn is strangely reassuring. "I've known how to pick that kind of lock since I was nine, Clark." But he loses the edge, all too soon. "I should've knocked, or -- something." Bruce puts his hand on Dick's shoulder and doesn't immediately let him go when he flinches slightly. "I should've warned you." Usually, when Dick laughs, it makes Bruce smile. Now, it makes him wince. "That you were -- are -- I --" he shakes his head. "I don't understand --" Bruce can hear, with frightening clarity, some facile explanation à la Kansas. "It's a sign of affection," he says, "as it would be --" "I was surprised, that's all. I thought you liked Catwoman," Dick says, over the explanation, as if he's not listening to it. "And --" he turns to Clark "-- and Miss Lane." Clark's wince is small, but there. "Miss Lane and I are -- not exactly dating." "Well," Bruce says, framing the answer carefully, "it's true that I'm quite fond of Catwoman --" Dick shakes his head. "But she breaks the law. A lot." He folds his arms and gives Clark a measuring look. "And -- well, Miss Lane's really nice, but if she doesn't really know you --" he shrugs. "I guess you're probably better off with somebody you can really talk to." "You're right," Clark says, and he comes over to clasp Dick's shoulder. Dick shrugs him off and doesn't look up, which leaves Clark giving Bruce a pleading look and backing off. "Dick," Bruce says. It's as though he's turned on a television in mid-program. Dick blurts out, "And it's really okay, I'm glad you're -- whatever, and I understand there's a lot of people who've done this sort of thing before and it's fine, have a nice date, goodnight." He's crossing his arms with more force, now, practically hugging himself. After five seconds, he asks, "Why are you still here?" Clark clears his throat. "I'm sorry, I --" Bruce frowns. "There's no need to be rude." Dick covers his face with his hands and laughs. "Look, I -- I can't really believe you're going to go -- engage in, in deviant behavior or whatever, but if you're going to, go do it already because I don't care." Engaging in 'deviant behavior' would indubitably be less stressful than trying to understand the workings of the adolescent mind, but Bruce is quite aware that if he doesn't attempt the latter, matters will just get worse. Clark looks entirely blank for someone as smart as he is. He takes his glasses off and cleans them on his shirt, entirely unnecessarily. Bruce says, "Robin, you shouldn't --" and touches his shoulder again. Dick turns around with the kind of speed that's saved his life a hundred times on the street and kisses Bruce hard, too quickly to dodge properly, and far too briefly to enjoy. He snaps, "I know, damn it." "Language," Bruce says automatically, because for all his contingency plans, he doesn't have one for this situation. "I think I heard something --" Clark says hesitantly. He lies approximately as well as he deals with teenagers. Dick stares at them for a moment. "Then you'd better fix it. Superman." It's not the confident voice he uses as Robin. It's something much more uncomfortable. "When was the last time you merely 'thought' you heard something?" Bruce asks, but the diversion has, at least, given him time to think. It hasn't helped Clark any, superspeed or no superspeed. He says, "Well -- Dick -- clearly you're -- upset. Not yourself. I should leave you to talk." If he were this unreliable in combat, Clark would be dead long since. "I'm fine," Dick says, crossing his arms again. "If you want to get out of here so badly, go already." "You're going to have a lot of trouble the next time you go undercover if that's the extent of your dissembling skills," Bruce says, shaking his head. "I can't imagine why you would have kissed me if you're feeling fine." Dick stares at him open-mouthed for a moment. "Well, that's the problem, isn't it." "Is it?" Dick rolls his eyes. "Look, it's fine, just go -- go --" he waves a hand. "You don't want to be here, so why haven't you left?" Bruce frowns at him. "I don't think going to bed angry is going to fix anything." "Stop it -- just --" Dick grabs Bruce by the shoulders, and to be perfectly fair, he could dodge this kiss, but he chooses not to. It's a much better kiss than the first one, though he hopes for Dick's sake that it's not exemplary. Most young ladies would react less well to having their lower lips bitten on the equivalent of the first date. Dick is flushed when he lets Bruce go. "I'm not angry," he says, which is improbable, considering how hard he's knotting his fists in Bruce's shirt. "I just don't want you to --" He shakes his head, then loosens his hands. Clark puts his hand on Bruce's lower back -- protecting him, or not, and tries putting his hand on Dick's shoulder again. "I'm sure no one meant to upset anyone else," he says. Dick's smile is tenser than is his wont, but at least it's there. "I know -- I really know, it's not about me, and I --" he shrugs. "I just --" "Just what?" Clark says, before Bruce can, but more gently than he could have managed. "I don't want you to -- to forget about me." Dick bites his lip. "You're my best friends." "We would never --" Bruce says, incredulously. The incredulity grows when Clark touches Dick's cheek and then kisses him, slowly, with all the time either of them could possibly need to understand that this isn't just a frustrated gesture. There are another several moments in which Bruce has more than sufficient time to come to the realization that he is painfully jealous of both of them. Eventually, they stop kissing. "Perhaps I should leave you two to talk," Bruce says dryly. Dick puts his arms around Bruce's neck and kisses him soundly -- this time, without quite so much biting, and it's far more enduring. Clark chuckles and nibbles Bruce's ear. "Perhaps not," he murmurs. Back when this whole digression started, Bruce had been kissing Clark, and it seems like an opportune time to give it another try. "If we're all going to stay, well -- that changes matters," Bruce says, and Clark is properly appreciative of the kiss. Dick doesn't seem nearly as scandalized the second time around. "If you want to -- I mean --" "If we're not overstaying our welcome," Clark says, and smiles at him. <center>~^..^~</center> Dick's used to Superman's smile, and Clark's smile, and the way he can really look through you, glasses or no glasses. It makes it a little scarier when he just doesn't seem to get what's going on, but it's hard to explain -- even to Clark -- that he's not nervous because of anything but his own ignorance. He's had to learn so much stuff on the fly as Robin that they take that for granted, and Bruce has mostly stopped pausing to explain stuff when they're in the field -- because Dick knows a lot, now, and because Bruce figures he'll get it without having everything spelled out. The scary part is, Bruce is right, and that makes it even harder to point out that right here and right now, he doesn't know what they want from him, what they want him to do, or what to even say. Bruce probably knows about the heavy petting incident because he's Bruce. He might even know that it was fun and scary and over too quickly by half -- it was in one of his cars, and it's hard to say exactly what Bruce knows and doesn't know. Or maybe he thinks it was more than that, even though -- Dick takes a couple of deep breaths and tries to figure out how to ask for help, here. It's hard to think about it when they're kissing each other, comfortable and almost sweet, like they've been doing it for a while. He shouldn't have said anything in the first place, and they would've kept going, back in Bruce's room. Which would mean he'd be alone, comfortable, not shaky at all and definitely not having to say, "It's just I'm not sure what you want." Because that's better than taking them by the shoulders and trying to shake them, and pointing out at the top of his lungs that of course he's never kissed any guys before. "I think we can manage whatever you'd like, under the circumstances," Bruce says, and kisses him again. It seems too easy, for all it's melting his knees out from under him. Bruce's kisses are like Bruce's everything else -- Dick's sure that he could draw a comprehensive diagram of how to kiss Dick, specifically, with optimal lip placement, and when, and how hard, to make him shake, and exactly what kind of suction makes him cling to Bruce's shoulders. Any minute now he's going to fall over, or he'll actually catch fire from how hot his whole body feels. "That sounds reasonable," Clark says, and he sounds like he's going to laugh, but he doesn't quite. Dick groans and leans on Bruce, harder than he means to, until he has to break off the kiss because he's too breathless to do anything else. "I -- I think I need to sit down." "All right," Bruce says, but as soon as he shifts his weight, Dick leans on him harder. His knees are wobblier than he thought. Clark hugs Dick again and kisses his cheek, and when Dick turns to smile at him, sitting down is completely irrelevant. He couldn't fall if he tried, not with Clark kissing him until his hands shake as much as his knees. And -- Bruce's hands are steadying him, on his waist. Until they're not steadying him. The last time Bruce took his pants off, it was because he'd needed twelve stitches on his thigh. If Clark wasn't holding him, he'd have bruises everywhere, and maybe more stitches, but Clark's hands are steady on his shoulder and on his back. Another kiss -- and part of him wants to count, but he's losing track of where the boundaries between them are -- and his pants are around his ankles and Bruce is kissing the back of his neck. "I didn't know that -- that could feel so good," he says, and it's probably one of the stupider things he's ever said around them, but Clark just chuckles and stops him from swaying -- again -- with a hand on his hip. Or it might be Bruce's hand -- on his butt, now. Squeezing. Like he would do to a girl, if there were any girls in the world he wanted quite this much, who wanted him back this badly. He's increasingly dizzy, but he can find enough balance to lean into that touch -- whoever's hand it is. Warm fingers, and it gets him another squeeze. Dick breaks off the kiss long enough to laugh and catch his breath a moment. "I -- I'm going to be saying 'that feels great' a lot, huh." "I sincerely hope so," Bruce says, right behind him, and bites his ear in a way that makes his spine tingle. "Yes -- I --" Dick leans back against him and tries -- and fails -- to think of anything else to say. Sitting down sounds like an increasingly necessary thing, not just pleasant, but leaning against Bruce while Clark tugs his sweatshirt and his undershirt up is nothing he'll complain about either. There's a second there where it's just plain easier to take his shirts off himself than let somebody else deal with them, and then there's more kissing and someone's hand on his nipple. Clark sucks lightly on his lower lip and pulls him close when he sways -- again. "Did you say you wanted to sit down?" Dick gets his balance back with a deep breath and a lot of willpower. It's like staying on his feet when he's dealing with some kind of psychoactive chemical -- and the comparison makes him laugh, because of course he is. It's just that they're all coming from him, not from somebody else. "I'm okay if you are." "I'm not sure about Clark, but I certainly wouldn't mind," Bruce says, and when he takes a step away, Dick doesn't quite lose his balance, but it's close. "That would be fine," Clark says, and the other, other, other good part about kissing Superman is that it only takes him a tiny amount of lift to get Dick off his feet and into bed. Sitting on Clark, to be specific, but not in a little-kid sort of way. Not when he's got his pants off and he's straddling Clark's legs. Any second now he's going to wake up to sticky sheets. Except this isn't a dream. Dick shivers and kisses Clark again, trying not to rub against him until Clark puts his hands on Dick's butt and tugs him closer. Then he can't make himself hold still. "Clark -- I --" Anything he can think of to say sounds ridiculous or pathetic. Bruce grips his shoulders gently and he manages -- by yelling at himself -- to stop. "Catch your breath for a minute," Bruce says, and he rubs Dick's shoulders firmly enough to relax the muscles for a few seconds, then moves his hands so he's working on one shoulder at a time. Dick tries to relax, but it's hard, and when Bruce starts kissing Clark again, it doesn't get any easier. He's used to how handsome they are apart -- and to thinking of them as his friends, and trying to forget how handsome they are. It's very different to watch them kissing -- and Bruce is shirtless -- no -- naked. Dick runs his hand down Bruce's side, feeling like he's daring something amazing. Bruce just squeezes his shoulder and lets him. "Oh, man," Dick says, and they break off the kiss and look at him. Bruce's mouth looks very red -- kind of like he'd been kissing somebody invulnerable, who wasn't being quite as gentle as he was with Dick. Maybe kissing him isn't the best thing to do next, but it's the only thing Dick can think of. Clark runs his thumbs along the curve of Dick's pelvis and he shivers hard. "Move over for a moment?" Clark asks, and Dick shifts sideways, kneeling up so he's not actually sitting on Bruce's lap. His bed has never felt so warm, or so small. He laughs a second later when there's a breeze, and all of Clark's clothes are folded and on the end of the bed. "That's really neat." "It has its advantages," Clark says, grinning. "Indeed," Bruce says. He pulls Dick down by his hips until Dick's weight is resting on his thighs. "You don't have to hover, you know." He brushes his thumb across Dick's mouth. "That's really only comfortable for Clark." "I know," Dick says, and shrugs. "I just -- I don't know." It hasn't been easy to think since this all started, and it's not getting easier. If he could just figure out how to tell them that, maybe they'd give him more time, or -- something. Bruce takes his hand in the sort of grip he usually uses when Dick's been working on the punching bag -- firm, but careful -- and -- kisses the tip of his thumb. Dick blinks at him. "I'm okay," he says. "Good." Bruce smiles and licks his finger. It feels far better than it has any right to feel, but Dick's tired of saying that, so he doesn't. He just stares, and when Bruce sucks -- just -- gently -- he makes a noise that's not exactly a word. He doesn't even realize he's closed his eyes until Clark kisses him and he hasn't seen it coming. "Um," Dick says, and Bruce actually bites his finger, not hard, but -- "uh." He puts his other hand on Clark's shoulder because if he doesn't, he's going to grab himself, and that would probably be bad manners. Although -- if Bruce keeps doing that -- it's not going to matter that it's bad manners anymore. He's never been aware of the texture of someone's tongue before, let alone grateful for them, but -- Dick catches himself making a noise that sounds a lot more like a whimper than he wants it to. As soon as he can remember how to talk, he says, "Bruce?" in the possibly vain hope that he'll have to stop to answer. "Hm?" Dick closes his eyes again and admits that it was kind of a long shot anyway. "Um. Nothing." He's even more glad he's not looking when Bruce makes a slurpy sort of noise and lets him go. "You don't need to be this patient, Dick." Clark puts his hand on Dick's hip, so gently he could almost -- almost -- forget Clark's Superman if he didn't know it so well. "There's no particular schedule to meet, either." He moves his hand to Dick's dick, and -- and his hand is warm and feels like the most perfect thing in the world. And all the times on the schedule that doesn't actually exist say it's too soon, and they're going to -- laugh, or -- leave -- or -- whatever it is people do when somebody's just too impatient to take a deep breath and not come the second somebody else touches them. Dick bites his lip hard and feels like he's blushing all over his body. "I -- Clark --" Clark kisses him lightly and loosens his grip. "Too much?" "Yes -- and not enough, I --" Dick shakes his head. He can't manage not to thrust into Clark's hand, and when Bruce nips his finger again -- there's just too much there. "Oh man. Keep going -- or stop, or --" Bruce lets him go. "Do you want us to stop?" Dick shakes his head. "Keep going, it's just -- I --" He tightens one hand into a fist hard enough that his nails bite into his palm. It doesn't actually clear his head, but it gives him something to think about other than the way his hips want him to move. "I'm not used to this." "Then it probably is too much," Clark says, and he lets Dick go. He's smiling about it when Dick manages to focus enough to look at him. "What -- I --" Dick takes a deep breath. They know better than he does -- probably. "It was really okay. I promise." "Are you sure?" Bruce asks. Dick's so sure he'd shout at them if he thought it would help. "Yes, I just said so." "Well, then." Clark gives him the kind of grin he usually does if he's flying Dick somewhere and he's about to do a loop. "If you're not used to it -- there are other options." He runs his hand down Dick's back and cups his butt, like maybe they're going to take off and do one of those loops. "Would you mind if I tasted you?" "If you --" Dick laughs, but Clark looks serious. "Do you really want to?" Clark's not kidding around, now, but he's still smiling. "Yes, or I wouldn't ask." If it feels half as good as Bruce licking his fingertip -- and, well, it's got to -- Dick has to take a deep breath before he can answer, because the anticipation's going to kill him before he even gets to feel what they're talking about. "Okay, fine." Clark kisses him again -- more, this time, warm enough to melt his brain if it wasn't already melted -- and hugs him. "Turn around?" Dick glances at Bruce, who -- winks at him. Or maybe Dick's just not focusing very well right now -- that's definitely true, and it makes a little more sense. He gets off Bruce's lap, feeling like he's clumsy enough to knee himself in the face, but he manages not to hit himself or anybody else while he turns around. He feels like they're both watching him -- and of course they are -- and maybe he should put on a better show, but his muscles are all shaky and he's not sure what a better show would look like, anyway. When he sits down again, Bruce puts an arm around his waist and pulls him back so he's leaning on Bruce's chest. And -- and Bruce has got to be at least as dazed as Dick is, right now, because he's really pretty hard. Dick tries to figure out a nice way to ask, but they're naked, and it's not exactly a normal night. "Are you okay?" Bruce kisses him, and even if this is what normal nights look like, from now on, Dick's sure he's never going to get used to that. "Never better." Clark squeezes Dick's thigh and gets on his knees next to them, looking like he does this a lot and it's not so hard to move gracefully when he's excited, because he is, too. "You look comfortable." Dick wriggles his shoulders. "Well -- yes." "May I?" Clark asks, again, and the way he looks at Dick -- maybe he didn't have dinner, because he looks really hungry. Dick's not sure how long this is even going to take, but he's not sure he's got a lot of patience, either. "Sure, I said --" and he was going to say something else, tease, maybe, but Clark licks him and it comes out as a lot more of a squeak than any noise he wants to make. "Oh god." Bruce kisses his neck and says, "Take a deep breath." Dick clutches at Bruce's hands and tries to breathe at all, but Clark's tongue, and his mouth, and the way he's -- sucking, that's the word for that feeling -- someday he'll start breathing again, but he might just explode first. "Clark, I --" So warm, and wet, and he can't make himself hold still. He gets his feet braced on the bed, outside of Bruce's thighs, and gives in to the urge to thrust up just as much as he wants to. This has to be safe, they'd let him know if he did anything wrong, anything at all. "Feels so good," and when he manages to open his eyes and look for just a second, Clark looks so far past good with his mouth full that there aren't any words for it. "I -- oh, god, I'm --" Dick bites his lip and tries to be as patient as he's sure they can be, but then Bruce rubs his nipple with slick fingers and there's just nothing to hold on to. Bruce says, "It's all right," and he knows it is. It's wonderful, and he's never come this hard. He may never feel his toes again. His vision's pretty shot for the moment, too. Clark lets him go right before it would start to hurt, and then they're both hugging him. Everything is very, very warm, and he's on the verge of falling asleep when Bruce kisses Clark, and that's too interesting to sleep through. "I was beginning to think we'd have to slip out," Bruce says, and tousles Dick's hair. "I'm not that tired," Dick protests, and he puts his hand on Clark's shoulder. "Um --" he doesn't mean to blush, but there doesn't seem to be a choice here. "Thanks. I. A lot." Clark's smile is as warm as ever, and his kiss as warm -- but saltier, and the push of his tongue feels different, now, not because he's doing anything new, because it makes Dick think of what he'd just been doing. "You're very welcome," he says, and the little squeeze is just like a normal hug. <center>~^..^~</center> Dick's bright grin is certainly a change from his earlier down-in-the-dumps attitude, and it's only natural that Clark grins back at him, same as he always would. Bruce looks and sounds like he's been waiting all night for his turn -- his heartrate is pretty high, and even though he's rubbing Dick's shoulders like nothing's strange, he's not quiet enough to hide it from Clark. It makes sense that he'd be getting impatient by now, in any case, so Clark kisses him again. Bruce tangles his fingers in Clark's hair to keep him there, in case Clark had any reason to want to be somewhere else. Of course, it wouldn't really help if Clark wanted to go, but he understands the point of the gesture. Bruce is trembling so subtly that he probably thinks he's holding perfectly still, and his heartrate is climbing again. "Well," Clark says, when he can find an excuse to let Bruce pause and catch his breath, "I certainly didn't mean to take up all your time, Dick." Dick frowns for a moment. "You aren't. You didn't." "No, of course not." Clark brushes Dick's bangs out of his eyes. "But I didn't mean to, either." "Then don't," Bruce says, the burr in his voice stronger than usual. Dick's frown is back for a longer period, this time, and then he turns to look at Bruce, and Bruce kisses away his frown with the suave confidence he brings to such matters. Clark is somewhat inclined to leave them to it -- the tension is leaving Dick's shoulders, even as Bruce's fingers tremble more -- but when he shifts his weight to give some form of warning in a human timescale, Bruce breaks the kiss and looks up. "Are you okay, Clark?" "Yes, I'm fine." Clark embraces them both and listens to Dick's breathing stutter for a moment before it settles. "Though I think we were interrupted, earlier." Bruce narrows his eyes for a tiny interval and says, "So we were." Dick gasps -- Clark would've said it was on the threshold of human hearing, but Bruce kisses him again to allay his concern. "It turned out for the best," Clark says, and kisses the back of Dick's neck. His hair is curling even more than usual, damp with sweat, and he shivers at the touch. "But I'm afraid it affected your mood, Bruce." Bruce's chuckle sounds peculiarly forced, particularly because he's running his fingers through Dick's hair with an idle touch. "It certainly did." "If you want to go --" Dick says, and Bruce touches his lips with one finger to quiet him. "Not at all, unless you want us to." Dick shakes his head, but stays quiet. He is very good at remembering instructions. Bruce smiles at him, but his voice is edged enough to be Batman's. "Then kiss me again." Dick throws his arms around Bruce's neck and kisses him with all the verve of youth, teasing, light, and then deepening -- most likely at Bruce's direction -- until his breathing is edged with moans. No one would need superior senses to know that Bruce is increasingly tense. The only recourse Clark has under the circumstances, without disconcerting them both and breaking their concentration, is to lean on Dick just enough to shift his weight forward, then let him ease back a few inches. Forward, again, and he whimpers into Bruce's mouth. Bruce moves his hands to Dick's hips and Clark catches one hand, tangling their fingers together. Dick rocks back against him, and it is perhaps half of his own volition, and half that Bruce is answering the pattern. One of the many reasons Clark treasures both of them as friends and allies is how quickly they can see and adapt to a new plan. The way Dick shimmies when he leans back against Clark is proof enough of that for anyone. It's also more than enough to make Clark sigh against his neck and pull him just that little bit closer. "Oh," Dick says, "that feels --" he's shivering, now, and not least because Bruce is kissing him again, at such length that Clark makes vague calculations regarding oxygen deficit until his concentration breaks, thanks to a particularly exuberant wriggle. "Are you -- comfortable?" Clark asks, and it's a not-inconsiderable interval before Bruce lets Dick breathe enough to answer. He's gasping from more than just the kiss, besides. "Yes," he says, and the word is as much groan as statement. Bruce squeezes Clark's fingers hard enough to bruise himself and recaptures Dick's mouth with a noise that may sound less like a growl to less human ears. Clark braces his free hand on Bruce's hip and pats him. Enough talking, then; enough distraction. The physical realm has captured Bruce's attention. Dick's moans are turning higher-pitched, but they catch in his throat, now, and get no farther. He sounds as desperate as he did before, with the speed of his pulse and the raggedness of his breathing. It is a paired rhythm Clark needed no concentration to memorize, and the lower undercurrent of Bruce's groans is equally familiar and urgent. It's no surprise when Bruce pulls his hand free and pins Dick's hips against Clark for a few more breathless moments, a last measure of thrusts before he climaxes. Clark kisses Dick's neck and says, "It's all right," but it's extraneous. Bruce takes Dick's erection in one strong hand and tugs him into a shout -- still muffled, for Bruce has not stopped kissing him. Dick shivers harder for a few moments, then stills, and when Bruce relents, he gasps for breath. "Oh," he says, and he shakes his head a little, as if trying to find his balance. "I think we've been very rude," Bruce says to Dick with a rueful smile. "I --" Dick is still shakier than his norm, which is not terribly surprising. "I'm sorry." "No, it's not your fault." Bruce kisses Dick lightly and wipes some of the stickiness off of his chest with one finger. "But we've been neglecting our guest." Dick turns and gives Clark a crestfallen look. "I'm sorry, I --" His expression alone is enough to pardon Bruce from any excesses in kissing him. Clark can't resist the urge to comfort him in a similar way. "It's all right, really." "Yes, but --" Dick bites his lip. Clark weighs the chances that a request to lick Dick's chest would be beyond the pale under the circumstances and discards the notion for the time being. "I've been having a wonderful time." Bruce hands Dick a small handful of tissues, which is a sad waste of both paper and other materials, but is sufficient to make Dick blush. It makes the sacrifice of the trees seem quite worthwhile. "Clark, if you don't want to reign in lonely splendor, perhaps you'll make things easier on all of us and lie down." Dick's bed is only just long enough to be comfortable, but fortunately there is enough room for some maneuvering. After a glance from Bruce that makes his intentions more than clear, Clark follows the suggestion-cum-order. Dick fidgets with the pillows, trying to make an already perfectly satisfactory arrangement somehow better. "Are you okay?" Clark takes his hand and squeezes it. "Everything is fine, yes." "I'm not sure, um." Dick bites his lip. "I suppose I should --" Bruce pats Dick's shoulder and says, "It's not entirely your responsibility." He raises an eyebrow at Clark and settles, kneeling, at his side. "After all, you didn't exactly invite either of us." Bruce leans over and licks Clark, in the same exploratory way he often begins -- but with more flourish, this time. Dick says, "Oh," and settles on his heels to watch with prurient curiosity. Clark can hardly blame him for the expression; Bruce is normally entrancing enough in this endeavor, but when he's showing off for an audience, it's more of a wrench to look away than ever. More than that -- though it takes Clark several moments to discern it -- Bruce is varying his techniques so much it can be nothing but a demonstration. When he looks up, then, and says, "If you wanted to return the favor, Dick --?" Clark manages to only take a deep breath, for composure. Dick moves to his knees and presses his lips together in consideration. "Tell me if I do anything wrong?" Clark smiles at him. "You couldn't possibly. Just -- mind your teeth, when you're doing this for a human." Dick nods. "Right -- of course." He bends to it with a will, and though he lacks any particular rhythm -- as Bruce's demonstration did -- the concentration on his face and the quickness of his movements are enough to make Clark reach for self-control. When Clark catches his breath particularly loudly -- not, that time, a conscious choice -- Bruce taps Dick on the shoulder and he sits up. "Was that all right?" Clark sympathizes entirely with the urge to pin Dick down and kiss him breathless. "It was wonderful," he says, and if Bruce is looking pleased with himself and his student, so be it. "That may be sufficient teasing, though," Bruce says, and -- it was difficult for Clark not to move in response to Dick's lips and tongue, but it's more so when Bruce abandons all pretense of foreplay and swallows him. Dick says, "Oh," in a rather awed voice. Clark is hard-pressed not to say anything at all, for fear of using vulgarity. It's one of the instances when he's very glad he can hold his breath for long periods of time. He can feel the climax approaching -- And then Bruce, being Bruce, stops, and smiles at Dick, while Clark dismisses the idea of being angry with them. "Your turn." Dick's eyes widen. "I don't think I can --" he waves a hand. "You certainly don't need to do that," Clark says, sitting up enough to look him in the eye. It's apparently the wrong thing to say; Dick sets his jaw. "I can at least try." Bruce is chuckling again, too softly for human ears but more than loudly enough for Clark. He is entirely too pleased by what he has wrought. "Take it at your own speed, Robin," he says, and the chuckling is loud enough for Dick to hear it, then. He grins at Bruce and says, "I will." His lips are, on the average, no more soft than any other human's, nor is his tongue quicker, nor is the heat of his mouth any stronger, but all of these things are magnified. Coupled with quick, strong suction and the determination Dick always shows when faced with a challenge, these everyday things soar in importance and Clark is reduced to a whimper. He is at least as much at fault as Bruce for the demonstration of how to perform this particular act, but he hadn't been planning on any sort of reciprocation. If it had occurred to him, he might have been less completist at the time. He has enough muscle control to stop his toes from clenching and his eyes from rolling back in his head, but there's no reason to stop either. He will not, cannot move his hips from the bed -- and then Dick coughs. Bruce pats Dick on the shoulder and says, "It's all right," but before he even has the words out, Dick is applying himself again. Clark does not entirely mean to whimper, but it happens, nevertheless. Bruce taps Dick on the shoulder and he looks up -- his lips, now, are far redder than they have any right to be. "Did I do something wrong?" Bruce kisses him, damnably and understandably. "Not at all," he says. "Just -- let me help." Dick blinks a few times, each pause seeming longer not because it is, but because Clark's sense of time is beginning to dilate. "If you want to." "Certainly." There are many things in life that are best experienced at a slower speed: sunrises, beehives, the ignition of a flame, and this. Every teasing nuance grows in import, each flicker of their tongues and lips as they kiss each other seems to go on both too long and not long enough. After these teases, the close grip of Bruce's mouth is so exquisite as to be beyond bearing. Clark remembers -- just -- to gasp, all the warning Bruce has ever asked for, and the climax sweeps through him, a wave of feeling and clenched muscles that leaves him panting for breath. Dick kisses him a very short eternity later and laughs. "Now I see why you asked if you could do that." He can hear the words at a normal speed, but it takes a moment to readjust so that he can speak at that same pace. "Oh? Why?" Another kiss, and another; Dick never stints with his affection. "It's a lot of fun, that's why." Bruce wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and glances at the clock in an obvious way. "I'm glad you think so, Dick, but I think Clark needs to get home." Clark sits up right into Dick's arms and a hug. "I guess it's late," Dick says reluctantly, "but I wish you didn't have to go." Clark kisses his forehead. "It would be best for me to spend the rest of the night in Metropolis, in case anyone needs me." Dick nods. "Yeah, I know. Maybe some other time. It's not that far to get there at your speed." Clark kisses him again and lets him go enough to get up. "No, it's not far at all." When he's dressed, he squeezes Bruce's shoulder. "That was a lovely evening." Bruce smiles. "Yes, it was. We'll see you soon, Clark." "I look forward to it," Clark says, and leaves before he can give in to the urge to stay.
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