Title: Against the rule of nature (Reference) (7300 words) Fandom: DCU (Silver Age) Summary: He would rather confess to the filthiest images that plague him than admit that a simple kiss is enough. Sequel to: What they have never clasped Pairing: Bruce/Dick/Clark Rating: Adult, as are the participants. Warning: While writing this story, I invoked Denny O'Neill to justify some of my backstory choices. Thanks: Jack made me. Kat, Te, Pixie, and Mildred cheered me on, and Mildred poked me when it wasn't right. It's six days before Clark finds the time to drop by again, and in any case, Dick has classes and work to do. Bruce does his level best to throw himself into his own work -- there is enough in Gotham in any week to distract him from a thousand sweaty encounters. Or so he would have thought, before. He catches himself thinking of kissing them at immensely inappropriate times -- though touching his lips and smiling faintly in a board meeting isn't one of them. Lucius gives him a dirty look for it, and though he apologizes mentally, he thinks of the incident as a victory. No one needs to know he wasn't thinking of Belinda Guisthwaite, the lumber heiress. No one would believe he was thinking of Clark. Except Dick, who arrives in a Hudson U sweatshirt and jeans, swathed in Superman's cape. Bruce eyes the degree of his smile. With enough data, he'll be able to work out just how long they've been kissing, but he hasn't got enough points for that yet. The analysis is less important than Dick's hopeful look and the answering stab of relief and desire in Bruce's stomach. They had talked on Tuesday about Crazy Quilt's recent escape, but neither had mentioned the previous incident, and Bruce had worried -- around five-fifteen AM, on the average -- that Dick had found the matter too distasteful to repeat. Dick all but leaps at him and kisses him hard enough that he wants to laugh at his earlier concerns. "I missed you," Dick says, and Bruce kisses him again, fighting the urge to tell him not to leave again. "It's only been a week," he says instead. Dick frowns and lets him go. "Yes, but --" Clark squeezes Bruce's shoulder firmly enough to hurt, but not bruise. "The soundproofing in the manor is good, but it's not that good, Bruce." There are things that no one should be able to know, and what Clark is implying treads firmly into one of those areas. Bruce glares at him. "Don't." Clark's smile is self-satisfied. "I can't help it if I pay attention when someone calls my name. Especially in that tone of voice." Bruce turns away from them both, trying to hide his blush although it's far too late for that. "You may as well go back." "Clark, don't," Dick says, and he sounds frustrated. "Bruce -- do you -- if you're sure." The surest refuge is to pretend that they're here for some important reason. "There's nothing currently happening that I'd need your help for -- Robin." Dick grabs his arm and glares at him again. "Cut it out. I'm not here for that -- I mean --" he shakes his head. "That too, of course, whenever you need me, but --" He stares at Bruce again. "Did you not want me to kiss you?" Bruce wants them both to go far enough away that they can neither see nor hear exactly how much he wants them to stay. College is far enough for Dick, but Clark apparently needs to be outside of the atmosphere. Bruce is emotionally prepared to throw him into the sun's core. He only refrains from acquiring the technology to do so because Superman is a great help to most of society, most of the time. "I wanted you to," he says to Dick, "but it -- may not have been a good idea." "Of course it was." Dick puts his arms around Bruce's neck and kisses him again. He makes a sincere effort not to drown in the feeling and fails. It's a weakness in its own way, though the resources anyone other than these two people would need to exploit it would be astronomical. They'd have to mind-control Clark, somehow subvert Dick -- the thought makes Bruce pull Dick closer, as if that will keep him safe. "I'm sorry," Clark says in his ear. "You don't need to push us away, that's all." Bruce shivers from the words as much as the vibration and breaks off the kiss. "There is such a thing as privacy." Clark kisses his cheek. "You said my name," he says, as if it is the simplest thing in the world. "I wasn't aware of what you were doing before that." Dick shakes his head, grinning. "Too bad I don't have superhearing." "No, it's not," Bruce says firmly. Clark has the temerity to wink at Dick. "It's occasionally useful." He runs his fingers through Bruce's hair. "Forgive me?" He doesn't want to, but the fact remains that if Clark stops listening for a summons, if something terrible happens, the consequences will be much worse than otherwise. Bruce will just have to stay silent, no matter what images he entertains. "Have the courtesy to pretend not to listen," Bruce says, and kisses him. Kissing him is something of a tactical error when it comes to keeping his composure. The warmth makes him want to treasure it, soak in it -- and also take his clothes off immediately. "I won't mention it again," Clark says mildly. Dick has pulled his sweatshirt off and his hair is tousled. "You're making me jealous," he says, and from his expression, it is almost but not entirely a joke. Bruce pushes Dick's hair out of his face. "You didn't miss anything interesting." "You don't think so?" Dick turns his head to kiss Bruce's palm. "I bet it was." "Not at all," Bruce says, and kisses his forehead. "Maybe you should let me decide," Dick says, and there's an expression on his face that Bruce can only describe as a leer. The thought of making such a personal act into a demonstration is distasteful, and would moreover be redundant for half of his theoretical audience. "What would be the point of doing that when you're here?" Clark clears his throat. "Perhaps another time," he says, and the concept that this is going to happen again makes Bruce dizzy. He wants it, and he wants them to go away and not come back. He could come to need this far too much and far too readily. He could ask them to leave, and they might. He could tell them to leave, and they would. But he would be alone, then, and Clark would indubitably be listening for every choked-back whisper in the night. He might not bring the matter up again, but it would be there, between them, as a reproach. He doesn't let himself consider what it would do to his working relationship with Robin. It's much easier to kiss Clark again. He's glad he's moderately distracted when he hears Dick's pants hit the floor. The urge to stare and remember every minute of this -- in case they do leave, over protests of his or theirs -- is so strong that it might well be disconcerting for its object. "What would you like this time?" Dick asks in his ear. The image that has haunted him most thoroughly -- Dick on his knees, flushed and smiling with Bruce's penis in his mouth -- is one that seems outlandish, even now, as if repetition is impossible and simply requesting it -- by whatever words could be gentle enough -- would make the first instance cease to have existed. Bruce uses the excuse of being in the process of kissing Clark for as long as Clark lets him, but eventually Clark breaks off the kiss with a smaller one and smiles. "Bruce?" "It doesn't matter," he says, knowing that it's the wrong answer and unable to come up with any response that would be better. Dick raises his eyebrows. "You don't have a plan?" He has a thousand, formulated in the ludicrous depths of his mind -- in dreams and in moments when he should have been thinking about something more relevant: Clark on his knees, Dick safe in a far more civilized bed and shaking with nameless pleasure, the frightening but compelling image of Clark spread like a woman underneath him, Dick holding himself up on the parallel bars in a perfect split while Bruce stroked him until he couldn't maintain the strength and balance, but fell into Bruce's arms, or Clark's, and climaxed. None of them are anything like real, and the plausibility fades when he examines each thought and compares it to the present moment. He says, "Kiss me again," and knows it for the feeble excuse that it is. He trusts their desire enough that when Dick kisses him, he rests his hand on Dick's hip, not to hold him there, but just to hold him. He would rather confess to the filthiest images that plague him than admit that a simple kiss is enough, that though his heartrate is up, he can't imagine anything as satisfying as the chance to kiss them both again and know that they're here. Beyond that, he trusts their ambition to carry them through. Clark nuzzles the back of his neck and unfastens Bruce's pants. "If you don't want anything in particular, perhaps we should humor Dick." It is not quite as uncomfortable to know that they've been discussing him as it is to hear Clark's admission of listening to him, but it is not comfortable, either. "How so?" Bruce asks, raising his eyebrows at Dick. Dick looks at the floor instead of meeting his eyes. "You really don't have to." "Dick." Clark takes Dick's hand and kisses his fingertips. He closes his eyes. "You can both humor me, then." "What?" Bruce asks, as sharply as he can manage. Clark pats his shoulder and it is far more irritating than reassuring. "If you're both leaving it to me to make up my mind, I want to see your face when you're inside Dick." The suggestion, however delicately phrased, makes Bruce flush and avoid looking at Dick entirely. If this is what they have been flirting around, they should have continued their coquettishness. "That's -- obscene." "No," Dick says, "it's -- it's really not." He leans against Bruce, who closes his eyes and tries to pretend that he has forgotten the proposition at hand already. "I -- I want you to." "I couldn't." Bruce takes a deep breath. "I wouldn't hurt you --" "You wouldn't." Dick kisses him again, light and soft. "It's not that dangerous." Bruce frowns at him. "I have no idea what it would entail. I'm not going to -- to experiment with --" he looks for the most offensive word, anything to make the idea less attractive to all of them "-- with pederasty, damn it." Dick laughs and surprises him entirely. "You don't have to experiment. We can tell you what to do." The image is in his mind again, sweet and filthy. It's entirely possible that if he concentrates enough, the imaginary Dick on his hands and knees will say not only his name but far more shameful things. Bruce doesn't admit, even now, even to himself, that he wants to hear Dick so lost in passion that he curses and swears he's in love. That sort of thing stays where even Clark has no chance of hearing it. "I'm not interested," he says, and he can tell from Dick's expression how utterly transparent the lie is. "I shouldn't have brought it up," Dick says, and he's blushing again. "I -- I'm sorry." "You didn't bring it up," Clark says, and he thumps Bruce fractionally too hard on the shoulder and hugs Dick. "It's my fault, if we're assigning blame." He glances at Bruce again and smiles at Dick. "Let me make it up to you." "It's all right," Dick says, and it sounds as though he has more to say, but Clark kisses him instead of letting him finish. "Maybe we should give him a demonstration," Clark says, and Bruce backs away from them. It is one thing to watch them kiss each other, but the concept of what Clark is suggesting -- He wants to see it immediately, in every lewd angle and position possible, and he hates himself for wanting it. "That's not necessary." Clark catches him by the shoulder and holds him with entirely unfair force. "Do you find it so distasteful?" "No." Bruce glares at him. If he'd only stop asking questions, it would be much easier to lie by omission. "Do whatever pleases you. I'm sure I can't stop you easily." Clark kisses him and squeezes him through his pants -- a calculated risk, it must be. "This is unlike you," he says, his voice rough and gentler than it has been, but not enough to be mocking. "When did you start to refuse information?" "This kind of information doubtless has few practical applications." Bruce pushes his hand away and feels as though he is the one capitulating when Clark lets him go. The only reasonable way to escape from Superman is to assure him that you're not going anywhere. "It relieves stress," Dick suggests, and he can hear Dick's smile without turning to look at him. "Really. And -- and it's good exercise." "Of which muscles?" Bruce asks, and Clark laughs and kisses him again. "Then you'll let us show you," he says, as if Bruce has promised something. His curiosity is increasing, both on prurient levels and, he hopes, on intellectual ones, though the latter are somewhat smothered in the former. "If you are so inclined." Clark takes off his tunic and glances at Dick. "It sounded like a good idea the first time you suggested it." Dick takes off the rest of his clothing and Bruce makes an effort not to stare at him. "I'm game." Bruce keeps his eyes on Clark's face. "I -- recently upgraded the medical facilities down here." More specifically, the sleeping arrangements in them. Alfred had the courtesy not to inquire why it could possibly be necessary to have a king-sized bed, let alone two of them adjacent to each other. They have fresh sheets, and although even the expanse of two large beds seems small compared to the mats, they should be more comfortable. "Did you?" Dick says, and goes -- his bare skin shining in the lights -- to look. "That was a really good idea," he says, and when Bruce follows him, he kisses Bruce. Perhaps it's for his forethought. Whatever the reason, it reminds Bruce inescapably that Dick is both naked and somewhat aroused, and he pats Dick's shoulder, not letting his hands stray farther. "I'm glad you approve." Dick pulls the covers back and lies back -- bounces would be the more accurate word. "Oh, wow." He sits up and offers Bruce his hand. "They're too big for one person." Bruce sits at the end of the other bed and looks toward Clark, who has shed his clothing. "I believe you'll have company in a moment." "There's plenty of space for three people." Dick hugs him from behind and unbuttons the first three buttons of his shirt. "You might as well take this off, too." Bruce unbuttons it the rest of the way and takes it off, then sheds his undershirt. "Better?" he asks, not turning to look. The bed dips next to him and Clark runs his hand down Bruce's chest. "Very much so. Are you sure you need a demonstration?" Bruce pushes the tempting mental images away and raises his eyebrow at Clark. "I would rather have a clear idea of what you both expect from me." "At the moment? Take your pants off." Clark pats his thigh. He stands, removes them, and folds them before he lets himself think about either what he's doing or exactly what Clark and Dick are doing, all too literally behind his back. When he turns, Clark is lying on his back and Dick is straddling his chest, kissing him. It provides the only stimulus that could have caused Bruce to get into bed immediately. The sight of them lost in each other is intensely erotic, and the strength of his reaction embarrasses him. Once he's in bed, though, he can at least obscure the proof of his arousal with bedsheets. Dick looks over and smiles at him. "You can watch from closer in, you know." If he gets much closer, he'll want to interrupt them incessantly. "This is fine." He raises his eyebrows. "Were you going to begin?" Clark laughs. "It's not an instantaneous process." The concept that this may take some significant amount of time is more arousing than upsetting. "Still," Bruce says, "you have to start to finish." Dick sits up, his cheeks flushed and says, "You could help, if you wanted." The nature of the act seems so intimate, even insular, that Bruce has a great deal of difficulty imagining how. "Yes?" Dick glances toward the medical supply cabinet. "We don't need a whole first aid kit --" "I would hope not," Bruce says, trying to sound as if he knew that all along. "-- but the surgical lubricant is --" Dick shrugs and gets up. "Useful." At least it's a substance medically approved for use on the body, if not exactly in that way. Watching Dick look through the cabinet is more like watching Robin on the job than anything else, never mind that he's nude. When he finds the substance in question, though, his smile is nothing like Robin discovering a new clue. He grins and offers it to Bruce. "You could --" Bruce has plenty of practice in avoiding the instinct to take what is being offered. "No, thank you." Dick shakes his head and looks at Clark instead. "Later, then." Bruce is unwilling to commit to that, either. "Mm." He can't feign enough of a lack of interest to keep Clark from winking at him, then kissing Dick again. "There's time." Dick kneels next to Clark on the bed and gives him the lubricant. "I know." He shrugs. "I'm not trying to rush you." He glances at Bruce again. "Good." Clark puts some of the stuff on his fingers. "Some of us aren't in a hurry." He reaches behind Dick, and Dick closes his eyes, braces himself for -- Surely Clark is only pressing one finger into him, and that slowly, from the movement of his shoulder. Dick sighs and presses back against his hand. "Not everybody is as patient as you are." Bruce is torn between wanting to kiss Dick -- especially when he licks his lips and gasps a little -- and wanting to watch every moment of this. Given the way Clark is smiling, he both feels and sympathizes with both urges. "Part of the aim is to give a demonstration, though," Clark says, and he nuzzles Dick's ear. "I know, I --" Dick shivers and opens his eyes, looking straight at Bruce. "I trust you to catch the -- oh -- nuances." The way he's smiling -- trusting, open, lusting -- is too much to simply watch, but as Bruce moves to kiss him, there's a sudden breeze and Clark is gone. A paper falls to the bed between them. "Damn," Dick says. The paper says, "Earthquake, causing tidal wave, Thailand and environs, back when everyone is safe - S." The magnitude of speed that makes it faster to write such a note than deliver the message aloud still chills Bruce somewhat. The sheer hubris in taking him as a lover, treating him as some sort of equal -- Dick kisses him and says, "It'll be okay." "Most likely, yes." Bruce hesitates. He could offer to continue what Clark began, but Clark could be back at any point. "There's nothing we could do, either," Dick says, and pulls him into another kiss. "Might as well --" The phrase 'fiddle while Rome burns' does not entirely fit, and the flippancy might offend Dick. "I wasn't going to try to help," Bruce says. "I know." Dick bites Bruce's lower lip and hands him the lubricant. "You might as well keep me company." The phrase is so innocent that Bruce is inclined to offer to play chess with him instead, or anything that would qualify as 'company' without requiring him to potentially make himself look foolish. Dick's expression is enough to dissuade him. "Tell me what you need, then." Dick shifts and wrinkles his nose. "A little more of that, maybe, but -- just start slow." Bruce finds that his hands are shaking and wills them to stop. The concept of 'a little more' is also somewhat daunting -- this is not an instance in which economy is necessary, and he coats the first two fingers of his right hand liberally. "Enough?" he asks, presenting them for inspection. "More than." Dick shakes his head. "Here, let me readjust." He lies on his back, tucking several pillows under his head and neck, and pulls one leg up, bending it at the knee. "There. Just --" he takes Bruce's hand and tugs it down between his legs. "Just one, to start." It feels like something that should, perhaps, hurt -- the cling of tense muscles, and the way Dick gasps makes Bruce freeze. "Is that --" He rolls his hips. "God, the way you look -- like you can figure everything out if you just watch long enough." Dick shakes his head. "Keep going." The thought of the obvious endpoint is enough to distract Bruce for a moment, but hopefully it's a brief enough one that Dick doesn't notice. He can imagine -- so clearly it makes him have to close his eyes -- just how it will feel, and how Dick would shift and react. How he will -- because there is no reason not to give him what he wants if Bruce can be sure that it won't hurt him. Bruce sighs and tries to focus on the present moment, on Dick biting his own lip and lifting his hips. "All right?" "Yes. You can -- use your other finger, too." Dick pushes back against the new penetration and groans, his eyes fluttering closed. "You look like you're memorizing me." It's an unforgettable moment. "I could keep my eyes closed," Bruce offers. Dick laughs, sounding as though he's out of breath. "Don't. I -- I knew you'd look like that. I wanted you to." He reaches for Bruce. "Kiss me?" He could ask for almost anything, and Bruce would be unable to deny it. Kissing is the least he can do, though it tears at his self-control further. "Is this comfortable?" Dick tilts his hips up another few degrees. "Go a little faster." "Ah, good," Clark says, and the bed sinks slightly. "Sorry I had to leave like that." Bruce shivers and remembers, entirely too clearly, that he's in the way. "These things happen." Dick reaches for Clark's hand, finds it, and squeezes it. "Not your fault." "I --" Bruce pulls his fingers out of Dick and sits back. "My apologies." Dick sits up, frowning. "You were doing fine." The only response that makes sense to Bruce, that Clark was "there first," sounds far too childish to put into words. It would be unfair to keep going. "So was Clark," he says instead, and Clark kisses him. "You don't have to stop," Dick says, but it would be uncomfortable to continue. "It's all right," Clark says, smiling at Bruce. "Whatever you prefer." What he would prefer sounds jealous and greedy, and he won't admit to such petty emotions. "You seemed to be enjoying yourself earlier." He moves to the edge of the bed, getting out of their way. "I was," Clark says, and he touches Bruce's cheek. His hand smells like ozone. "So did you --" he looks at Dick. "Up until I got back, that is." "It's fine," Bruce says, and feels a certain amount of pleasure in the chance to use a baseless reassurance. The most logical continuation of the thought -- more powerful because it's true -- is, "You're beautiful together." Dick pokes Clark in the stomach with his toes. "So are the two of you, except when you're bickering over what's going to happen next. If you want to --" he shrugs at Clark "-- demonstrate, that's more than fine. Or --" he raises his eyebrows at Bruce. "Either way. Just figure it out." Bruce holds his hands up in the only form of surrender he's nearly completely comfortable giving. This, like the last occurrence, could be the only one of its kind, but the recurrence lends a certain sort of credence to his hope that it will not be. "I wouldn't want to interrupt." "Bruce --" Clark kisses him again, then shakes his head. "You're not interrupting or in the way, but if you're happier watching -- that's easy enough." He's not sure he's happier watching -- he might well be happier not knowing what they were doing -- but he can't bring himself to send them away. "All right." Clark squeezes his shoulder again and turns to smile at Dick with a disconcertingly hungry expression. "If this is a demonstration, then --" It should be less surreal when he lifts Dick at some fraction of his normal speed slow enough to be seen, but fast enough that his superhuman abilities are inescapable. Dick is kneeling over his chest again, leaning down to kiss him as soon as he's oriented. "Might as well make it a show, then?" Dick says, and the edge of his grin is one he uses when he does extra flips as Robin, daring gravity to chase him. Clark smiles back and pushes his finger into Dick again, not nearly as slowly as seems prudent. Dick arches his back and groans. Clark smiles and watches him avidly, which in turn makes Bruce aware that he's staring at them. "How patient are you feeling?" "Oh, god." Dick shakes his head. "Not at all, and I didn't get a cold shower in the clouds in the middle, and --" Clark does something differently, faster or harder, and he gasps. "Better, that's -- better --" Bruce catches himself sighing and clears his throat. Dick reaches over and takes his hand. "I --" Bruce says, and loses the rest of the sentence when Dick shivers. "Kiss me again," he says, and there's a hitch in his breathing at every push of Clark's fingers. "Please?" It may distract him, or Clark, but if it does, then let it. Bruce tangles the fingers of his clean hand in Dick's hair and kisses him until he's as breathless as Dick is, and possibly dizzier. "Is that --" Dick sucks his lower lip until the sensation borders on pain. "You don't have to keep your distance, it's --" he groans and holds himself still for a moment. "Better if you don't." He kneels up a little more. "What did you do with the lubricant?" It's certainly somewhere nearby, and after a moment's fumbling, Bruce opens it and hands it to him. Dick squeezes some onto his fingers and rubs it over Clark's erection. Bruce feels a moment of sympathetic panic at the concept of 'diameter,' but from Dick's expression -- intent and bold -- they've done this before, and neither of them found it sufficiently uncomfortable to avoid. "Is that enough?" he asks instead. Clark squeezes Bruce's thigh. "It feels --" Dick caps the tube of lubricant and drops it into the sheets. "More than." Bruce watches his face because it is far less disconcerting than his shining fingers. "If you're sure." "Yeah." Dick grins at Clark. "I can feel you shivering." Clark's smile is tight and somewhat distracted as he pulls his fingers out of Dick. "Weren't you impatient a moment ago?" "Not that bad." Dick pushes himself back and down, onto Clark, and Bruce tightens one of his hands into a fist in the sheets and watches Dick bite his own lip and take a shivering breath. "I forgot how --" Dick braces one hand against Clark's chest and kneels up a little, then back again hard enough to make himself groan. "You feel --" Clark laughs and makes a soft noise in his throat. "You forgot?" "Humans do that -- god -- in self-defense." Dick smacks Clark's chest. His thighs are shaking. "Or I'd make you do this a lot more often." The way Clark looks at him -- affectionate and edged -- makes Bruce look away. He'd go farther, but it would be impolite to distract them. "You could," Clark says. "It could be -- nn -- arranged." "Don't tempt me." Dick does something -- or Clark does -- that makes him moan. "I might not let you stop." He takes a gasping breath and says, "Kiss me again." Bruce hesitates, unwilling to assume that Dick was addressing him, until Clark says, "Bruce," softly. He looks back and fights the surge of desire, messy as it is with wanting both of them at once, and to be both of them. Dick's thighs are spread wide and his face and chest are flushed with the strain and pleasure of what he's doing. Clark has one hand resting lightly on Dick's knee, belying the tension evident in his expression. "I just --" Bruce looks for a reasonable response and finds none. Dick grabs him by the shoulder. "Abandoned me," he says, ignoring how much his current position is the antithesis of alone. He rocks his hips and groans against Bruce's mouth. "Almost perfect --" Clark's laugh is choked. "Almost?" Dick thrusts back against him. "You're always perfect, I just --" He kisses Bruce again, harder. "If you touch me, I -- oh -- won't last." The roughness in his voice makes Bruce shiver. He puts his hand on Dick's waist -- sweaty, shuddering muscles -- and asks, half-teasing, "Should I stop kissing you, then?" Dick kisses him, biting at his lips, and pushes Bruce's hand down to his erection. "Never stop." His skin is slick, both from excess lubricant and from impatience. Bruce strokes him gently twice, mindful of the warning, but Dick whimpers and shoves against his hand. Bruce squeezes him, finding the right timing against the speed of Dick's thrusts down onto Clark. "So beautiful," Clark says -- groans. Dick shouts into Bruce's mouth and climaxes in his hand, splashing his stomach. "Oh --" he says, breaking the kiss to take a deep breath, "god, I --" He shakes his head quickly and kisses Bruce again, pushing himself onto Clark faster until Clark takes a halting breath and grabs his hips to hold him still. "Thank you," Bruce says, and Dick leans heavily against him. He feels as limp as he would be if he were drunk or asleep, but he looks up and smiles. "For what?" Bruce kisses him lightly. "The demonstration." Dick laughs and nuzzles Bruce's neck. "Any time. Really." He kneels up, wrinkling his nose, and half-lies, half-falls into Bruce's arms. "That was --" "You were in top form," Clark says, sitting up. He's smiling so hard if he weren't Superman, his face might hurt. "Was I?" Dick lifts his left leg and points his toes. "I have a cramp in my thigh. How did you make me do that?" Clark rubs his thigh firmly. "I suspect it was self-inflicted." Bruce kisses Dick's neck. "It was compelling." "Oh." Dick sits up with a motion that suggests he's remembered how to use his spine and looks at Bruce. "You weren't even --" He shakes his head. "Aren't you going crazy?" "I'm fine," Bruce says, though he can't remember a time when he was this aware of being aroused for this long. "Sure." Dick kisses him softly. Bruce has to stop himself from reaching for him when he pulls away. "What do you want?" The torrent of images in his mind is all the fuller for being fueled by their recent display. "Everything," he says, and when Dick grins, he amends it to, "Anything." Clark reaches between them and rubs one of Bruce's nipples. "Anything?" They're both tired -- probably sated. "Or, if you'd prefer, nothing," Bruce says. Dick knocks him over backward and holds him down in a completely useless pin that wouldn't work in anything like an actual fight. The kiss helps a great deal. He gives Bruce a frown that softens at the edges. "Do you want us to just leave you alone?" "No," Bruce admits. Dick makes a satisfied noise and kisses him again. "And you don't have anything you want in particular," Clark says, sounding entirely too amused. Bruce uses one of the twenty vulnerable areas in Dick's poor excuse for a pin and rolls them over. Dick laughs. "I was waiting for that." Bruce acknowledges this with a nod and looks up at Clark. "There are many particular things that would be more than sufficient." The earlier suggestion of engaging in self-abuse for an audience sounds increasingly plausible, and it has the minor advantage of not requiring any effort on their parts. "But you don't have a preference." Clark runs his hand down Bruce's back, lingering infinitesimally on several of the more prominent scars. He has too many to count, and too many suggestions that would be thoroughly uncomfortable to voice. "No." Dick twists his hand free and touches Bruce's cheek. "I think you should prove you were paying attention during the demonstration," he says, with entirely too much gravity considering how much he's smiling. It was clearly not painful in the first place, but surely even enthusiasm can only make up for so much. On the other hand, the concept of engaging in any way with muscles Clark doesn't consciously control at all moments is enough of a horror to help Bruce think more clearly. It's somewhat more plausible that Dick means for him to let himself be penetrated. The idea is far more appealing at present than it has ever been. "I --if you wanted to --" he's blushing at the thought of the words and he has to close his eyes to say them, though he can feel them watching "-- to penetrate me, that would be -- all right." "What -- Bruce, I --" Dick pulls him down into another kiss. Clark squeezes his buttock and says, with laughter all too evident under the words, "Not tonight, perhaps." Bruce raises his eyebrow at Dick. "What do you want, then?" He blushes and laughs -- at himself, from the way he avoids Bruce's eyes. "I -- it sounds really -- um." "Considering what you've been doing," Bruce says, and lets the sentence hang there. It's an interrogation technique that Dick would certainly recognize and avoid if he were paying that sort of attention. Instead, he says, "Considering what I've been doing, I -- probably shouldn't want to do it again. In a few minutes, anyway." Bruce sits up and lets him go. "You can't be serious." "I --" Dick props himself one one elbow and shrugs. "I am. If you don't want to, that's okay, too." Clark embraces Bruce from behind and pats his hip. Bruce pushes his hand away, fighting for the sort of control he's certain he had a week and a half ago. "I'm not sure I can -- do that." He closes his eyes, but it does nothing to stop the vivid images in his mind, complete with sound. "It's not that daunting," Clark says in his ear. "Stop," Bruce says, and Clark pauses, his hand halfway up Bruce's thigh. "I -- it would be -- a shame -- to go to all this trouble for --" he picks an estimate, halves it "-- two minutes of --" he waves a hand. "Ah," Clark says, and rubs his shoulders, which does nothing at all to soothe him. Dick embraces him, and that doesn't help either. It takes all Bruce's concentration not to rut against him like a poorly trained dog. "Two minutes of your time is worth more than two hours of almost anybody else's," he says, and kisses Bruce gently. He can't stop the memory of Dick shaking in his arms, wholly lost in orgasm, and it makes him moan. "Thirty seconds, at the outside," he says, and Dick laughs. "I don't believe you." Dick runs his hands down Bruce's chest. "Don't underestimate yourself," he says in an incongruously solemn voice. Bruce shakes his head and wills his breathing to stay smooth. "If you don't stop, you'll have no choice but to believe me." Clark is gone for half a second, and then he is back, and his hand is bracingly frigid against Bruce's neck. "Try to focus," he says, and it's the sort of voice he'd use to reassure a panicky civilian. The appropriateness of the tone is not something Bruce has the attention span to dispute, particularly not when Clark puts his other hand, just as icy, on the small of his back. It's not a better focus, and it doesn't have the distraction factor of a cold shower, but it's sufficient to make him take a deeper breath. "Excellent," he says. "If your toes are that cold, I'll find the Kryptonite to throw you out of bed." Clark laughs and licks the back of Bruce's neck. The heat of his tongue is a visceral shock, and another shove toward sensuality. "That's better." "Not necessarily," Bruce says, but Dick is grinning at him, and it's easier to kiss him than argue the point. "Two minutes?" Dick asks. "Possibly three." Bruce kisses him again and follows Dick down as he lies back. "But that's not a promise." "I know." Dick wraps his leg around Bruce's waist and reaches down to stroke him, guide him -- and it's equally impossible to breathe, think, and hold still when Dick pulls him in by the hip. He's not shouting -- it can't possibly be that loud -- but there's no coherence in the sound he makes. "Oh" isn't half the start and "you feel" is what he meant to say, but it gets lost. He manages "That's --" and makes himself muffle the next attempt at a sentence against Dick's mouth before it loses what vague sense it has. He can't find the words -- slick, heat, tight, friction aren't things to say out loud. "There," Clark says, sounding terribly smug, even though it's not a better sentence than "That's." His hands are warm again on Bruce's hips, and his -- Bruce says, "Clark," and it sounds choked, desperate, far more an encouragement than a warning, which excuses the next push of his tongue. It's even more intensely dirty in practice than it sounded in theory, and yet it fits with the madness and spurs him on. Dick is clinging to Bruce's shoulders and meeting every thrust. Every time he shudders, Bruce loses another fraction of the control he barely had in the first place. Bruce's sense of time is entirely gone by the wayside, as is the caution that should tell him to be more gentle. "Don't stop," Dick says, and bites his lower lip. "I love you," he says, soft and hoarse, and it's enough to make Bruce lose the last remnants of restraint he had left. The climax roars through his system like an explosion and leaves him struggling to breathe. It takes at least another minute before he realizes that the same is doubtless true of Dick, for less enjoyable reasons, and he lifts himself onto his elbows and knees. Clark is rubbing his back again, and it may well put him to sleep. "I'm sorry," he says, and whatever shouting he did and didn't manage, his throat is sore. "What for?" Dick asks, smiling at him. Bruce shakes his head and feels in acute need of a shower, twenty-four hours alone in which to process what just happened, and reassurance that if he takes the latter, neither Clark nor Dick will be offended. "I didn't mean to collapse on you." Clark squeezes Bruce's shoulder and reaches past him to tousle Dick's hair. "There's a warehouse fire in Metropolis. I'll see you later," he says, and by the time they hear the end of the sentence, he's gone. "Everything's fine." Dick grins at Bruce and sits up enough to kiss him again. "But there went my ride back to school." Bruce shakes his head and mostly suppresses a smile. "You'll just have to stay here tonight, then." Dick snaps his fingers. "Good thing you got nice big beds." "I didn't mean down here." Bruce raises his eyebrows. "No?" Dick hugs him. Bruce kicks himself internally. Of course Dick is still aroused -- and it's entirely unfair to leave him that way. "I'm sorry," he says again, and reaches between them to stroke Dick's erection. Dick shivers at the first touch. "It's -- god --" "I should have realized." It is so patently obvious that he has only his own desire to excuse him. Dick laughs and kisses him again, pushing against his hand, hard and slick. "Everything is fine. I'm just --" He sighs. "You felt so good." Bruce's sense of time is reasserting itself, but he doesn't have any way to gauge what sort of preparation he would actually need. He decides that the timeframe is essentially immaterial -- however long it takes, it would be worthwhile. "If you wanted that from me --" he offers, and Dick's hips jerk. "Yes, god -- but not now. Not worth it," he says, grinning and losing the expression to a moan. "Not for -- a little harder, god, Bruce -- two minutes. At the outside." Bruce feels himself blush, though the tease is gentle enough. If he had only been paying attention, this would not have been an issue. "I --" It feels like too little too late to kiss him, though the catch in Dick's breathing when Bruce speeds his hand up is gratifying. "Don't -- nn -- apologize." Dick shivers. "Just --" He shakes his head and laughs at himself, gasping in the middle. "Lie back, I --" It's hard to make himself let go, and harder still to lie back on his elbows without asking why. When Bruce does it, Dick looks at him as if he's never seen Bruce before and smiles. "God, you're gorgeous." It's the sort of compliment Bruce would give some fluttering girl before brushing her aside, but Dick makes it sound heartfelt. As if it might even be true, despite the many scars he's acquired over the years. Bruce reaches for him again. "Dick --" "Please, I --" Dick kneels over him, thrusting against his thighs. It's not the sort of thing that would be comfortable for a long period of time, but Dick is shaking. "Let me --" "Anything," Bruce says, and it's a reckless thing to say. He trusts Dick not to take the promise too far, whatever that would entail. The urgent rub of his erection is so simple that it seems like it can't be enough. He licks his thumb and rubs Dick's nipple, thinking of all the little touches that made animalistic pleasure into something far more human. "Oh god." Dick leans in to kiss him and shudders. "I -- still can't believe this --" Bruce pulls him down for another kiss and arches his hips to meet Dick's next push, trying to find something more to give him. "Can't you?" Dick squeezes his shoulder and his thrusts grow more ragged. "Bruce, I -- god, you're just --" He twists his hips on the next thrust and makes himself groan. The extent of his desire makes Bruce want to hold him tight and watch him fly at the same time. "I can't --" "Keep going," Bruce says, and Dick looks at him. Dick's pupils are wide and his eyes look unfocused, dazed. "Oh, god --" he gasps and bites his own lower lip hard, his hips jerking again as he climaxes. Bruce shivers at the rush of warm fluid and blesses his forethought in acquiring two beds, as the sheets on this one are nearly as much of a mess as he is. "All right?" Bruce asks. "More than." Dick laughs and hugs him again, sticky mess and all. "Okay, so I guess I believe it." "You guess?" Bruce raises an eyebrow at him. "What more evidence do you need?" Dick's smile isn't precisely Robin's; it is, in a way, too peaceful for that. "None."
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