Completed fic: This Looks Like a Job For Superman!
*facepalm* So, I started this... a year and change ago. But somehow I left it languishing on my hard drive. I am so happy to have finished it up! My apologies to fictionalknight for the long delay!
Title: This Looks Like a Job For Superman!
Rating: Oh, let's say R to be safe. Probably more like a hard PG-13.
Summary: Written for the S/B Kink Meme. Since I am that guy, I pulled in two prompts. "Author's choice - green K, red K, pink K or even that weird opaly one that makes Clark high. " and "Bruce finds Clark dressed in one of Batman's suits. Bonus points if Bruce ends up (or starts off) wearing Superman's suit." I, er, got a little out of hand...
Chapter 1.
It’s hard to track down where he’d gone wrong this time. He didn’t think he’d given much ground and wham! Bruce’s logic was, as usual, impeccable. Even if Clark knew in his bones that Bruce wasn’t right, well, heck if he could articulate why. And then, of course, there’s the stupid file. Really? A boldface list of all the times red-k made Superman a danger to his friends? On the cover, for crying out loud.
It’s Bruce. Of course he fights dirty. And of course he’s the one to end up in the line of fire. Never mind that half the team can fly; none of them look the least bit like Clark, and isn’t that the point? Well, maybe Diana… But he would never ask her to bind her hair and breasts, the better to blend in Man’s World. Not unless it was truly dire, certainly not over a single mysterious missile that hadn’t hurt anyone, himself included.
There we go. Keep it in perspective. This is a low-risk mission for anybody without a Kryptonite vulnerability. It’s a solid plan. Nobody’s handier with disguise than Bruce, and the results of his skill with putty and makeup were, frankly, creepy. Sure, with their coloring there had always been a passing resemblance, but… Clark can’t contain an uncomfortable wiggle. Looking at Bruce and seeing his own face was just… wrong. Really, really wrong.
Creep factor aside, Clark can’t quite believe that the disguise will hold. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Bruce to be prepared, but Diana’s jet isn’t exactly slow. Heck, she’s planning to fly fast enough to defeat even top-of-the-line camera lenses. How strong can adhesive for the face really be?
It’s going to be all right. Of course Bruce has planned for this; Oracle is set to plant a paper trail, complete with a jaw-dropping number of zeroes on a backdated check from Bruce Wayne to the Justice League. Worst case scenario, the world thinks the League will take playboys on joyrides in exchange for cash. True, it’s a staggering amount of money, which they will promptly donate. Bruce is right; it’s not like they’ve never held a fundraiser before. A jet ride and a chance to try on Superman’s duds isn’t much more questionable than Booster and Wally’s kissing booth. And that’s assuming that Bruce is seen in the first place. The worst-case scenario.
Except it really, really isn’t. All it would take is one curious criminal - or reporter, for that matter - to wonder whether Bruce Wayne’s ties to superheroes went just a little deeper. Not to mention the sheer danger involved in separating Bruce from his utility belt with a mystery villain on the loose. Sure, they’re gunning for Superman, but that red-K hadn’t exactly hit him with a gentle tap. The thought of Bruce struggling to face an attacker, hampered by the lasso tethering him to Diana’s jet, far from the ground or even a handy building to check his fall…
All right, Clark. Now you’re just being ridiculous. Bruce is in worse situations every day of the week, and this time Diana’s right there with him. It’s just… It’s awful, leaving his friends to fight his battles while he stays cooped up in the Fortress when there’s zero evidence that there’s anything wrong with him.
That’s not quite true. Bruce’s file is chock full of evidence that red-k is nothing to mess around with. Even if this feels different. The past effects haven’t exactly been subtle; somebody would have mentioned if he’d become his own evil twin this time around.
Maybe the latest round of tests will see something he can’t. The results ought to be ready by now… And sure enough, they’re the same as they were on the last test, and the test before that, and the one before that. Chemical composition and crystal structure scan as kryptonite, light spectrum red, with just enough variation from the records to imply that he can’t count on immunity from a prior exposure to this particular piece.
Bah. He was just going to have to wait it out. One more day and they’d be past the red-k’s usual effective period. One more day. At least Mr. Mystery Villain had been nice enough to launch his krypto-cannonball on a Friday afternoon.
Work. Right. Might as well make use of the time. But first… Bruce’s form blooms across the computer’s big projection screen. There’s no real reason to check the visuals, if he’s honest. He’s not really worried, but it helps to see that Bruce is in one piece. One pained piece - his teeth are gritted against the wind, and even Diana’s lasso has to chafe around his wrist. Rao, if he tied the knot too tight… No. No. He was very careful to be gentle. Even with Diana chuckling at him and Bruce making smart remarks.
Still, what if something went wrong? Surely they can’t expect him to just sit here and watch… Except that’s exactly what they expect. In fact, it’s the whole point of the plan - and since when did he have a mental Bruce voice? The man lectures him enough in person.
But… Clark’s a planner, at least when he has time, not that anyone ever gives him credit for it. What if they need backup? Sure, there’s a good chance whoever is behind this will be confused by two Supermans, but if the point is to ensure that he’s not hit with a triggering mechanism, it would be better if he didn’t draw any of that particular fire. Maybe he should… The bat-suit’s just lying there in a heap by his bed. And besides, fair’s fair.
Although now that he’s looking at it, this is seeming less and less like a good idea. It’s all stiff plates and sharp edges and is it beeping? Of course, Bruce would have some security on it. Even here.
What the heck. All the more reason to get started now. The suit’s so intricate that he won’t have time to figure it out if they truly need him, and isn’t that the point? And, if he’s honest, it’s a rare opportunity to really look at Bruce’s tech, woven all through the thing. It’s fairly reassuring, actually. There’s a lot of safety equipment in there, plenty of plating to blunt blows and redirect knives and gunfire.
It does feel a little… intrusive. Like Bruce is back in here, smiling that stupid half smile while he… Well. He has it coming, fishing in Clark’s underwear drawer like he was looking for something…
Best not to dwell.
He’s being stupid. They’re just pants. Well, bat-pants, but the principle remains. Oof. Really, really tight bat-pants. He doesn’t look much bulkier than Bruce, but whatever space-age material these things are made of doesn’t have much give. Unless they’re meant to be this tight. Still, he’d bet five dollars that Bruce doesn’t look half so silly, wriggling round on his bed trying to pull the darn things up.
There! Victory! Well, sort of. There had better not be any sitting down in this fight, is all he’s saying. Or vigorous running. In fact, maybe it would be best if he stuck to flying because these things were tight and the rub and… Maybe it was time for the chest piece. Or, wait. That would leave the cowl hanging out, flapping around, and as great as that mental image was, he sure wouldn’t be fooling anyone. Ok. Cowl, then chest, then boots, then gloves. See? A plan.
Maybe the red-k is getting to him after all. The cowl can’t be staring at him. It’s just rubber and wires, even if the hairs on the back of his neck are standing stock straight. He’s being stupid. There. It pulled on easily, at least.
Except he can’t see. Until… Ah. The back of the eyes flicker to life. Screens. Of course, he’d have known if he’d stop to think about it. Screens, and then OW! A truly blinding flash of light and somehow those stupid pants are squeezing even tighter. “Intruder detected. Initiating security. Intruder detected. Initiating…”
“I’m not an intruder!” Heaven only knows what it was about to do. Electroshocks, maybe, or knowing Bruce, something much worse and much more creative. “I’m not! It’s just, you see, backup….”
A hand on the back of his head and Clark nearly jumped out of his skin. Maybe, just maybe, that “yipe!” echoing through the crystal had come from him, and oh man, if he had to fight, here, like this, without sight or…
“Stand down.” Bruce’s voice is confident and just a little amused. Clark’s pretty sure he would have preferred mystery invaders. Fingers dance round the side of his head. Could that have been… No. Bruce is not what you’d call a caresser. Even if that’s sure what Clark thought he’d felt.
A clicking noise, and blunt fingers are sliding the cowl off his head. Bruce is smiling at him, a predatory sort of smile, and ok, it looks bad. “I thought…”
“Backup. I heard.”
“Backup,” Clark repeats, maybe just a tiny bit faintly. Oh god. There’s Diana, leaning in the doorway and studiously not laughing at him. He’s officially going to die of shame.
Bruce-in-Clark’s-clothing smiles that purring smile and half-turns his head. The two of them share some sort of mystery look and his smug grin sparks up on Diana’s face. “I was just going,” and there’s some kind of epidemic of purring, because that’s not her normal voice at all.
“Wait.” Diana’s already turned around, sauntering away, but she pauses. “The mission?” There. He doesn’t even sound choked. Pants notwithstanding.
“Caught him,” Bruce growls, and that’s more like the Bruce he knows, eyes flashing, muscles coiled taut.
“Your standard-variety mad scientist. We’ve already dropped him off at the Hague.” And there she goes. Leaving Bruce. In his room. With that weird half-smile.
“You’ll be needing some help with those,” he rumbles, and, oh geez, he’s put a hand on Clark’s waistband.
There’s got to be something normal he can say. “They do, um, pinch a little?”
“Don’t worry,” and Bruce’s purr has morphed right into a growl. “I take good care of what’s mine.”
OH. But there’s no time to think, no time to catalogue how this all happened when there’s hands sliding and the click-click-click of security mechanisms coming undone and he’s kissing Bruce, being kissed by Bruce, and it’s wonderful. Even if he does taste like putty.
Title: This Looks Like a Job For Superman!
Rating: Oh, let's say R to be safe. Probably more like a hard PG-13.
Summary: Written for the S/B Kink Meme. Since I am that guy, I pulled in two prompts. "Author's choice - green K, red K, pink K or even that weird opaly one that makes Clark high. " and "Bruce finds Clark dressed in one of Batman's suits. Bonus points if Bruce ends up (or starts off) wearing Superman's suit." I, er, got a little out of hand...
Chapter 1.
It’s hard to track down where he’d gone wrong this time. He didn’t think he’d given much ground and wham! Bruce’s logic was, as usual, impeccable. Even if Clark knew in his bones that Bruce wasn’t right, well, heck if he could articulate why. And then, of course, there’s the stupid file. Really? A boldface list of all the times red-k made Superman a danger to his friends? On the cover, for crying out loud.
It’s Bruce. Of course he fights dirty. And of course he’s the one to end up in the line of fire. Never mind that half the team can fly; none of them look the least bit like Clark, and isn’t that the point? Well, maybe Diana… But he would never ask her to bind her hair and breasts, the better to blend in Man’s World. Not unless it was truly dire, certainly not over a single mysterious missile that hadn’t hurt anyone, himself included.
There we go. Keep it in perspective. This is a low-risk mission for anybody without a Kryptonite vulnerability. It’s a solid plan. Nobody’s handier with disguise than Bruce, and the results of his skill with putty and makeup were, frankly, creepy. Sure, with their coloring there had always been a passing resemblance, but… Clark can’t contain an uncomfortable wiggle. Looking at Bruce and seeing his own face was just… wrong. Really, really wrong.
Creep factor aside, Clark can’t quite believe that the disguise will hold. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Bruce to be prepared, but Diana’s jet isn’t exactly slow. Heck, she’s planning to fly fast enough to defeat even top-of-the-line camera lenses. How strong can adhesive for the face really be?
It’s going to be all right. Of course Bruce has planned for this; Oracle is set to plant a paper trail, complete with a jaw-dropping number of zeroes on a backdated check from Bruce Wayne to the Justice League. Worst case scenario, the world thinks the League will take playboys on joyrides in exchange for cash. True, it’s a staggering amount of money, which they will promptly donate. Bruce is right; it’s not like they’ve never held a fundraiser before. A jet ride and a chance to try on Superman’s duds isn’t much more questionable than Booster and Wally’s kissing booth. And that’s assuming that Bruce is seen in the first place. The worst-case scenario.
Except it really, really isn’t. All it would take is one curious criminal - or reporter, for that matter - to wonder whether Bruce Wayne’s ties to superheroes went just a little deeper. Not to mention the sheer danger involved in separating Bruce from his utility belt with a mystery villain on the loose. Sure, they’re gunning for Superman, but that red-K hadn’t exactly hit him with a gentle tap. The thought of Bruce struggling to face an attacker, hampered by the lasso tethering him to Diana’s jet, far from the ground or even a handy building to check his fall…
All right, Clark. Now you’re just being ridiculous. Bruce is in worse situations every day of the week, and this time Diana’s right there with him. It’s just… It’s awful, leaving his friends to fight his battles while he stays cooped up in the Fortress when there’s zero evidence that there’s anything wrong with him.
That’s not quite true. Bruce’s file is chock full of evidence that red-k is nothing to mess around with. Even if this feels different. The past effects haven’t exactly been subtle; somebody would have mentioned if he’d become his own evil twin this time around.
Maybe the latest round of tests will see something he can’t. The results ought to be ready by now… And sure enough, they’re the same as they were on the last test, and the test before that, and the one before that. Chemical composition and crystal structure scan as kryptonite, light spectrum red, with just enough variation from the records to imply that he can’t count on immunity from a prior exposure to this particular piece.
Bah. He was just going to have to wait it out. One more day and they’d be past the red-k’s usual effective period. One more day. At least Mr. Mystery Villain had been nice enough to launch his krypto-cannonball on a Friday afternoon.
Work. Right. Might as well make use of the time. But first… Bruce’s form blooms across the computer’s big projection screen. There’s no real reason to check the visuals, if he’s honest. He’s not really worried, but it helps to see that Bruce is in one piece. One pained piece - his teeth are gritted against the wind, and even Diana’s lasso has to chafe around his wrist. Rao, if he tied the knot too tight… No. No. He was very careful to be gentle. Even with Diana chuckling at him and Bruce making smart remarks.
Still, what if something went wrong? Surely they can’t expect him to just sit here and watch… Except that’s exactly what they expect. In fact, it’s the whole point of the plan - and since when did he have a mental Bruce voice? The man lectures him enough in person.
But… Clark’s a planner, at least when he has time, not that anyone ever gives him credit for it. What if they need backup? Sure, there’s a good chance whoever is behind this will be confused by two Supermans, but if the point is to ensure that he’s not hit with a triggering mechanism, it would be better if he didn’t draw any of that particular fire. Maybe he should… The bat-suit’s just lying there in a heap by his bed. And besides, fair’s fair.
Although now that he’s looking at it, this is seeming less and less like a good idea. It’s all stiff plates and sharp edges and is it beeping? Of course, Bruce would have some security on it. Even here.
What the heck. All the more reason to get started now. The suit’s so intricate that he won’t have time to figure it out if they truly need him, and isn’t that the point? And, if he’s honest, it’s a rare opportunity to really look at Bruce’s tech, woven all through the thing. It’s fairly reassuring, actually. There’s a lot of safety equipment in there, plenty of plating to blunt blows and redirect knives and gunfire.
It does feel a little… intrusive. Like Bruce is back in here, smiling that stupid half smile while he… Well. He has it coming, fishing in Clark’s underwear drawer like he was looking for something…
Best not to dwell.
He’s being stupid. They’re just pants. Well, bat-pants, but the principle remains. Oof. Really, really tight bat-pants. He doesn’t look much bulkier than Bruce, but whatever space-age material these things are made of doesn’t have much give. Unless they’re meant to be this tight. Still, he’d bet five dollars that Bruce doesn’t look half so silly, wriggling round on his bed trying to pull the darn things up.
There! Victory! Well, sort of. There had better not be any sitting down in this fight, is all he’s saying. Or vigorous running. In fact, maybe it would be best if he stuck to flying because these things were tight and the rub and… Maybe it was time for the chest piece. Or, wait. That would leave the cowl hanging out, flapping around, and as great as that mental image was, he sure wouldn’t be fooling anyone. Ok. Cowl, then chest, then boots, then gloves. See? A plan.
Maybe the red-k is getting to him after all. The cowl can’t be staring at him. It’s just rubber and wires, even if the hairs on the back of his neck are standing stock straight. He’s being stupid. There. It pulled on easily, at least.
Except he can’t see. Until… Ah. The back of the eyes flicker to life. Screens. Of course, he’d have known if he’d stop to think about it. Screens, and then OW! A truly blinding flash of light and somehow those stupid pants are squeezing even tighter. “Intruder detected. Initiating security. Intruder detected. Initiating…”
“I’m not an intruder!” Heaven only knows what it was about to do. Electroshocks, maybe, or knowing Bruce, something much worse and much more creative. “I’m not! It’s just, you see, backup….”
A hand on the back of his head and Clark nearly jumped out of his skin. Maybe, just maybe, that “yipe!” echoing through the crystal had come from him, and oh man, if he had to fight, here, like this, without sight or…
“Stand down.” Bruce’s voice is confident and just a little amused. Clark’s pretty sure he would have preferred mystery invaders. Fingers dance round the side of his head. Could that have been… No. Bruce is not what you’d call a caresser. Even if that’s sure what Clark thought he’d felt.
A clicking noise, and blunt fingers are sliding the cowl off his head. Bruce is smiling at him, a predatory sort of smile, and ok, it looks bad. “I thought…”
“Backup. I heard.”
“Backup,” Clark repeats, maybe just a tiny bit faintly. Oh god. There’s Diana, leaning in the doorway and studiously not laughing at him. He’s officially going to die of shame.
Bruce-in-Clark’s-clothing smiles that purring smile and half-turns his head. The two of them share some sort of mystery look and his smug grin sparks up on Diana’s face. “I was just going,” and there’s some kind of epidemic of purring, because that’s not her normal voice at all.
“Wait.” Diana’s already turned around, sauntering away, but she pauses. “The mission?” There. He doesn’t even sound choked. Pants notwithstanding.
“Caught him,” Bruce growls, and that’s more like the Bruce he knows, eyes flashing, muscles coiled taut.
“Your standard-variety mad scientist. We’ve already dropped him off at the Hague.” And there she goes. Leaving Bruce. In his room. With that weird half-smile.
“You’ll be needing some help with those,” he rumbles, and, oh geez, he’s put a hand on Clark’s waistband.
There’s got to be something normal he can say. “They do, um, pinch a little?”
“Don’t worry,” and Bruce’s purr has morphed right into a growl. “I take good care of what’s mine.”
OH. But there’s no time to think, no time to catalogue how this all happened when there’s hands sliding and the click-click-click of security mechanisms coming undone and he’s kissing Bruce, being kissed by Bruce, and it’s wonderful. Even if he does taste like putty.