The Scout and the Playboy by Clark Wayne
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The Scout and the Playboy- Part 1
"You're incorrigible!"
"Why? Because I chose to do it my way instead of the "Boy Scout" way?"
"Yes! There was no need to do what you did!"
"Oh god. Don't get your tights in a bunch, Clark."
"DO NOT make light of this. You threw a man off a roof, Bruce."
"Because I knew you would catch him," Bruce stated nonchalantly.
"That's not the point! You can't swing around the city throwing people off rooftops."
Bruce poked his gloved finger into Clark's chest. "Do not think that YOU can start telling me what I can and cannot do. My methods work. Your advice is noted but not needed.
Clark grew silent, boring holes with his eyes into Bruce's. Both staring each other down, neither one refusing to blink. Jaws clinched, fists tight. Once again, another stand-off between the two men on crime fighting methodology. Sadly, for Clark, he knows who will blink first.
Clark took one step towards Bruce. He did what he always did when it came to Bruce and his temper. Diffuse the situation. He spoke in a calm collected tone, "There are other ways to get confessions from criminals."
Bruce peeled off his cowl and threw it on the desk. "He confessed," Bruce growled with his teeth clenched. Obviously, holding back.
"Because you almost killed him," said Clark quietly.
Bruce's temper was legendary. Flare-ups can last for minutes or they can last for days like a time-bomb waiting to go off. He knew teaming with Bruce could be a disaster.
"HE. CONFESSED!" Bruce yelled. His voice echoing off the stone walls. His face red and his body visibly trebling. He despised being told how to do his job. Especially, from the big blue boy scout. He would not repeat himself again and Clark knew that.
Once again, a mighty stare down. Clark, not knowing how to proceed. Bruce silently waiting for Clark to challenge him again.
Clark threw up his hands in frustration. He tried to be the rational, calm and quiet one but Bruce brought out the worst in him sometimes. Clark just wanted Bruce to see the potential negative consequences of his actions. It was so easy for Bruce to shrug him off and that pissed Clark off.
"You're so infuriating!"
Clark's boots ascended from the shiny, black concrete floor, he crossed his arms over the emblem on his mighty chest, turned his back and floated away from Bruce.
Bruce watched the red cape slowly sway, lightly picking up air as Clark drifted away. He rolled his eyes and shook his head in frustration. He turned and walked over to the wall-sized computer screen embedded in the rock wall, deciding to deal with Clark the way he usually did when Clark was being a pussy: Ignore him. But this time was different. Something needed to be said. He needed the last word.
"Don't pout. I hate it when you pout," he stated in a quiet tone, typing on a keyboard while looking at the monitor.
Clark remained with his back to Bruce. He had floated across the room and was staring at a muted internet news feed but he wasn't watching it. He just couldn't look at Bruce right now.
"I am NOT pouting," Clark whispered. "YOU'RE the pouter." Clark said childishly quietly enough that Bruce could barely hear it.
"You. Pout." Bruce corrected him letting him know that he could hear him. He pulled a hologram of the city up from an adjacent glass-top table, his Holo-Table. He didn't know why he did it. It's not like he was studying it. He just didn't want to look at Clark right now. He never gave in before and he won't start now.
"I do not pout," Clark reiterated louder this time, obviously, well, pouting.
What amused Bruce about Clark was the way his deep masculine voice sounded like a small child's when he pouted and got his feeling hurt.
Bruce released a heavy sigh.
"You float when you pout," Bruce stating matter-of-factly, like his pouting was a usual occurrence. It was.
Clark was sensitive and emotional. It was his way. Bruce often found it disconcerting coming from a man with such an awe-inspiring presence. He felt he had to constantly coddle him and reassure him. Clark was more vulnerable than one would think an invulnerable man should be. Bruce wasn't one for feelings. He hated nothing more than talking about emotions. Feelings were for pussies and Clark could sometimes be a pussy.
"What? I do not?" Clark said as he slowly rotated facing Bruce.
Bruce leaned forward on to the table, head down, thinking "Here we go again." Clark was so high-maintenance. He was worse than a fucking woman.
He took a deep exasperated breath. "Yep, here we go," he whispered to himself.
Bruce stood up straight, head back, eyes looking to the ceiling. Frustrated.
"You pout-float. Whenever you get all butt-hurt about something I did or said, you cross your arms like a child and float away from me."
Clark, confused, stared at the back of Bruce's cape. He looked down and sure enough, his arms were folded and he was floating. He hadn't ever noticed he was doing it. He thought to himself, "Do I pout-float? Pout-float? He even had a stupid name for it? How long have I been doing this?"
"Pout Float? You have a name for it?"
"Yep," Bruce replied as if he was barely listening.
"And Butt-hurt? Is that what all the kids are saying these days? Dick teach you that?"
Bruce was silent. He didn't like to talk about him. Why did Clark bring him up? Never mind. He's just trying to get to me.
Clark unfolded his arms and floated down to the floor a few feet behind Bruce.
"It's just...you drive me crazy sometimes, Bruce. Sometimes I think you do it intentionally to set me off."
"I do not," guffawed Bruce. Yes, he did.
More silence.
"You're dangerous and unpredictable in the field." Clark changed the subject.
Bruce smiled to himself. Clark was right. He was dangerous and unpredictable but that's how he did his job. Take it or leave it. It was the only way he knew how to work effectively. Dressing up like a 6-foot, 3-inch flying rodent and roof-hopping all night took a special kind of damaged personality. Someone who wanted to be feared, who liked turning grown men into slobbering babies with one flash of his cape, who showed no mercy just short of killing.
Bruce stood up and spun around. He leaned back against the table facing Clark. Both legs extended out in front him, ankle crossed over the other. He folded his arms over the oval emblem on his chest. Clark was sure he was flexing. He was.
"That's why you love me," Bruce looked him straight in the eyes, not joking. His posture cocky. He was putting his muscular body on display. Then a cocky grin, corner of his lip up in a sneer.
Clark dropped his jaw in disbelief of what he just heard.
"That is NOT why I love you!"
"Sure, it is. You like bad boys. I'm a bad boy." Bruce shrugged like it was a matter-of-fact, which pissed Clark off even more. He did enjoy seeing the man of steel get upset so easily. He was the only one who could make it happen. It was a guilty pleasure. Clark was such a contradiction.
Clark stiffened. "How can you say that? I don't love you because you're a bad...that's stupid! Your just being stupid." Clark paced back and forth and then stopped. "Maybe I just like emotionally damaged man-boys who skulk around dressed like a flying rat?"
"That's the text book definition for a bad boy, Scout." Scout. Short for Boy Scout. His nickname for Clark. He usually used it as a term of endearment but depending on the way he said it, he could use it condescendingly. Like now. He quickly, passive-aggressively faked a smile, showing his bright white teeth and just as quickly, wiped the smile away.
Clark studied the heroic, athletically built man. Bruce was cocky, which, truthfully, he did find hot. Rich, cocky playboy. Cliché but that's what he was. Even if the playboy persona was just a cover for the public, Bruce still has fun doing it. Clark could tell. Watching him on the news at some society event, seeing him in the newspaper donating a million dollars to some charity. Bruce liked it. It gave him a chance to relax and drop the brooding, sulking recluse he really was. Ok, Bruce was definitely flexing, trying to show him how irresistible he was and why he thought Clark was attracted to him. Bruce knew it always worked.
Maybe, at first, Clark was sexually attracted to him solely because of his body. He had to admit that he did x-ray the man on their first meeting to see what the man looked like under that skintight suit. Who wouldn't be attracted to him? He looked amazing. How anyone can make a gray spandex suit with pointy ears look sexy was beyond Clark. The suit left nothing to the imagination. Every muscle was covered with a tight, shiny, gray material akin to thick spandex. It was tight but, yet had an indestructible feel to it. His shoulders looked like cannon balls, his biceps like softballs bunched and his forearms flexed. His small, flat waist with carved abs showing through the thin uniform material. The mound that bulged out under his belt was big but not obscene. His legs extending out in front of him, were flexed. His quads were lean and ripped, each striation seen through the tight material.
But then he became attracted to the man's secret vulnerable side. He felt things deeply though he would never admit it. Clark was drawn to those things meshed with the uber-masculine, self-discipline Bruce had when it came to his dedication to his job and his body. He had no abilities but he held his own. Clark respected the man. And he knew Bruce respected him. It wasn't until one day that Clark listened to Bruce's heat rate that he realized it beat faster whenever Clark entered the room. Bruce started to care for Clark, showing him with simple gestures that maybe, just maybe, there might be something there.
Clark sneered and put his hands on his hips in frustration.
Bruce stood upright. "Hands on the hips? Authoritative stance? You're trying to show dominance. Trying to convince me that this, whatever this thing we're doing, doesn't bother you. Can't fool me, Scout. I know it does." Bruce read his posture because he knew Clark hated that.
"Wow, I was unaware you had a degree in psychology. Thought you were just a spoiled playboy," Clark said sarcastically.
"Not a degree. I'm just good. It's why I'm the best detective there is. Being able to read people is detrimental to what I do."
Clark stepped closer.
"I'm eager to see what other faults you think I have," sarcasm dripping from Clark's lips.
Bruce stood up, toe to toe with the taller mountain of muscle.
"Oh, baby. There is a whooole list," Bruce said in a challenging, condescending voice without feeling or emotion.
Clark stood still for a few more seconds, again shocked at what he just heard. His jaw dropped and his eyes wide. The arrogance and condescension of Bruce's words cut him. He stared into Bruce's eyes again, searching for some bit of remorse for what he just said. Clark's eyes started to water. He didn't want Bruce to see him cry. He didn't have to take this. He slowly tilted his head back, gazed toward the cavern ceiling and up he rose. But not so fast that Bruce couldn't reach up and grab his ankle and pull. Clark stopped.
"Where are you going?"
"Fortress," Clark responded as he jerked his leg, releasing Bruce's hand from his boot.
"Oh, no you don't! You don't get to fly off with your cape between your legs this time. Get back down here and talk to me like a MAN, you pussy!"
"Why should I?" Clark was seething. His eyes wet with tears reflecting like glass in the light. "You're acting like a child."
"Me? Goddamn it. I hate it when you cry. Most powerful man on the planet and you cry at the drop of a hat. You take things too personal,"Bruce said. "I've heard Luthor say horrible things to your face and you don't even flinch."
Bruce had always looked up to Clark, but he would never let Clark know that. Well, until recently. There was no way he was letting the ridiculously handsome, insanely built pretty boy, know what he really thought of him but now, he was sure Clark knew. He was secretly jealous that such a powerful man could be so formidable yet so compassionate and sensitive and not be afraid to show it. He didn't want to let himself be intimated just by being the presence of the impressive man. The superior genetic make-up of his physique, the way it presented in the skin-tight uniform of his alien race. The wave of his jet-black hair, the way an unruly lock of it would curl down his forehead. His piercing aqua-blue eyes that seemed iridescent in certain light. The surprising gentleness of his impressive powerful musculature. He could crush rock with his bare hands but you would never know when he held you in his arms.
Of course, he was attracted to Clark at first sight. How could you not. He's a fucking alien from a doomed planet who looked like a god. He could fucking fly for god sake. He could level entire cities if he wanted to but he could tell the thought would never enter Clark's mind. The self-discipline of a being so powerful but able to not use his abilities for his own benefit was extremely alluring to Bruce.
Then there was the physical presence of Clark. His muscles carved like granite and covered in tighter-than-tight blue spandex type fabric. Sometimes he thought it wasn't spandex at all but maybe just paint. The material of his uniform was alien as well so it had different properties. I don't think there is a fabric on the planet that could accentuate muscle like this did.
Soon he couldn't help but to like Clark more and more. He wanted to be close to him. He performed little gestures that showed he cared like dedicating a room in the cave just for Clark and a bedroom in the mansion. He added another station at the computer and added a direct communication line to the Fortress and to Clark's city apartment. He became obsessed with Clark, possessive and wanted all of Clark's time. His heart would pound in his chest. Then he noticed Clark's posture was different when he was around. More nervous, fidgety. He stuttered sometimes when they spoke and he seemed to never want to leave the cave, coming up with excuses to hang around. That's when their relationship changed.
"Clark, you do this all the time. We start to argue and you take off and hide in your fucking ice house until you think it's clear to come out. I can't take it!"
"It's made of crystal!"
"Clark! Focus!"
"You can't control me like you can anyone else and that pisses you off," Clark said with hoarse emotion in his deep voice but no longer a pouting tone.
He continued in a non-aggressive manner. "Diana was right. You can be selfish, cruel and you're incapable of having an intimate relationship. You're too possessive of me. It's almost unhealthy. I patrol one night with Barry and you get bent."
Clark was now almost pleading with Bruce to understand. "You freeze me out when things get tough. You take an innocent disagreement and turn it into an all-out war. I'd rather be somewhere else than to endure your silence. I can't take the silence." Clark contemplated for a second and then smiled with a small chuckle. "Come to think of it, I guess you do have more control over me than I thought. You like it when I leave because then you don't have to deal with real emotions and intimacy. Don't you?" Clark asked sincerely.
"No!" Bruce busted out. "I don't have the luxury of just flying away when I get upset. Where the hell am I going to go?! It's not like I can follow you!"
The words were falling out of his head and he couldn't stop them. He was angry and remorseful at the same time. The thought of Clark thinking he didn't want him around was...heartbreaking?
He stopped and took a deep breath before he continued but with a somber tone in his voice. "Clark, I get to stay here and worry where you are, wonder how long you'll be gone. I do feel emotion! You've seen that I do. I just don't like to show it all the time. I may be too possessive but I feel like shit because I'm the one who chased you away."
Clark levitated above Bruce. He looked down, listening to his words. Words that Bruce found hard to say. Clark knows it's hard for him to do. He assumed leaving made Bruce happy, gave him a chance to cool off. He had no idea Bruce worried about him.
"Oh, Bruce." Clark whispered. He gently lowered himself to the floor in front of Bruce. "I didn't know you felt that way."
"Of course, you don't. When things get tough, I may not talk but you run, Clark. You run and leave me without taking my needs into consideration." Bruce couldn't look Clark in the eye. He was letting down a wall. A wall that he thought he would never tear down.
"Bruce, I'm so sorry. But you...you never communicate. I can't read you at all. I never know if you're mad or just brooding over something. Then all a sudden you want to get close and it's always on your terms. You're like riding a roller coaster. It's up and down. You're quiet one minute and open with me the next. Unaffectionate one minute and then hyper sexual the next. I'm sorry. I knew you were going to be difficult to understand when we started working together. I'm sorry, Bruce. Now I know."
They stood there, silent, both wanting the other to make the next move. Usually it was Clark. But not this time.
Bruce raised his head and peered into Clark's blue eyes. "Stay? Please."
Bruce lifted his hand and wiped a tear from Clarks cheek. He caressed his face down to his wide jaw and ran his thumb over Clark's bottom lip. He leaned forward and kissed Clark softly on the lips. Then he gently lifted Clark's chin with two fingers and kissed him again. This time they kissed passionately, softly probing with their tongues. Their hands began to roam over one another. Rough hands sliding over the muscular slick fabric of each other's uniform. Clark's hands slipping down to cup Bruce's ample, muscular ass cheeks and squeezing, enjoying how firm and rock hard they were and how plump this man's ass was. His favorite part of Bruce.
"Clark, I love you so much. I know I don't say it but I do. I'm hard to be around sometimes. That's just how I am."
Clark kissed him then pulled his own head back with a suspicious look. "Are you trying to distract me from being mad at you?"
Bruce grinned. "Are you mad?"
Clark continued to gaze into Bruce's eyes. He rolled his eyes slightly. "No."
"Then it worked." Bruce winked.
Clark gave him a light punch to the chest. Bruce was the best at charming Clark into whatever he wanted. They had such opposite personalities that they clashed often but always made up, eventually.
"Owe! Dude, Man of Steel? Remember?" Bruce rubbed the spot.
"Oh, sorry!"
"I'm just messing with you, Scout." Bruce laughed.
"Jerk." Clark smiled.
They embraced once more. Bruce ran his hands up under Clark's cape and slid them over the muscles in Clark's back. It was so massive and mountainous, hard like granite. Clark's neck was so thick and corded with muscle. Bruce's favorite thing was to wrap his arms around it and hold on tight.
"It means a lot to me to hear you say you love me." Clark whispered.
Clark turned Bruce around and slowly detached his cape from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. He kissed Bruce on the neck. He circled his arms around Bruce's chest and squeezed softly.
Bruce leaned his head back on Clark's shoulder and quietly moaned. He reached down behind and found Clark hard as a rock. He rubbed the huge erection while he kissed him. This time Clark sighed.
Clark leaned close to Bruce's ear and growled fuck-talk that Bruce loved. It only took one phrase. "Fuck-boy."
Bruce closed his eyes and sighed. This is the Clark that he loves the most. Dirty Clark.
Clark grabbed a handful of Bruce's muscular ass and grinded his uniform covered cock up and down the cleft between his glutes.
"Destroy me," Bruce growled back.
Clark squeezed Bruce tighter and thrust his crotch into Bruce's meaty ass in a simulated fuck motion. This the Bruce he loves most. Slutty Bruce.
"Mmm...my Fuck-boy. He loves me inside him. He needs me inside."
Bruce's asshole tingled, clenching. Clark could be annoying, needy and downright female with his emotions but when he was sexual, he was a fucking beast. He turned into an alpha, his eyes went dark, his muscles seem to inflate and he becomes much more aggressive and forceful. It must be what happens when his people entered a sexual state. He went into a different zone and when in that zone, he couldn't be awakened until he had emptied his balls and mated with Bruce's tight hole.
He loved this Clark. The contradiction between Clark's public persona and his sexual persona was incredible. Charming, calm, compassionate, sweet and charismatic becomes an animalistic, aggressive, rough, no mercy fuck machine. Watching him snap out of his sex trances after he came was like watching Mr. Hyde turn back into Dr. Jekyll.
Clark detached his own cape and threw it on the table. He turned Bruce around again and pulled him tight against his body. He ran his hands through Bruce's thick wavy hair that was still a little sweaty after taking off his cowl.
Bruce could see that Clark has gone to "the other place." His eyes were glazed over and his body had already started to pump. "The other place" was what Bruce called it when Clark became someone else, almost. Clark knew what he was doing and who he was doing but it was more a sexual mating instinct. When Clark was in the mood for just romantic love-making, "the other place" was out of reach and he was with the Clark he saw every day. But Dirty Clark was the fucking best. He could almost take Dirty Clark every day of the week.
"Clark?" Bruce asked, checking to see if there was any "regular" Clark left.
Clark attacked Bruce's mouth and held him tight. Bruce reached down and grabbed Clark's engorged cock. Most guys exaggerate the size of their cocks but Clark's was an honest to god twelve inches and thick. Veiny and thick. How it fit into his uniform was beyond him. He fisted Clark's cock, stroking it with his whole hand through the slick material.
Clark threw his head back and moaned loudly. "Ohhhhhhh!"
"Yeah, baby. There ya go. Got you rock hard, baby." Bruce hissed then kissed Clark roughly.
Once again, Clark grabbed hold of Bruce's ass. Bruce could feel Clark's body heat up and with a sudden jolt they flew up into the air, hovering still. Bruce's boots dangling in the air as the alpha male stroked his body and devoured his mouth.
Suddenly, Clark, holding on to Bruce by his shoulders, held him out and away. Bruce dangling in mid-air, looking into Clark's glazed eyes.
"Clark? Babe?" Bruce asked, suddenly questioning what was happening. He'd never seen Clark so much in the zone. Clark looked back at him like there was no recognition of Bruce.
"Scout? You ok, bud? You're going to drop me, Scout," Bruce said as he grabbed hold of Clark's forearms.
Clark's face turned red, a vein pulsing in his forehead and another sticking out on his neck. His mouth curling into a sneer.
"Ohhh Shit," Bruce said slowly.
"Fuck. You," was all Clark said.
"Yeah, ok, big guy. How about you put me down first. Then you can fuck me however you want to."
"Fuck. You," Clark said in a zombie trance.
Then suddenly, Clark spun Bruce around in mid-air. He pressed his chest against Bruce's back and thrust and grinded his pelvis against Bruce's ass aggressively.
Bruce was grunting and writhing. Out of breath. Trying to perceive the way he was being manhandled.
In the blink of an eye, he was bent over the console of his computer looking at his reflection of the huge monitor in front of him. In the reflection, over his shoulder, he saw the possessed man behind him, he tensed up in anticipation for what was coming next.
Bruce tried to push himself up but Clark reached over, grabbed his wrists and slammed Bruce's hands on to the console in front of him. Bruce felt Clark grasp the material on his ass and then heard the rip that exposed his bare ass to his man.
"Aw, Scout! Come one! Use the zipper..." But Bruce's plea fell on deaf ears.
"Scout..." was all that Bruce could say before he felt Clark's cock pushing through the confines of his tight hole. Then he was speechless. Literally. All he could do was grunt and grabbed on tight to whatever he could find to grab onto on the console. His eyes bulged and his mouth fell wide open in a silent scream. His body tensed, every muscle tightened and his body went rigid. Usually there was some sort of lube prep when Clark fucked him but the only lube used tonight was the sticky pre-cum leaking from the engorged cock.
Clark pushed his cock all the way in to the root to which Bruce could only take quick staccato breaths. In and out, trying to calm the initial pain. He knew it would subside. The fact that it hurt was not important. The fact the he knew Clark was taking him and there was nothing he could physically do about it turned him on like nothing else. Clark was the only one who could take him to a place he'd never been with anyone else. Not even Dick. He had no control here. He had to let the larger man do what he wanted to him. He relished in the fact that soon he would have superior DNA swimming in his gut. Clark was powerful. He could have anyone but he chose Bruce. It was times like these when he felt he was truly in the presence of a god.
Clark had a firm hold on Bruce's hips as he pulled his cock all the way out. Bruce sighed a bit of relief but it was short-lived as Clark rammed his cock back in to the hilt. Bruce, once again, let out a silent scream. Twice more, Clark slid out and then rammed back in. Bruce was in ecstasy just having the knowledge he was being treated like a cunt.
Then started the slow push and pull of Clark's cock inside Bruce's tight hole. The slow fucking became faster and faster, harder and harder until Clark was jackhammering the cocky playboy's ass. The force had pushed Bruce's face up against the glass of the monitor. His feet no longer touching the floor. Clark held on to Bruce's ripped quads, making his legs parallel to the floor as Clark thrust into the muscular ass in front of him.
All that could be heard now was the constant hoarse grunts of a man being fucked up against his own computer monitor and the growls of a god taking what was his.
Bruce's eyes rolled back in his head as Clark added a vibration to his fucking. Clark liked to add that trick when they were spending a night together in Bruce's double-king sized bed making love to Bruce until the morning. Bruce especially enjoyed the vibrating trick when Clark would finger-bang him while cuddling on the couch.
Bruce was now losing all strength in his upper body. He couldn't hold himself up any longer. His sweat dripping off his forehead had made the metal console slick and he was sliding off and then he gave out.
"Oh god...ugh...Clark...ugh...Clark...I can't...ugh...I can't...ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh!" His prostate was being pummeled and he fucking loved it.
Bruce slid off the console but felt the strength of two muscular arms curl under his armpits and hands wrap around the back of his neck putting him into a half-nelson. His body was lifted off the console and was held up as Clark continued to fuck the muscular man impaled on his cock. Bruce's arms were extended out to the sides and he wrapped his legs back around Clark's ass. He thought it should be uncomfortable but it was just plain hot. He saw in the monitor reflection a handsome man in blue holding another handsome built man in gray in front of him as he took the man's ass and owned it. This position made Bruce's back arch providing deeper space for Clark to sink into.
For minutes and minutes, Clark fucked Bruce in this position. Bruce had become a ragdoll, his body limp and flopping around. His head had sunk, chin touching his chest. His hands were flopping around at the end of his arms and his legs were giving out too. They couldn't continue to grip Clark's ass. They went limp and his feet touched the floor.
Clark lowered Bruce to the floor on to his stomach. Clark released Bruce from the tight hold and held himself up in a push up position. His fucking had slowed down. His body temperature was high. Bruce lay with the side of his face plastered to the hard, cold floor. All he could do was lay there and take the fuck. He was in a state of absolute bliss.
Clark pushed in a few more times and then Bruce felt the cock in his ass expand in size. Bruce knew what was about to happen. Clark let out a barbaric cry as his dick expanded again and then let loose a torrent of cum into Bruce's perfect ass. After a few seconds, again his cock unloaded his sperm into Bruce and then yet again until Clark became still.
He lay down on top of Bruce, breathing heavy. He rolled off onto his stomach beside Bruce. Both men lay facing each other. Bruce opened his eyes and looked at Clark. Clark's eyes were glowing and then they faded to normal. The glazed over look was gone. Clark was back.
Bruce smiled. "Damn."
Clark took a second to clear his head and then smiled back. "Yeah?"
"Fuck yeah, Scout."
"Did I hurt you, big guy?"
"Yes." Bruce said.
Clark lifted his head. "What? I did?"
Bruce laughed. "No, you lug. I mean, at first but then...damn, Scout. What was that?"
"Don't know. Must have been the fighting, the aggression and then feeling your tight ass." Clark chuckled. He reached up and rested his hand on Bruce's bare ass and patted it.
"Yeah, about that? Is there a way you can remember when you're in "the other place," that all my uniforms have hidden zippers in the ass just for these special moments?"
"Sorry, babe. You know how it is when I go there. I have no self-control. Sorry, I'll fix them."
"No, Scout. Alfred will fix them. It isn't like he hasn't seen ripped clothing after one of your visits."
Clark rolled to his back as Bruce rolled to his side. He put his big arm around Clark and rested his head on Clark's chest. He released a long sigh.
All was quiet. There was only the sound of quiet breathing.
"Slut." Clark broke the silence.
"Dirty Clark."