Title: Shadow Shifts into Light
Rating: Adultish, R
Length: 763 words
Spoilers: post "Hereafter"
Disclaimer: Not mine, seriously. All belongs to DC Comics, WB, Mr. Timm & friends.
A/N: Written for Porn Battle V, Prompt - [fandom] Justice League Unlimited, [pairing] Batman/Superman, [prompt word] visitor
Summary: Humans die, gods return. And sometimes that's just a line.
Stepping out of his bathroom in only a towel, Clark sees a shadow on his bedroom windowsill.
"I thought you'd be on your way back to Gotham by now," he says while opening the window. The shadow shifts, Batman steps inside.
"Don't do that again," he says, the shadows of the dim room finding him so that only the white lenses of his mask appear visible. The man has no powers so Clark always wonders how he manages to do that.
"I didn't really die." He's standing there, dripping on the floor.
"That's not the point. Don't. Do. That. Again." Batman moves forward until he's well past the boundary of personal space.
Clark stands his ground but can't think of a response to that. After all, they're not exactly friends, although Clark's tried several times since their shaky start. The man didn't even show up for Superman's funeral.
"So you are keeping it," Batman says, low and accusing.
"The long hair, the beard. Of course Diana likes it, now that you're the epitome of one of her Greek gods. All you need is a pair of sandals and mere mortals will fall down on their knees to worship you."
Oh. So that's what this is about. "I'm not trying to move in on Diana."
But then Batman falls to his knees, cape draping around him. "Humans die," he says. "Gods return."
Clark opens his mouth in surprise. "You can't believe that." He can't talk to Batman right now. He reaches out, pulls the cowl back so that he looks into the impossibly blue eyes of Bruce Wayne. "Bruce, I need you not to."
Bruce smiles, that small smile that has nothing to do with Batman's grimace or the playboy's grin, but the real one. The one that Clark has to admit he's seen more of these past months. Intimate, personal, and Clark's suddenly aware that he's in danger of an inappropriate reaction. Something the towel won't hide. Not with Bruce's head almost right there.
"What do people do in front of gods, Clark?" The gauntlets reach out to his hips, caress the twin bones below the towel. Clark shudders, breathes in.
"You don't believe that," Clark says again. He can't, any more than Clark can believe that Bruce is doing this, that he wants it. That they both do.
"It's a line, Clark. And a damn good one."
Clark's erection, a dowsing rod pointing in Bruce's direction, agrees. Whether it's the line, Bruce's breath ghosting the towel, or the gloves that are even now removing it, Clark and his erection really don't care.
"I know you're a man, Clark. A man that died the other day." He says this, a sigh, anger and regret, along the hollow of Clark's denuded hip.
All Clark can do is sigh in return, run a hand through Bruce's haphazard hair.
It's the way Bruce says his name, the human one, when the others call him Kal. How he reminds him that even though he's not from Earth, he's still of it. No matter how far he flies off the ground, he has to return. That the frisson between them holds not only fear but the thrill of pleasure, the unspoken promise of it.
"Clark?" Bruce hesitates, as if he's misstepped, miscalculated.
"I think we'd be more comfortable on the bed," Clark says before Bruce can pull away.
The boots lie haphazard at the foot of the bed, the suit and belt crumpled alongside it. Bruce stands naked and hesitant beside this as Clark pulls the blanket back. Clark turns, smiles, reaches his hand out, interlacing fingers, so that they collapse together on it.
"First things first," he says as he leans in and kisses Bruce. He wants to experience this, the slow play of tongue and hands before Bruce can lead him anywhere else. Clark needs this touch, craves it just as much as the sexual release that will shortly follow. Bruce more than allows it, giving as much in return, until he swings a leg over, brings them both in hand, thrusts. He doesn't break the kiss. Not until he arches and whispers that human name. Clark follows.
They're a mess and there's soft laughter, relief from both of them, that drifts to the still open blinds.
"Don't scare me like that again," a voice says, all Bruce, only a soft edge.
"And this?" Clark says, his mouth tracing a collarbone.
"Count on more visits."
"And if I visit you?"
"I just might let you in."
Clark can only kiss him in response to that.