Title: Call Me If You Need Me {
also at AO3}
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Superman/Batman
Genre: angry smut with a dash of angst? some
fluff to make up for it.
Warnings: bottom!Bruce, sex machines, dirty talk
Word Count: 2.9k
Summary: Batman is suffering the effects of
Poison Ivys lust dust, but Superman refuses to help the way
Bruce wants him to. At least Bruce still has his toys...
A/N: Probably the closest I'll ever get to
writing bottom!Bruce, since the inspiration for this particular
dynamic comes from a lot of strange sources (which are explained
in the end notes). Expect bottom!Clark hereafter ;)
Disclaimer: Superman and Batman ain't mine.
*sobs*
~
All this time youve been chasing after me, trying to
get into my pants, and now that Im throwing myself
at you, you deny me? Batman growls, hands clawing at
sleek blue material for purchase. His mouth is bursting
with the feel and flavor of perfect, invulnerable skin, and he
wants nothing more than to re-attach his lips to the muscle of
that thick, strong neck and suck.
Im sorry, Bruce, is the reply, yet again.
And theres something sad marring the expression on that
usually super-smug face, something that sure looks a lot like pity
to Batman.
Damn you! he roars. Youre always rushing
in to save the day when I dont want or need
your help. Youre always there! he yells,
struggling ineffectually against the iron grip keeping him at
arms length. And now that I need you
Now that I
want you
he trails off, panting. I
thought you would enjoy seeing me beg!
I cant, Bruce. Again! Not like
this, Superman whispers, so softly Bruce questions if he
was meant to hear it at all.
Not like this? he echoes, voice rising again.
Then like what? he hisses, twisting backwards
out of that steel grip. Like this? he sneers,
yanking at the dark material of his own costume now. Cape, cowl,
and gloves are thrown to the ground, and when his chest is
finally bared, the cool air of the cave is so soothing
across his over-heated skin.
He reaches for his belt next, needing more. Needing so much more.
What about
that actress youre with? Miss
Madison? Superman sputters.
Julie? he huffs. He cares about Julie, yes, but
mostly Bruce Wayne had merely needed to appear as if he was
settling down, giving up his womanizing ways to provide a stable
environment for a young ward. It was the best way to prevent any
unwarranted speculation over Dick Graysons presence in his
home.
Thank God Dick isnt here now. Batman had ordered Robin to
make sure Ivy and her incompetent henchmen were successfully
transported to Arkham after being booked at the police station, a
process that would hopefully take the whole night, and cover the
time it would take for the aftereffects of Ivys love
dust to wear off.
More like lust dust.
The first time shed hit him with it, the compound had been
subtle, its effects easy to shake off. All it had taken was a
simple application of logic. Hed been having dinner with
Julie at the Manor, unaware hed been affected at the time,
and when hed kissed her hed called her Ivy instead.
Julie had been understandably upset, but it had finally alerted
him that something was amiss. Loathe as he was to admit it to
himself, he usually thought about someone else when he
was kissing Julie just not Poison Ivy. Her name was
not the one usually running through his head, a constant
undercurrent, always there. And that realization alone had
helped him maintain his self-control enough to ignore the effects
of Ivys pollen.
Yes. Julie, Superman replies, tracking the progress
of Bruces fingers on his belt buckle with wary eyes.
Perhaps I should call her.
No! he snarls, throwing his belt to the floor.
As if she could give him what he really needs.
I dont understand. I thought you had an
antidote, Superman says, bewildered.
Already administered it, he grinds out, kicking off
his heavy boots.
The second time Ivy had dusted him, shed increased the
potency of her pollen. So much so, that Bruce could no longer
rely on his mind alone to hold the pollens effects at bay.
He was driven into such a frenzy of lust and desire that focusing
his mind on the delicate process of synthesizing an antidote was
an impossibility. So hed had to resort to more brute
methods to get through the pollens effects. Hed armed
himself with the basic tools hed required, time-locked one
of the caves high-security storage vaults so he
couldnt get out and do something stupid, and then hed
constructed a
machine.
It was a very basic device, easy to piece together, even in his
heated state. A strong steel pole attached to a pistoning engine,
mounted with fleshy silicone. A fucking machine.
And though he was loathe to admit certain things to himself
before, that time he used the knowledge. Grasped onto it
like a lifeline as he knelt to all fours and let the machine
drive it into him, pounding the false desire out of his system
until he was so weak and sated, he passed out.
When he woke and was himself again he finally managed to create
an antidote, but the damage was already done. Even though Ivy had
increased the potency of her pollen a third time, Bruce no longer
has any desire to run into her arms. His thoughts now
immediately turn to the man in front of him.
Takes some time for the anti-venom to work, he gasps
out, palming desperately at the bulge in his pants. I need
you now, he begs, beyond caring.
Bruce. Oh Bruce, Superman whispers, shaking
his head.
Batman snarls in rage, stomping towards his computer to punch in
the command that will unlock the vault he needs. Get
out, he seethes, heading deeper into the cave without a
backward glance.
The machine is still there of course. Just in case. And if
hed used it once or twice after that first time, well, no
one had to know. Theres a reason he picked the vault lined
with lead.
Bruce strips the rest of his costume off as he goes, so hes
already naked by the time he gets there, the cooler air in the
depths of the cave so, so good on his burning flesh. He
doesnt even stop as he hits the button to close the vault
door behind him, striding towards the shelf with the lube and
squirting it all over the flesh-colored dildo, shoving a few
slick fingers inside himself at the same time. Within moments
hes climbing onto the cot in front of the machine, sinking
back onto it with an agonized groan of relief.
Bruce? Superman calls from the still-closing vault
door, voice full of concern.
Batman cant even find the wherewithal to curse his own
carelessness. He was too quick. And the door was too slow. And he
shouldve known Superman wouldnt leave when he
told him to. So of course Superman had come rushing to see what
was wrong when hed heard the groan.
Bruce? Superman gasps, his voice
strangled in his throat with shock.
And then the vault door finally slams shut, the electronic locks
clanging into place, sealing them inside together.
At least until the pre-programmed time-release lets them out
again, anyway. And hes sure Superman could pry the vault
open with his super-strength or cut it open with his
heat-vision
but he doesnt. No, Superman just stands
there, mouth hanging open, watching him.
It should make Batman furious, but hes too far gone now,
lost in the throes of sensation as the machine fills him and
fucks him, promising sweet relief. And he feels Supermans
gaze like it might actually be heat-vision, burning across
his skin as he frantically grips himself, pumping his needy flesh
with all the loose coordination he can muster.
Its so good. And all he can do is take it as
the dildo splits him open, relentless and so deep. The
force of it steals his breath away, his cries of pleasure ripped
from his throat and reduced to trembling whimpers, pathetic mewls
of overwrought need. He presses his face into the
mattress, attempting to stifle the embarrassing noises, but he
cannot for the life of him stop making them. Its
just so damn good. And all he can do is take and take and take
it.
He comes twice before he can pull himself together enough to
speak again, his refractory time near non-existent. He isnt
sure if thats because of Ivys enhancements to the
pollen or because of Supermans continued presence, though.
Or both. But when he looks up again, theres that sad look
marring the other mans face again, only more intense. More
than just pity, more like
disgust.
I told you to get out, he finally manages to growl,
hips automatically beginning to thrust back on the machine as he
hardens again.
Bruce, Superman says, voice nearly choking on the
words. Youll hurt yourself, he says, crossing
towards the bed and picking up the discarded bottle of lube.
Bruce moans as some of the cool liquid lands on his feverish
skin, pounding his fist uselessly against the cot.
Supermans probably right, damn him. Theres only
really one setting on the machine hard as nails. But the
man pours so much lube onto the rubber extension that Bruce can
hear it squelching inside him with every thrust, slick and wet
and sloppy.
He hears another choked sound, another moan, but hes so far
from in control of his bodys responses he knows those
sounds must be coming from his own mouth. Perhaps in an attempt
to shut him up, a bottle of water appears in front of his face,
freshly opened from the box he usually keeps stocked under the
cot.
Bruce instantly attaches his lips to it, drinking it down
greedily, though it doesnt do much to stop his groans of
relief. He hadnt realized how thirsty he was until now,
sweating out all his bodys liquids as the pollen burns
through him, mouth dry from panting and gasping in pleasure.
But now that Supermans standing right in front of him,
Bruce can see how aroused the other man is, straining against the
red material of his costume. And the sight of it has Bruce
licking lasciviously at the end of the bottle, even long after
the waters all gone, needy little sounds escaping his
throat as he suckles the tip in mimicry of what he desperately
wants to do to that cock.
Im still thirsty, he rasps, finally pulling his
lips of the bottle.
Let me get you some more water, Superman says, voice
thick with his arousal.
Thats not what I meant, Bruce replies, licking
his lips again in obvious invitation.
Superman abruptly chokes, sputtering as the implication clicks.
Come on, Superman. I know you like what you
see, Bruce husks, arching his back like Catwoman in heat.
Bruce, no, Superman exhales, pained. He must
be, the way his erection visibly throbs at Bruces
words
Something tells me youre lying, Bruce replies,
looking pointedly at Supermans crotch. Something
tells me you want this as much as I do.
Youre just saying that because of the pollen,
Superman replies softly, looking away. Bruce growls, punching his
fist against the mattress in frustration.
Maybe so, he concedes. Or maybe Ive
thought about it before. Maybe I come in here, and its all
I can think about you, holding me down and pounding into
me, steady and deep like
like a machine, Bruce huffs
sardonically. But you would be better, so much
better the feeling of your heat, deep in the heat of
me
Superman makes a small, agonized sound, and Bruce smirks
triumphantly.
Ive even imagined you watching me, just like this,
getting fucked from behind as you fuck my mouth. God, I
want to feel your heat with my lips, taste you
So
many things Ive imagined, so many different ways of having
you. And then I come over and over again, on this
machine.
Bruce huffs again. I call it the Man of Steel, you
know.
Bruce, Superman chokes out. Are you trying to
punish me?
No. Yes. Why wont you fuck me? Bruce
replies, but the words come out sounding more plaintive than
angry. He curses, beating his fist against the mattress again.
You just get off on watching me suffer, is that it?
Never, Superman hisses vehemently.
Then why are you here, tempting me with everything I
want? Tormenting me! Again, too plaintive.
Superman heaves a deep sigh, that look on his face again.
Bruce grits his teeth and forces himself to look away, tightening
his grip on his cock until the slight edge of pain forces him to
focus.
Unfortunately, thats when the other man finds the fresh
towels Bruce keeps stocked in the vault as well. And by then
Bruce is so focused on feeling that his whole body
shudders at the first touch of soft terry-cloth against his skin.
Superman falters at that, hand momentarily freezing before
hesitantly resuming his strokes, wiping the sweat off of
Bruces body. Hes drenched in it. And he
hadnt really noticed until the other man had started
toweling him off. But now that hes realized it, he starts
to notice other things as well, like the thin layer of ice
covering the ceiling and shelves lining the walls. Bruce always
keeps the air filtration system running a little cold in the
vault, but Superman mustve been keeping the air even cooler
with his ice-breath, all this time.
And yet, Bruce still burns. And now Supermans
efforts seem to be doing more damage than good, as every swipe of
the towel on his body seems to inflame him even more, every soft
touch slow and sinuous against his skin and driving him to
delirium. Its overwhelming, and yet its still not
enough. Its never enough. Bruce groans helplessly,
his eyes rolling as he tries to thrust back harder onto the
dildo.
Bruce, youll hurt yourself, Superman says
softly, but Bruce is far past caring anymore, desperate for
release.
Discarding the towel, Superman kneels on the ground in front of
him, and wraps his arms around Bruces body, holding him
still in a steel-strong embrace.
Its finally enough. The touch undoes him, the feel of
Supermans body pressed against his own, forcing him to just
take the cock thrusting into him, makes Bruce come so hard,
he passes out.
~
When Bruce wakes again, he finds himself in his bedroom up in the
Manor, clothed in his silk pajama pants and smelling clean in a
way that tells him someone mustve bathed him before
dressing him and putting him to bed. Bruce knows Alfred is a
miracle worker, but when he rolls over he sees the more likely
culprit, sitting at his bedside.
What are you still doing here, he rasps, rolling back
over.
I wanted to make sure youre okay, Superman
replies softly.
Im fine, Bruce grounds out, willing the man to
just leave.
He doesnt. Of course. Instead, Bruce hears a heavy sigh
behind him, the sound of a hand running through thick wind-swept
hair, and Bruce knows the other man is gearing up to say
something. Something Bruce probably definitely
doesnt want to hear.
Bruce
Superman starts. Theres no escaping
it. A quick check tells Bruce his legs wont carry him very
far. His bodys exhausted. Gritting his teeth, he resigns
himself to bearing the humiliation.
Get on with it, he growls.
I know you wont admit it, but youre probably
feeling a little embarrassed right now, Superman continues.
If it hadnt been for Ivys pollen, you probably
wouldve never told me any of those things you said last
night.
Damn straight.
So let me just
even the playing field, so to
speak. Superman pauses, taking a deep breath. I
dont want to have sex with you.
Clearly.
I want to
I want to make love to you.
What.
Bruces brain stutters to a halt.
I want to
to touch every inch of your beautiful body.
To learn every scar on your skin and kiss each one with my lips.
I want to taste and explore and worship every part of you.
But more than that, I want to hold you in my arms as you sleep,
watch over you and chase away your nightmares. Then I want to
kiss you awake in the morning, and be allowed to make love to you
all over again. And again and again. Bruce. Do you
understand? I couldnt do what you asked of me last night,
no matter how much I wanted to God, how I wanted
to. But I want to be able to tell you how I feel when I make love
to you. I want to show you.
Bruce clenches his fists in his pillow, trying his damnedest to
keep his breathing even.
There hadnt been a single shred of the usual smugness in
the other mans voice. Nothing of the irritating arrogance
Bruce had become accustomed to the many times Superman had
bantered flirted with him. There was only
heartfelt sincerity, genuine remorse, and
And suddenly,
that look of pity Bruce thought he saw last night, that look of
intense disgust... suddenly Bruce sees it for what it really was
a sad longing, an intense yearning, the agony of restraint
in the face of a desire that made mockery of all the
feelings
Bruce didnt know the other man had. Refused to know.
So he just didnt see.
Okay, well, I guess were even now. Another
sigh. You probably need more rest, mumbled quietly,
quickly, followed by the sound of footsteps, walking towards the
door.
Clark, wait
Bruce says, turning towards the
other man.
His entire posture is defeated. Tired. As tired as Bruce
feels.
They could both use some rest.
And maybe then
Well. What Clark said.
Bruce slides himself over to the left side of the bed, and
reaches for covers to his right, turning them down in invitation.
~ fin
A/N: I tried to write some straight up-smut, and
ended up with something a little more angry/angsty. (Dammit,
Bruce). The initial idea was inspired by the old Batman &
Robin movie with Poison Ivy. And its highly possible my
brain then connected George Clooney with certain things from Burn
After Reading. But the antagonistic relationship with Superman is
inspired by the Lego Batman movie, where I became convinced that
the reason Batman gets so annoyed about Superman is because
Superman is totally flirting with him. And its so obvious,
that Robin teases Batman about it mercilessly, all the time, to
the point that all Robin has to do is drop Supermans name
and Batman gets all grouchy about it. (
See here!) Then finally one night in a sleepless
delirium I came up with
this prompt. Which was also filled beautifully
here. But as usual, my brain just
couldnt let go, and I'm trying to get all my random ideas
out of my system instead of letting them rot half-formed on my
computer :s