FIC: Batman R.I.P.
Title: Batman R.I.P.
Characters/Pairings: Clark/Bruce
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Bruce asks for Clark's help on an investigation. Things get weird from there.
Word count: 3000
Warnings: Despite the title, not a bit of angst to be found.
Clark climbed the curving staircase and knocked lightly on the walnut door at the end of the hall. "Come in," said Bruce's voice from behind the door.
"Alfred said it was all right to just come up," Clark said a bit hesitantly as he opened it. He'd been coming to the Manor for coffee every Tuesday evening for three months now, but it still felt odd to see Bruce Wayne sitting behind a desk, dressed in a mundane red sweater instead of his usual black leather, his face unmasked.
Bruce smiled and gestured to the sofa in front of the television. "I was just about to ask your help on something."
Clark sat down on the sofa, the buttery leather giving way beneath him luxuriously. He wasn't even sure now who had suggested they start getting together for coffee once a week, but he figured it had to have been Bruce because he never would have dared. Almost every week, for exactly two hours, Clark would come to Gotham and meet with Bruce--not Batman, but Bruce. Sometimes they'd talk shop, other times they'd just watch whatever sports game was on, or compare books they'd read recently.
Clark hated to admit to himself how much he'd come to look forward to that two hours of friendship every week. Lately it seemed that each week ran up to that day or receded away from it: that interval of time where he could just relax and be himself, all of himself, not having to watch which persona he was in. Kal and Clark and Superman, Bruce and Batman, they all could come and go with easy familiarity.
Tonight seemed to be more of a Batman night. "It's part of an investigation I'm doing. A movie actor and director's been receiving death threats from an unknown source." He put a DVD in the player. "I'm trying to get an impression of the guy--what kind of person he is, who might want to kill him. It's always handy with actors because you've got material readily available to analyze their nonverbals and such." The DVD whirred gently in the player as the screen went blue. "I was hoping you'd help me get a fix on him, make sure I didn't miss anything."
Clark laughed. "I'm unlikely to catch anything you don't notice."
"Two heads are better than one, Clark."
"Bruce, are you sure Alfred isn't doping your coffee?"
Bruce shot him a mischievous look, all the dark steel in his eyes turned to sparkle, then settled next to him on the couch. "I've had Alfred prepare a set of clips from his movies. Keep an eye on him and see if you catch anything telling about his style." He touched a remote next to the couch and the lights in the den dimmed until the room was nearly dark.
The movie cut in abruptly, with no credits. Two men were apparently sightseeing somewhere, posing in front of a waterfall. One was strikingly handsome, with a lean, saturnine grace and tousled dark hair. He smiled lazily at the camera. "That's the man. Knightly. Damon Knightly," murmured Bruce's voice in the darkness.
Knightly was wearing a tight muscle shirt and jeans. His companion--a redhead in tight shorts--was shorter and a little stockier. They looked out at the waterfall together. Then they looked at each other. They looked at each other some more. Then suddenly Knightly leaned in and kissed his companion.
The other man leaned into the kiss, his arms going around the dark-haired man. They broke apart and Knightly ran a hand up the redhead's chest possessively, then pulled him close again.
A sudden cut and the pair were in a hotel room, kissing deeply. Wet, enthusiastic noises filled the room. "Uh, Bruce...?" Clark's question trailed off into soundlessness as Knightly pulled up the other man's top and began to lick and suck his nipples.
"You can tell he's an alpha-male type, can't you?" Bruce's voice was entirely clinical. "Interesting."
In the screen, Knightly was starting to undo the other man's fly. The man's shorts slid down his long legs to the floor and the camera lingered lovingly on white briefs tightly hugging an impressive erection. Knightly ran his hand along the white cotton and the man gasped sharply. Clark twitched. "Bruce?" His voice sounded rather squeaky.
The screen froze on the redhead's face, his lips slack with lust as Knightly caressed him. "Yes, Clark?" Bruce said calmly.
"What kind of films does Knightly make?"
"Oh, he's a gay porn star and director," Bruce said. "All the better for collecting data, in some ways--people are much more unguarded when having sex." He made a musing sound. "He's definitely an assertive, possessive man. Have you noticed anything so far?"
He looks like you. Clark caught himself before the words crossed his lips, but it was true: they weren't doubles at all, but there was the same feline air, the same dark grace. He supposed Knightly was technically more handsome...
Clark wrenched his mind back to the video. "What's his relationship with the redhead?"
"Hunter? He's a co-worker, occasional lover."
"Could Hunter be involved somehow? Most death threats don't come from random strangers."
"Hm, good point, although in the case of actors the crazed fan is always an option. Still, we'd better keep an eye on him as well." There was a pause as Bruce made some kind of mental note. "Ready for me to start again?"
"Sure." Clark was pleased he sounded so entirely unfazed. It was just a movie, anyway. Nothing to get rattled about--
The video started up again and Hunter's frozen gasp trailed into a throaty groan that seemed to crawl up Clark's spine. Knightly slipped his hand into the briefs and wrapped his fist around Hunter's erection, sliding up and down. The redhead pushed into the other man's grip, reaching out to tug at Knightly's jeans as they tangled in another long kiss, damp and noisy. There was a rather jarring cut and both men were suddenly naked, entwined in a kiss, hips pushing against each other as their erections rubbed against each other. Knightly moved to the other man's throat, licking and sucking, putting his hands on Hunter's ass and pulling him closer.
Knightly stepped forward, steering Hunter toward the bed until the redhead fell onto the white sheets. "It's pretty clear who's at least nominally in charge of this relationship," Bruce said as Knightly stood by the bed, staring at the other man sprawled across it and stroking himself into further hardness. A predatory smile touched his mouth and Clark was again forcibly reminded of Bruce. Bruce's body would be more scarred, though, he thought as the camera trailed down the chiseled chest and washboard stomach. More scarred and more beautiful...
Clark shifted uncomfortably as Knightly got onto the bed with Hunter. He was suddenly aware that he was getting hard, to his surprise. The camera was focused tightly on Knightly's cock, on his hand lazily pumping at it. Well, it was natural to get a little aroused watching sex of any sort, Clark reminded himself. It wasn't a big deal.
Knightly laid down next to Hunter and began to kiss and lick his way down the other man's body. He got to the other man's groin and began to suck on him, the hot wet noises mingling with Hunter's groans. "What do you think--tension between the two of them?"
Bruce's voice seemed entirely detached, and Clark struggled to sound the same way, although his breath seemed rather short. "I don't get that feeling from their nonverbals. His nonverbals are actually quite affectionate. And look at how relaxed Hunter seems."
"He does at that," said Bruce as the camera lingered on the redhead's face, blank with arousal.
Pulling away a little, the dark-haired man lifted Hunter's legs and moved to kneel between them. "Oh," said Clark without thinking, "Are they going to--"
"This is a gay porn film, Clark," said Bruce with just a hint of laughter in his voice. And then Knightly was pushing into Hunter's body, slow and firm, the camera lingering on the image. Hunter groaned and the camera moved to his face, heavy-lidded and flushed. "Harder," said the redhead, the first words spoken in the film, and Knightly began to thrust deeper. "Oh, there," gasped Hunter, and Knightly's strokes became regular, rhythmic.
The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room with a low, thrumming beat, and Clark felt his own body seeming to throb with that pace. What would it feel like, he wondered, to be filled like that, to feel someone moving in and out of you, penetrating you, their body deep inside you... Hunter's face was transported with ecstasy and his hand was on his own straining erection, stroking. The men's hoarse breaths and occasional panting groan were the only sounds beyond the hypnotic thump of body against body.
Every moan seemed to send trails of fire across his nerve endings. The weight of his own hand on his thigh taunted him. The room was dark. Would Bruce notice if he just...shifted his hand over a little, just to lightly touch the flesh that was singing with so much need so suddenly? The lovers' pace was quickening, their moans becoming more guttural, closer. Hunter's face--Bruce's body--Knightly's body, he thought confusedly, but the pulse of lust that went through him at the thought nearly blotted all ability to think entirely. Hunter was hard, he was hard, he was so hard he could barely stand it. The redhead made a sudden choking, gasping noise, and--
The screen went black. Clark made a surprised noise before he could catch himself, and the small whimper hung in the silent room, sounding almost disappointed. He shifted his weight to hide his uncomfortable arousal as the lights came up slightly.
"Hm. Well, one thing's certain, he's a skillful lover. Attentive and commanding." Bruce's voice was entirely unmoved, musing and low. Clark shuddered a little and tried to concentrate.
"Yes, he seems a very sensual and charming person."
"Hunter did seem to be enjoying himself. Of course, he is an actor."
Clark took a long, steadying breath, not trusting himself to look at Bruce, sitting so close to him. "I think there are some things you can't fake."
Bruce made a wordless, contemplative sound. "Okay, Alfred put a second clip on the DVD, let's take a look at that one."
The lights went down again and the DVD player whirred into life. The camera lingered on the set, which was a rather high-quality recreation of an alley: brick walls, mist floating around. A man--neither Knightly nor Hunter, a new actor--was walking through the alley, looking nervous. He was wearing a suit and had thick glasses and dark hair that fell into his eyes.
There was a rustle of movement off-camera and--Clark huffed a breath of surprise as a man in a Batman suit stepped into the frame, his cape stirring in the mist. "Oh, Alfred," Bruce said, his voice amused.
"What are you doing out here so late?" "Batman" demanded of the man. "You know things are dangerous after dark."
The man's eyes were wide with shock. "I was just--I was--" He cast his eyes down, looking shamefaced. "Actually, I was looking for you."
The camera closed in on a flicker of a smile on "Batman's" face. "Were you, now? Well, you've found me." He stalked closer, the camera cutting to the other man's face, fear shifting into something else, heavy-lidded and anticipatory.
"That's a pretty good Batman impression," Bruce voice said from the dark.
"You think so? I think Batman's a lot more--I don't know--awe-inspiring than that," Clark said absently, and Bruce made a sound like a chuckling purr.
The man in the Batman suit was taking off the man's heavy glasses. "You don't need these," he said softly. He took the man's chin in a gloved hand, then captured his mouth in a fierce kiss.
"That's a really good replica of the Batsuit," Clark said as the camera traveled down the actor's body.
Bruce made a dismissive noise. "You can get one like that in any good costume store."
Clark watched, fascinated, as the man leaned into the kiss luxuriously, pulling the man in black close and grinding his hips against him. As the black-clad hands slipped off his clothing, the man gasped, "I wanted this so much--didn't know how to ask--didn't how to reach you."
The actor dressed as Batman was kissing his body as the man leaned against the brick wall, panting. "You reached me from the first moment I saw you, so long ago. Forgive me that it took me so long."
The man was shuddering as "Batman" pulled off the last of his clothing, his body pale and bare up against the black leather suit. Black leather gloves wrapped around a tight, hard erection, and Clark bit back a groan as his body stirred back into insistent, demanding arousal. The man in the suit slid his hand up and down, and the other man's hands scrabbled frantically on Batman's back as he made desperate noises. The leather of the sofa was under Clark's hands, the scent of leather heavy in the air, and he was so aroused he could hardly think.
The imitation Batman pulled the man back into a kiss, the camera lingering lovingly on the pale body thrusting and rubbing against the black leather as if overwhelmed with sensation, blank with utter need. "I want you so much I can't stand it," whispered Batman. "I love you," and Clark bit his lip against a groan, he couldn't help it. "I wish I could say it more easily, I wish--" The words were cut off as the man dragged him close, and Clark's hand had gotten to his lap somehow and was--it was dark, but--he shouldn't--
Batman's hand stroked up and down the man's cock on the screen again and the man's face was taut with desire, and Clark couldn't seem to stop touching himself.
There was a blurry jump cut, and "Batman" was suddenly naked except for the cape and cowl, which at other times might have looked silly, but Clark was in no position to make aesthetic judgments any more. Mostly he was just sorry the director had skipped the luxurious pleasure of stripping the black leather suit off; he would have liked to see the other man's hands undoing buckle after buckle, clasp after clasp, exposing more and more skin, scarred and sinewy and utterly beautiful. No, Knightly's body was just pretty, waxed and buff and nothing like a truly beautiful body with its soft dark hair and its ridges of old scars and sweet, sweet skin...
Clark's eyes were almost closed, slitted against the rush of desire, he didn't need the images on the screen anymore. With his eyes almost closed, the images blurred so he could imagine that Knightly was--and that the man on the screen that he was pushing into so slowly was--was--being fucked, being filled, Clark's hand was shaking against the cloth of his slacks, he wanted to feel more, he wanted to feel it all.
The man was panting as Batman thrust into him, saying "Oh, oh, oh" over and over, a meaningless chant of rapture and abandon. Clark felt the zipper of his fly under his hand, dulling the sensation; he pressed harder, beyond caring, rocking slightly against his grip.
"You've wanted this," Batman was growling as he grabbed the man's hair and pulled his head back, kissing his throat, his hips still moving, sweet and slow and hard, the other man's erection weeping and desperate. "You've wanted it so long, I know it. Tell me, tell me, tell me you've wanted me. Tell me now."
"Yes."
The word hung in the air, and Clark tightened his hand, he was so close...and it was several frozen seconds until he realized exactly who had said that one syllable of want and yearning.
Shame and horror filled him, almost--almost--driving out the lust that he was drowning in.
And then in the dark someone's hand was pushing his aside, fumbling with his fly, shaking like he was shaking. In the dark someone's lips were suddenly against his ear, the voice hot and damp: "Clark." Bruce's hands were on him, on his hot and aching flesh, and Clark's back arched and he groaned something, he didn't know what but it was need and joy beyond words.
On the screen Knightly was speaking, his voice triumphant: "Oh God, you're mine now. Mine. Always. My love, come for me now, love, come," and Bruce's voice echoed him: Come, and Clark didn't see what happened in the movie after that because his eyes were closed and he was lost.
: : :
Damon Knightly was opening his mail a few days later when he came across an envelope of heavy, creamy paper. He opened it to find a note on high-quality engraved stationery:
Mr. Knightly. I trust this finds you well. I'm writing to inform you that I was exceptionally pleased with the quality of your work on "Batman: R.I.P. (Rectal Insertion Pleasure)." The acting and direction were extremely satisfactory. My sincere thanks.
In fact, I was wondering if you would be interested in working on a sequel. I'm wavering between "The Man of Steel" and "Kingdom Cum" as a title. As before, I'll provide the funds, script, and costuming if you're willing to act and direct. I'll be in touch.
The letter--and the very large check accompanying it--were signed with the now-familiar flourishing signature.
Knightly chuckled to himself as he held the two pieces of paper. This "Calvin Bruce" guy might be a crap writer--he insisted on putting the craziest, most flowery speeches into his smut--but he paid well enough that Knightly was more than willing to work around that. That romantic tripe would never sell, but apparently Mr. Bruce meant the movies for his private use alone anyway. It worked out well for both of them.
Yes, this could be a very fulfilling collaboration indeed.
Characters/Pairings: Clark/Bruce
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Bruce asks for Clark's help on an investigation. Things get weird from there.
Word count: 3000
Warnings: Despite the title, not a bit of angst to be found.
Clark climbed the curving staircase and knocked lightly on the walnut door at the end of the hall. "Come in," said Bruce's voice from behind the door.
"Alfred said it was all right to just come up," Clark said a bit hesitantly as he opened it. He'd been coming to the Manor for coffee every Tuesday evening for three months now, but it still felt odd to see Bruce Wayne sitting behind a desk, dressed in a mundane red sweater instead of his usual black leather, his face unmasked.
Bruce smiled and gestured to the sofa in front of the television. "I was just about to ask your help on something."
Clark sat down on the sofa, the buttery leather giving way beneath him luxuriously. He wasn't even sure now who had suggested they start getting together for coffee once a week, but he figured it had to have been Bruce because he never would have dared. Almost every week, for exactly two hours, Clark would come to Gotham and meet with Bruce--not Batman, but Bruce. Sometimes they'd talk shop, other times they'd just watch whatever sports game was on, or compare books they'd read recently.
Clark hated to admit to himself how much he'd come to look forward to that two hours of friendship every week. Lately it seemed that each week ran up to that day or receded away from it: that interval of time where he could just relax and be himself, all of himself, not having to watch which persona he was in. Kal and Clark and Superman, Bruce and Batman, they all could come and go with easy familiarity.
Tonight seemed to be more of a Batman night. "It's part of an investigation I'm doing. A movie actor and director's been receiving death threats from an unknown source." He put a DVD in the player. "I'm trying to get an impression of the guy--what kind of person he is, who might want to kill him. It's always handy with actors because you've got material readily available to analyze their nonverbals and such." The DVD whirred gently in the player as the screen went blue. "I was hoping you'd help me get a fix on him, make sure I didn't miss anything."
Clark laughed. "I'm unlikely to catch anything you don't notice."
"Two heads are better than one, Clark."
"Bruce, are you sure Alfred isn't doping your coffee?"
Bruce shot him a mischievous look, all the dark steel in his eyes turned to sparkle, then settled next to him on the couch. "I've had Alfred prepare a set of clips from his movies. Keep an eye on him and see if you catch anything telling about his style." He touched a remote next to the couch and the lights in the den dimmed until the room was nearly dark.
The movie cut in abruptly, with no credits. Two men were apparently sightseeing somewhere, posing in front of a waterfall. One was strikingly handsome, with a lean, saturnine grace and tousled dark hair. He smiled lazily at the camera. "That's the man. Knightly. Damon Knightly," murmured Bruce's voice in the darkness.
Knightly was wearing a tight muscle shirt and jeans. His companion--a redhead in tight shorts--was shorter and a little stockier. They looked out at the waterfall together. Then they looked at each other. They looked at each other some more. Then suddenly Knightly leaned in and kissed his companion.
The other man leaned into the kiss, his arms going around the dark-haired man. They broke apart and Knightly ran a hand up the redhead's chest possessively, then pulled him close again.
A sudden cut and the pair were in a hotel room, kissing deeply. Wet, enthusiastic noises filled the room. "Uh, Bruce...?" Clark's question trailed off into soundlessness as Knightly pulled up the other man's top and began to lick and suck his nipples.
"You can tell he's an alpha-male type, can't you?" Bruce's voice was entirely clinical. "Interesting."
In the screen, Knightly was starting to undo the other man's fly. The man's shorts slid down his long legs to the floor and the camera lingered lovingly on white briefs tightly hugging an impressive erection. Knightly ran his hand along the white cotton and the man gasped sharply. Clark twitched. "Bruce?" His voice sounded rather squeaky.
The screen froze on the redhead's face, his lips slack with lust as Knightly caressed him. "Yes, Clark?" Bruce said calmly.
"What kind of films does Knightly make?"
"Oh, he's a gay porn star and director," Bruce said. "All the better for collecting data, in some ways--people are much more unguarded when having sex." He made a musing sound. "He's definitely an assertive, possessive man. Have you noticed anything so far?"
He looks like you. Clark caught himself before the words crossed his lips, but it was true: they weren't doubles at all, but there was the same feline air, the same dark grace. He supposed Knightly was technically more handsome...
Clark wrenched his mind back to the video. "What's his relationship with the redhead?"
"Hunter? He's a co-worker, occasional lover."
"Could Hunter be involved somehow? Most death threats don't come from random strangers."
"Hm, good point, although in the case of actors the crazed fan is always an option. Still, we'd better keep an eye on him as well." There was a pause as Bruce made some kind of mental note. "Ready for me to start again?"
"Sure." Clark was pleased he sounded so entirely unfazed. It was just a movie, anyway. Nothing to get rattled about--
The video started up again and Hunter's frozen gasp trailed into a throaty groan that seemed to crawl up Clark's spine. Knightly slipped his hand into the briefs and wrapped his fist around Hunter's erection, sliding up and down. The redhead pushed into the other man's grip, reaching out to tug at Knightly's jeans as they tangled in another long kiss, damp and noisy. There was a rather jarring cut and both men were suddenly naked, entwined in a kiss, hips pushing against each other as their erections rubbed against each other. Knightly moved to the other man's throat, licking and sucking, putting his hands on Hunter's ass and pulling him closer.
Knightly stepped forward, steering Hunter toward the bed until the redhead fell onto the white sheets. "It's pretty clear who's at least nominally in charge of this relationship," Bruce said as Knightly stood by the bed, staring at the other man sprawled across it and stroking himself into further hardness. A predatory smile touched his mouth and Clark was again forcibly reminded of Bruce. Bruce's body would be more scarred, though, he thought as the camera trailed down the chiseled chest and washboard stomach. More scarred and more beautiful...
Clark shifted uncomfortably as Knightly got onto the bed with Hunter. He was suddenly aware that he was getting hard, to his surprise. The camera was focused tightly on Knightly's cock, on his hand lazily pumping at it. Well, it was natural to get a little aroused watching sex of any sort, Clark reminded himself. It wasn't a big deal.
Knightly laid down next to Hunter and began to kiss and lick his way down the other man's body. He got to the other man's groin and began to suck on him, the hot wet noises mingling with Hunter's groans. "What do you think--tension between the two of them?"
Bruce's voice seemed entirely detached, and Clark struggled to sound the same way, although his breath seemed rather short. "I don't get that feeling from their nonverbals. His nonverbals are actually quite affectionate. And look at how relaxed Hunter seems."
"He does at that," said Bruce as the camera lingered on the redhead's face, blank with arousal.
Pulling away a little, the dark-haired man lifted Hunter's legs and moved to kneel between them. "Oh," said Clark without thinking, "Are they going to--"
"This is a gay porn film, Clark," said Bruce with just a hint of laughter in his voice. And then Knightly was pushing into Hunter's body, slow and firm, the camera lingering on the image. Hunter groaned and the camera moved to his face, heavy-lidded and flushed. "Harder," said the redhead, the first words spoken in the film, and Knightly began to thrust deeper. "Oh, there," gasped Hunter, and Knightly's strokes became regular, rhythmic.
The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room with a low, thrumming beat, and Clark felt his own body seeming to throb with that pace. What would it feel like, he wondered, to be filled like that, to feel someone moving in and out of you, penetrating you, their body deep inside you... Hunter's face was transported with ecstasy and his hand was on his own straining erection, stroking. The men's hoarse breaths and occasional panting groan were the only sounds beyond the hypnotic thump of body against body.
Every moan seemed to send trails of fire across his nerve endings. The weight of his own hand on his thigh taunted him. The room was dark. Would Bruce notice if he just...shifted his hand over a little, just to lightly touch the flesh that was singing with so much need so suddenly? The lovers' pace was quickening, their moans becoming more guttural, closer. Hunter's face--Bruce's body--Knightly's body, he thought confusedly, but the pulse of lust that went through him at the thought nearly blotted all ability to think entirely. Hunter was hard, he was hard, he was so hard he could barely stand it. The redhead made a sudden choking, gasping noise, and--
The screen went black. Clark made a surprised noise before he could catch himself, and the small whimper hung in the silent room, sounding almost disappointed. He shifted his weight to hide his uncomfortable arousal as the lights came up slightly.
"Hm. Well, one thing's certain, he's a skillful lover. Attentive and commanding." Bruce's voice was entirely unmoved, musing and low. Clark shuddered a little and tried to concentrate.
"Yes, he seems a very sensual and charming person."
"Hunter did seem to be enjoying himself. Of course, he is an actor."
Clark took a long, steadying breath, not trusting himself to look at Bruce, sitting so close to him. "I think there are some things you can't fake."
Bruce made a wordless, contemplative sound. "Okay, Alfred put a second clip on the DVD, let's take a look at that one."
The lights went down again and the DVD player whirred into life. The camera lingered on the set, which was a rather high-quality recreation of an alley: brick walls, mist floating around. A man--neither Knightly nor Hunter, a new actor--was walking through the alley, looking nervous. He was wearing a suit and had thick glasses and dark hair that fell into his eyes.
There was a rustle of movement off-camera and--Clark huffed a breath of surprise as a man in a Batman suit stepped into the frame, his cape stirring in the mist. "Oh, Alfred," Bruce said, his voice amused.
"What are you doing out here so late?" "Batman" demanded of the man. "You know things are dangerous after dark."
The man's eyes were wide with shock. "I was just--I was--" He cast his eyes down, looking shamefaced. "Actually, I was looking for you."
The camera closed in on a flicker of a smile on "Batman's" face. "Were you, now? Well, you've found me." He stalked closer, the camera cutting to the other man's face, fear shifting into something else, heavy-lidded and anticipatory.
"That's a pretty good Batman impression," Bruce voice said from the dark.
"You think so? I think Batman's a lot more--I don't know--awe-inspiring than that," Clark said absently, and Bruce made a sound like a chuckling purr.
The man in the Batman suit was taking off the man's heavy glasses. "You don't need these," he said softly. He took the man's chin in a gloved hand, then captured his mouth in a fierce kiss.
"That's a really good replica of the Batsuit," Clark said as the camera traveled down the actor's body.
Bruce made a dismissive noise. "You can get one like that in any good costume store."
Clark watched, fascinated, as the man leaned into the kiss luxuriously, pulling the man in black close and grinding his hips against him. As the black-clad hands slipped off his clothing, the man gasped, "I wanted this so much--didn't know how to ask--didn't how to reach you."
The actor dressed as Batman was kissing his body as the man leaned against the brick wall, panting. "You reached me from the first moment I saw you, so long ago. Forgive me that it took me so long."
The man was shuddering as "Batman" pulled off the last of his clothing, his body pale and bare up against the black leather suit. Black leather gloves wrapped around a tight, hard erection, and Clark bit back a groan as his body stirred back into insistent, demanding arousal. The man in the suit slid his hand up and down, and the other man's hands scrabbled frantically on Batman's back as he made desperate noises. The leather of the sofa was under Clark's hands, the scent of leather heavy in the air, and he was so aroused he could hardly think.
The imitation Batman pulled the man back into a kiss, the camera lingering lovingly on the pale body thrusting and rubbing against the black leather as if overwhelmed with sensation, blank with utter need. "I want you so much I can't stand it," whispered Batman. "I love you," and Clark bit his lip against a groan, he couldn't help it. "I wish I could say it more easily, I wish--" The words were cut off as the man dragged him close, and Clark's hand had gotten to his lap somehow and was--it was dark, but--he shouldn't--
Batman's hand stroked up and down the man's cock on the screen again and the man's face was taut with desire, and Clark couldn't seem to stop touching himself.
There was a blurry jump cut, and "Batman" was suddenly naked except for the cape and cowl, which at other times might have looked silly, but Clark was in no position to make aesthetic judgments any more. Mostly he was just sorry the director had skipped the luxurious pleasure of stripping the black leather suit off; he would have liked to see the other man's hands undoing buckle after buckle, clasp after clasp, exposing more and more skin, scarred and sinewy and utterly beautiful. No, Knightly's body was just pretty, waxed and buff and nothing like a truly beautiful body with its soft dark hair and its ridges of old scars and sweet, sweet skin...
Clark's eyes were almost closed, slitted against the rush of desire, he didn't need the images on the screen anymore. With his eyes almost closed, the images blurred so he could imagine that Knightly was--and that the man on the screen that he was pushing into so slowly was--was--being fucked, being filled, Clark's hand was shaking against the cloth of his slacks, he wanted to feel more, he wanted to feel it all.
The man was panting as Batman thrust into him, saying "Oh, oh, oh" over and over, a meaningless chant of rapture and abandon. Clark felt the zipper of his fly under his hand, dulling the sensation; he pressed harder, beyond caring, rocking slightly against his grip.
"You've wanted this," Batman was growling as he grabbed the man's hair and pulled his head back, kissing his throat, his hips still moving, sweet and slow and hard, the other man's erection weeping and desperate. "You've wanted it so long, I know it. Tell me, tell me, tell me you've wanted me. Tell me now."
"Yes."
The word hung in the air, and Clark tightened his hand, he was so close...and it was several frozen seconds until he realized exactly who had said that one syllable of want and yearning.
Shame and horror filled him, almost--almost--driving out the lust that he was drowning in.
And then in the dark someone's hand was pushing his aside, fumbling with his fly, shaking like he was shaking. In the dark someone's lips were suddenly against his ear, the voice hot and damp: "Clark." Bruce's hands were on him, on his hot and aching flesh, and Clark's back arched and he groaned something, he didn't know what but it was need and joy beyond words.
On the screen Knightly was speaking, his voice triumphant: "Oh God, you're mine now. Mine. Always. My love, come for me now, love, come," and Bruce's voice echoed him: Come, and Clark didn't see what happened in the movie after that because his eyes were closed and he was lost.
: : :
Damon Knightly was opening his mail a few days later when he came across an envelope of heavy, creamy paper. He opened it to find a note on high-quality engraved stationery:
Mr. Knightly. I trust this finds you well. I'm writing to inform you that I was exceptionally pleased with the quality of your work on "Batman: R.I.P. (Rectal Insertion Pleasure)." The acting and direction were extremely satisfactory. My sincere thanks.
In fact, I was wondering if you would be interested in working on a sequel. I'm wavering between "The Man of Steel" and "Kingdom Cum" as a title. As before, I'll provide the funds, script, and costuming if you're willing to act and direct. I'll be in touch.
The letter--and the very large check accompanying it--were signed with the now-familiar flourishing signature.
Knightly chuckled to himself as he held the two pieces of paper. This "Calvin Bruce" guy might be a crap writer--he insisted on putting the craziest, most flowery speeches into his smut--but he paid well enough that Knightly was more than willing to work around that. That romantic tripe would never sell, but apparently Mr. Bruce meant the movies for his private use alone anyway. It worked out well for both of them.
Yes, this could be a very fulfilling collaboration indeed.