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bruce wayne is used to getting what he wants. it's not like he doesn't have manners —he literally had lessons with alfred when he's younger. It's just most people see or hear The Bruce Wayne ask for something, and they all stumble over themselves to get him what he wants.
Dick was called to the principal's office? Oh well, Mr.Wayne, all growing boys get rowdy sometimes. Mr.Wayne is coming to the office? Quick, prepare some food—Not that, you fool! Get those cute ass French pastries from the cafe down the street. It's ridiculous that Mr.Wayne wants a disco light in he—What? Just get it done? Wha—Alright, alright.
Bruce is just used to having people rush to meet his needs. He's not really used to asking, and begging is completely out of the question.
He's definitely not used to the soreness in his jaw and the rough hand in his hair, angling his face just the way Clark wants him in. Sharp tugs that forces his head down to meet every deep thrust of those hips. His throat is forced to swallow around the thick cock spearing him open, tongue desperately working at any part of Clark that he can. His stomach feels so full with how many times Clark had come but the other is still relentless. Clark groans at the tight heat fluttering and pulsing around him, ramming his hips hard one more time and forcing Bruce's head down, coming straight down the bruised throat.
"That's so good, baby. You're perfect," Clark says sweetly, even as his hand clenches to keep Bruce where he is, pressed tight to him, lips stretched obscenely around the base. The gagging and choking sounds are the prettiest things he's ever heard, making the sight of a tear-streaked face simply perfect.
Clark pulls out, giving Bruce a chance to suck in a heaving gasp. Which all the more makes the ache is his jaw present. The ache that proves just how long he's been on his knees, face-fucked like he's just a cumsocket. A mixture of drool and copious loads of cum trickle past his puffy lips, yet Bruce still shuffles forwards, trying to get his mouth back on the cock. He needs that in him, anywhere and everywhere, please.
It gets him a low chuckle, a sound that shoots straight between the throbbing heat between his legs. "What do you want, B?" Clark coos.
"Clark—" Bruce flushes when he realizes his usual gruffness is gone, replaced with a fucked out plea. He sounds like a needy slut that had spent hours sucking Clark's cock— The realization that he did do that, that maybe he just is Clark's slut makes him whine.
"What are you thinking about?" Clark hums, running his fingers through dark hair, scratching lightly to watch Bruce's eyes flutter close. "Thinking about getting this cock in your mouth again? Of me just using you for my own pleasure?"
It's too humiliating to say yes. Not considering how his pussy throbs with a fresh wave of heat and slick, how he's long made a puddle underneath himself, just dripping and dripping and dripping as Clark fucks his face.
"Use your words, sweetheart. Ask nicely." Clark loves when those dark eyes open, revealing pupils that have drowned out the icy blue, pleading with him. "Nope. Use your words and maybe I'll give it to you."
"Kal, please."
"You can do better than that, B. C'mon, tell me how desperately you need this." Clark wraps a hand around himself, feeling so glad that he's basically has a nonexistent refactory period. Dark eyes glaze over at the sight and Clark grins, thumbing his tip and coaxing out a pearly drop of precum. He swipes his cock across those puffy, pink lips, adding to the mess on Bruce's face, watching as his tongue desperately chases his cock. "Words, baby."
He's too desperate, he needs to feel the thick, encompasses heat fill him up. "Cl—Clark. Kal, please. Need you in—fuck, need you in my mouth."
It should be enough, right? It should be. Clark should just see how badly Bruce wants it and give it to him.
"Hmmm, no." Bruce nearly screams at that, pushing forward to mouth at the cock, lips tracing kisses on the flushed, angry skin, trying to show Clark that he needs this. But Clark stops him just before he can wrap his lips around the head. "Not convincing enough. Hump my boot, sweetheart, show me how you'd be a good little cumslut."
Bruce stutters for a second. It's too degrading. Bruce Wayne doesn't do that. But his head is too fuzzy and all he can see is the delicious cock, alternating with Clark's hungry eyes. All he can smell is the musky, heady scent of Kal, surrounded as he is.
Slowly, Bruce lowers his pussy onto Clark's boot, little sobs wrecking his chest when his oversensitive cunt flutters with anticipation. Like all the traitorous thing wants is to ride whatever part of Clark he wants. His cunt meets the firm surface, the contact immediately sending a spark of electric through his core. His thighs clamp around Clark's foot as he fights the rush of heat, trying not to come.
"That's it. So perfect, B. Like you were made just for me," Clark praises him, foot giving a teasing nudge upwards to make Bruce jolt, crying out at the sudden pressure on his hole.
He moans out Clark's name and his hands search for purchase on the other's leg. Bruce gingerly begins to hump, grinding his eagerly twitching clit against Clark before shifting back to rub his hot cunt on the thick material. Again and again, Bruce ruts against the other, picking up speed until he's fully, desperately humping Clark's boot. Wet squelches fil the room, adding to the mix of pleasure spreading from his pussy. It's curling in his toes, throbbing in his belly, making him wetter.
And yet, Clark hasn't fed him his cock. Bruce's lips part, toungue swiping against the bottom lip as he starts to beg. "Clark, please, fuck me. Use my mouth please. Ka—Kal," he whines, grinding harder, words getting muffled when his lips presses desperate, coaxing touches on that thick length. "Please, Kal."
He would be humiliated in any other instance but all Bruce feels is pleased when Clark once again pushes past his lips, his throat parting easily for the cock sheathing itself inside. He's proud and cocky and just desperate, all feelings that are promptly fucked out of him when Clark thrusts sharply, garnering a choked out gasp and Bruce's pussy stuttering and leaking over his boot.
Given the right motivation, Bruce Wayne does knownhow to ask for what he wants.
Had this scenario of Bruce having a busy night at a gala where he's meant to be hosting some auction or awards so he's got to be there, but he's Batman and the city needs him. So he's constantly doing the montage in 27 Dresses, changing in tight spots and in the back of the Batmobile, dashing back and forth, making tipsy toasts to the guests and then punching the Riddler. But eventually, Bruce gets caught up in everything. He does the low, gravely Batman growl when he's making a speech for the guests of honour so he giggles it off, says he was just 'trying something' and shows up to the roof of the GCPD clutching a violently pink cocktail with a Cunty little umbrella and wedge of fruit. Commissioner Gordon slaps it out of his hands and tells him they got a case to work on.
Batman who's just hooked up with superman a few times after years of mutual pining and then panic-ghosts him for a week trying to process wtf just happened.
When he finally gets his shit together he heads over to metropolis to talk about it, get a sense of where Kal's mind is and if he's interested in more (or at least if he wants to do that again). But just as he's about to approach Bruce spots him flying into a random apartment in the middle of the night.
After a bit more casual stalking Bruce finds out superman repeatedly spends the night at this same apartment instead of going back to the fortress. He also discovers that this apartment belongs Clark Kent, the one reporter famous for having multiple private interviews with superman when no one else has managed more then a quote. They've had a well documented public relationship even though they refuse to make any public appearances together or clarify what the nature of that relationship actually is.
It really shouldn't come as a surprise that superman has found someone else to sleep with while Bruce was unavailable. He wasn't upset. It's not like they were in a relationship. Bruce should have known someone like Kal doesn't stay on the market for long. He's not mad but he does want to know more about this Clark.
He knows its not technically his business but if he's losing his one shot at even another hookup with Kal he has to know who he's losing it to. (not that he's jealous or anything). So he invites Clark for a private interview with Bruce Wayne to learn more about him. Aside from boring things like stability, what could this man provide that he couldn't. Why would Kal choose this random civilian over him.Unfortunately pretty early into the interview bruce gets his answer.
After just a few minutes of conversation he realizes fuuuck this guy is perfect.
Dammit! he's falling for the competition
Stupid Clark with his stupid glasses and his stupid heart of gold and his stupid country twang. No wonder Kal wants this guy, he's fucking amazing.
Thinking cat hybrid!Bruce thoughts and knowing Clark will go insane like I am rn (nsfw under the cut)
Clark loves his kitty boyfriend. Bruce’s adorable midnight ears that flatten right back when he's annoyed, or twitch excitedly when Clark buys him flowers, betraying the gruff “You don't have too" to Clark's face.
Clark loves how Bruce's tightly controlled Batman-growls turn into tiny hisses when he's actually really mad and he loves when Bruce purrs, so loud and content when it's just the two of them, louder still when Clark scratches the right spot behind his ears.
Clark loves how that dark, lithe tail stops in its track when Bruce connects the dots in an especially hard case, going rigid and snapping to the left with certainty that he'll give the victim's family justice this time. Clark also loves how that bewitching tail flicks so leisurely when Bruce is leaning against the super's chest, head in a book but somehow still listening to Clark complain about Perry's latest meltdown.
Clark especially loves it when Bruce loafs, or at least as close to a loaf as he can get. He'll tug Clark into bed, huffing and puffing until Clark acquiesces and lays down flat. When he's satisfied, Bruce will promptly climb on him, curling his body into Clark's, fitting so perfectly in the circle of his arms.
Clark loves when Bruce is pleased and purring, or when he's mad and hissy, or when he's bored and infuriatingly playful.
Clark loves his kitty boyfriend.
What he also loves is when Bruce is bratty.
Oh, he loves that so much.
Because bratty kitties get punished. Case in point—
“Clark, c'mon. Stop playing around,” Bruce snaps. But it comes out more like a plea, his fingers desperately rubbing and circling his clit. It doesn't feel good because he's already so wet. His slick is making everything well, slick. No friction, no pressure. And he's still empty.
“I'm just doing what you asked for. You said you don't need me, that you can get yourself off.” Clark looks pointedly between his legs and Bruce chokes back a sob when just that heated glance makes his pussy throb with an intensity that rivals the sun.
Bruce is so tempted to just shove his fingers or maybe his toys inside himself but he already broke one rule today. He doesn't want Clark to spend the next week fucking a fleshlight, depriving Bruce of his thick cock because “obviously you don't deserve this if you're putting other stuff into my hole. That pussy is mine, B.”
“Clark.” He does not whine.
Clark leans back into the armchair, grinning when the other's hips buck up as if they're trying to chase him. “Go on, do it. I'm not stopping you.”
Bruce lets out a slew of curse words, less than effective when his hand is still between his spread legs, fingers tugging and pinching his clit.
It's not enough. Waves of pleasure are cresting over him with every touch but they're not enough to push him over. He's just edging himself endlessly and based on Clark's face and the hard bulge in his pants, he's doing it only for one person's pleasure.
Somehow that thought is the one thing that pushes him that much closer than he's been before. Just the realization that Clark is toying with him, that Bruce is simply putting on a show like a desperate slut pleasing his master. His thighs clench hard on empty air, fingers stuttering in their rubbing as he gasps at the rush of electricity through his core.
Opposite him, Clark casually tugs his pants lower, a large hand wrapping around an angry, red cock. One that's supposed to be inside him and Bruce wants to claw and hiss and bite the other so bad.
It's not enou—
His tail. Clark always plays with his tail and normally Bruce will flush hotly, batting away the clever hands, trying not to hump the other's thigh and show just how sensitive he is there.
Bruce reaches behind with his free hand. One stroke of featherlight fingers over the base of his tail and his hips jerk up. He moans wetly, getting a good grip and starting to rub himself. It's like the base of his tail has a direct line to his pussy, where every insistent touch makes him leak. Twin frictions on his clit and his tail, making his back arch as he chases that high.
Wetter and wetter, Bruce just soaks the sheets underneath him.
“Such a good kitty,” Clark's words wash over him and Bruce whines. “So desperate to be stuffed.”
The tip of his tail whips around, keyed up and so ready to come. It wraps around his wrist when he rubs at the base again, toes curling at the goosebumps breaking over every inch of flushed skin, hips rutting desperately into the air.
But no matter how much he needs it, the peak feels so far away.
“Clark, please,” he begs. Maybe he'll look back on this moment and scoff at how fast he caves.
Clark tuts. “You can come,” he says, slowly stroking himself. His thumb catches that trickle of precum from his tip, grinning when Bruce's lips instinctively part and his tongue lolls out. “Just do it yourself.”
He can't. He doesn't have to get himself off ever since Clark. Most times, he'll just lie back or stay on his knees and let the other pound him into oblivion.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Bruce catches sight of Clark's pillow. Thick and firm—something that's apparently good for your neck that the super was so excited to buy even though he doesn't actually need it.
But importantly, it smells like him. It's his. Bruce snatches the pillow, stuffing it between his quivering thighs. It hasn't even touched him but the anticipation of what's coming makes him whine.
The moment his hot cunt touches the cool fabric, he nearly comes. He immediately starts humping the pillow, Clark's pleased groans fuelling the shaking, almost delirious thrusts of his hips.
“That's so good. You're being so good, baby,” Clark praises, eyes hungrily drinking the sight of his precious kitty humping his pillow.
The firmness of the memory foam is giving Bruce enough pressure to rut against, pressing up on his eager clit. One hand continues toying with the base of his tail, scratches and tugs mirrored by the freed hand now abusing his own nipples.
Everything hurts so good. His vision blurs with tears and Bruce feels himself climbing the edge. “Kal, Clark- fuck.”
“You might actually come. You'd like that won't you? Squirting all over my pillow and marking me as yours. Scenting me with your slick so all the other kitties know that I’m taken. That you belong to me.”
His eyes has fallen close in the past few minutes, that he doesn't even realise Clark has gotten up from his seat. Bruce only feels the other's warm hand closing around his tail as a forewarning.
The hand tugs firmly at the exact moment sharp teeth sink into the side of his neck, and those twin bursts of pleasure and pain and pleasure sends him skyrocketing off the edge.
Bruce comes with a scream, back strung tight as his thighs clamp shut around the pillow, relentlessly grinding and grinding to soak the fabric.
The intensity of his orgasm blanks his mind and he comes back online to aftershocks making him tremble, endless waves of pleasure curling around him. His pussy flutters and clenches around nothing, lips dragging against the drenched pillow in a weak imitation of a kiss, his sensitive clit still thrusting and humping and making his jaw clench with every gasp of too much but he can't stop. Probably because his body recognizes the touch coaxing him to come again. Clark's hands are finally on him, strumming his body in the way only he can.
His tail valiantly hangs onto the super's hand, knowing he can't make it stop, riding the sparks of pleasure when Clark circles and strokes the base. His chest pushes up into the fingers strumming his red, abused nipples, begging for more even when Clark pinches and tugs and twists them.
His second orgasm is smaller and he's already wet enough that it doesn't make a difference.
Or it does. He can't really tell.
Because within another breath, Clark is manhandling him, picking him up and flipping him over and sheathing his cock in the puffy cunt in one swift move. Bruce's face is unceremoniously shoved into the soaked pillow and his gasp of surprise morphs into acute, needy pleasure when all he can smell is himself and Clark.
He's forced to lap up his own slick, his taste flooding his mouth. He needs to lick and swallow to be able to catch a single breath, his sobbing moans muffled but that's probably good because then Clark won't know how much he likes this.
Clark knows though. Because his hand pushes Bruce's face further into the pillow, cursing softly when it makes Bruce's walls flutter harder around his cock.
He begins pounding into his kitty, telling Bruce to put his back into it and make him come, that Clark won't lift him up to breathe until he's stuffed his kitty full.
Either Bruce uses all his Bat-willpower to clench tighter and make him come. Or—this. When Bruce isn't hearing him, whining and sobbing around each mouthful. The longer Bruce is deprived of air, except whatever little he gets from the soft give of the pillow, the more his body twitches and shivers, and his pussy still throbs around Clark. It's a win-win for Clark anyway.
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Bruce falls first, Clark falls MUCH harder, walk with me.
when Bruce falls in love, its quiet, only noticed in how he remembers Clarks coffee order, or how he reads every one of Clarks stories. Bruce's love has been there for oh so long, but he knows better, knows work relationships can get messy. And in a way maybe he just doesn't think he deserves Clark, so he pushes these feelings down.
Clark like Bruce, he is a close friend after all. Slowly however, he finds his feelings growing until one day he simply cant take it, his love now weighs his heart down so much he cant be around Bruce w/o blushing and trying to get a small graze of the hand. But there's no way Bruce likes him back.
slowly Clark realizes it, he sees the small gestures, the way Bruce looks. It was so subtle Clark almost wants to be annoyed, but how can he when Bruce is looking at him with such pretty eyes? Clark is ecstatic.
(Im not sure where to go from here, as im not a writer, so i thought i'd give it to you)
-🍭🫧
The only way it could go from there is Clark courting the shit out of Bruce.
It starts so suddenly Bruce thinks it's a prank at first, but Clark explains he's been blind until recently. Blind and stupid, but he has everything figured out and he's ready to woo Bruce.
Bruce of course tells him there's no need, they can just start dating since their feelings cleat, but Clark is stubborn.
He wants Bruce to be cherished like he deserves.
Clark takes him places, brings him gifts, creates art for him(poems, sketches, music), he practically worships him, and Bruce is so overwhelmed he cries because of the smallest gestures.
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omega Bruce in heat (non-sexual) and desperate to gather his puppies one by one and safely trap them in his nest for love and snuggles
Dick loves this time, as it means he finally gets to snuggle with his mama in their big cozy nest
Jason hates being trapped, but devolves into soft puppy purrs quicker than he would ever admit
Tim tries to sneak things to do into the nest, but that only results in Bruce fussing more over him, because he should be relaxing, not working.
Damian doesn’t understand this inane behaviour and need to collect them all. He tries very hard to sneak out, but Bruce’s pheromones are so thick, they instantly make him weak and dizzy, and have him melting into the nest further with each scenting. (In the league, scenting was non-existent, as it was believed to be a weakness to rely on such instincts. As such, Damian gets scent drunk incredibly easily.)
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