#cb's asks

But one day, due to some colossal fuck up, they finally see the body that belongs to batman, and when I say people started dropping dead, I mean it. Because the fuck you mean, batman has the most motherset mother pair of tits and ass on him? What the fuck do you mean by that?? That his ass fucking jiggles when he walks and his tits are practically ready to burst. The league would drop dead, while batman doesn't want to deal with this shit at all?

Clark on the other hand has written in stone that all of that glory belongs to him only and not even Batman can stop him from claiming that. (Love the thought of Clark very aggressively courting a stoic Bruce, my man doesn't give a fuck about Bruce not being in love with him, he's gonna make that man his, wether the man in question wants it or not)

This, exactly. And you know how Batman's cloak (because it's basically a cloak and not a cape) trails all the way to the floor, and it just further cements that nearly everyone in the JL think that Batman is some sort of cryptid who prefers not using his powers as opposed to just a regular human.

They've been a team for a few years now, and everyone likes to think that (Barry & Hal) that they're all friends and buddies. They all even exchanged identities except for Superman and Batman, and that's fine.

They (Barry & Hal) don't really see why Superman seems so attached to Batman, but hey, they figured it's a "where there's shadow, there's light" sort of deal going on between them considering the fact that Batman seemingly floats along the floor rather than walk, not a hint or a peek of a leg underneath all that black void wrapped around him.

Even when they fight, they sort of just seemingly gloss over the fact that they just saw a flash of Batman's legs but considering how, at this point, they're so used to seeing Batman without legs that it doesn't even fully register--a trick of the mind, the light and vision bending and simply creating ghosts of something that isn't actually there, or whatever.

But then, there's a giant... Whatever wreaking havoc, in the process, Batman's cloak is in tatters, there's holes and a large portion of the edge is ripped. In the adrenaline fueled chaos of it all, no one really batted an eye when whatever it is they're fighting slashed through Batman's cape and exposed a significant portion of his legs, no one even fully stopped for a minute when Batman was being choked out, his cape fully pulled back because Diana and Superman were both on their villain of the week to release Batman.

As the fight dies down, settling, the city in ruins around them, Batman is on one knee on the ground, gathering evidence, it seems, and it's only then that Hal stops in his tracks, whatever construct he was asked to make flickering out of existence from his sudden lack of concentration. He only really jolts out of it just in time to lift debris and put it away where it wouldn't be a hindrance before going back to look behind him.

Batman is still on one knee, his cape-cloak thing is riddled with holes, thankfully it isn't smoking though, but it's practically half the length that it should be.

Barry comes speeding in after scoping all the ruined buildings for any stragglers or trapped civilians and comes a stop next to Hal. "Dude, what're you just standing there for?"

And Hal wordless lifts his arm, points directly at where Batman is now slowly rising to a stand. Barry's mouth is slack as Batman seems to finally unlatch his ruined cape, folding it neatly and tucking it away to a compartment strapped around his fucking thigh.

Hal's eyes widen, "Holy shit, he's got thigh garters." And technically, he knows they aren't really garters considering that it seems to be made out of leather with a decently sized pouched attached to it but his brain isn't really working, much less his brain to mouth filter.

J'onn comes in quietly, silently, materializing seemingly out of nowhere. Now, J'onn isn't necessarily attracted to humans in a romantic sense but Batman? Batman, he can admit, is aesthetically pleasing and J'onn hasn't met any humans who are as well... Figured as Batman is. And besides, J'onn barely gets to see what his friend looks like, he will take the time to analyze and see if the only human in their team sustained any damages.

Shayera comes in swooping in, cocking a hip as she lets out a low whistle. "Well, well, well."

Batman seems oblivious to the growing crowd several meters away from him as he uses his scanners to assess a glass-shattered, crack-filled building.

Diana doesn't say it and knows how to gracefully get around it, but there's no doubt that someone will say something about the Justice League helping with the costs and it's best to analyze and calculate costs now than later. Besides, he also has to update and improve the sensors in the Watch tower to better detect threats in the future.

In the distance and in the quiet of a draining fight, he can hear the rumble of vehicles coming, and it won't be long until a curious citizen will come popping in out of nowhere, phone in hand, filming.

Turning around, finally, he gets greeted by most of his teammates watching him. Shayera's got a shameless grin on her face, J'onn gives him an acknowledging nod. Barry's hand is half raised in an aborted wave and Hal is just standing there.

"If you've got time to stare, then you've got time to check the other buildings for any injured civilians."

Barry straightens up, "I already checked the affected areas, I didn't see or hear anyone."

Batman doesn't reply, hum or grunt. Instead, he lifts a hand up and turns his comms on, "Superman, Wonder Woman, status report."

"I found a dog trapped, so far, no people." Superman huffs into the line, the sound of something crumbling causing his line to crackle with a bit of static background noise.

"I've just dropped off a few people who didn't get out in time, minor injuries, no fatalities."

Batman looks at Barry, and the younger man sheepishly rubs at his nape. "I missed some people, I guess."

He'll have to make sure that everyone is briefed on the protocols for after-battle situations once they get back.

Just then, media vans start pulling up, weaving through the rubble and staying, thankfully, right in the middle of the road where any falling buildings couldn't bury them.

"Green Lantern! Flash!" A reporter immediately calls out, mic right below their chin, as the reporter jogs their way up to the mentioned heroes, their gaze flits over the affected areas and snags at Batman. "Wow." They speak eloquently into the mic, a cameraman swivelling to catch what the reporter caught.

The cameraman himself pulls back from the view finder to stare with his own two eyes at Batman.

"I know," Hal chuckles, openly ogling Batman now, "Trust me, I know."

"Know what, GL?" Superman asks as he comes flying down, red cape billowing behind him. He lands right in front of Batman, just so that his entire wide, broad bulk is covering the other hero from the camera.

Hal shrugs and turns his attention to the reporter still staring in Batman's attention.

What they don't notice however is the way Superman seems to draw close, especially whenever they get caught by the media. Superman would just sort of, suddenly shuffle himself all the way over to Batman's side, their shoulders brushing as Diana speaks into a mic.

Superman's cape is unlatched, draped carefully over Batman's shoulders. Their conversation is hushed, spoken in low tones and barely moving mouths. J'onn is respectful to attentively not listen.

"I don't need your cape." Batman grumbles out, displeasure in his tone despite the fact his arms crossed over his chest, hands subtly holding on to the cape from both sides.

"I know, I wanted to give it to you, anyway."

"Hnng."

As more and more people come to gather, authorities are now laying out barriers and caution tape, a group of civilians standing on the other side, their phones out filming and zooming in.

Superman remains close, tilting his body just so where he knows that his width is covering Batman behind him.

Back at the Watch tower, Batman is quick to shed the red cape he's been given as each member find their seats, folding it neatly and laying it on the table.

Something about the bright fluorescent lights of the Tower, barely any shadow cast on the floor or the walls highlights Batman's silhouette fully. The way his shoulders curve down to his chest, the obvious cleavage they carry, tapering down sinfully inward to a trim and thin waist before flaring out again to wide, full hips, a pair of even fuller thighs.

The thigh straps he's got wrapped around each thigh is high, sitting just near the crease of Batman's crotch and upper thigh, each strap is also held down tight, and when looking closer, one can see the way a bit of fat bulges out of the leather straps.

The black trunks that Batman wears also creates a sort of illusion. Turned just right and it looks like he's wearing a skirt, or even shorts. There's also the fact that they're all greeted with the reality that Batman is wearing heeled boots that gracefully elongate his already long legs.

Shapely, strong calves held in black leather heels that glisten beneath the light fixtures.

The bat shaped crest on Batman's chest is curved outward, even if his suit doesn't bend or crease, it's obvious that his chest is--well endowed.

Diana thinks that it could even rival some of the women in Themyscira, and Diana has seen and felt her fair share of chests.

If anything, she can't help but wonder. Surely such thick, plush and muscular thighs have held... More weight before. Alas, she wouldn't ask, such a personal question would only draw Batman away from her, and she'd like to think that she's gained a brother of sorts in him.

Superman swoops in, not long after the others have settled and Batman has taken to standing at the front of the table where a projection is being set up.

"Sorry I'm late."

"You're just in time."

The briefing is surprisingly... Brief. Batman ends it by saying that he'll their mission reports by the end of the week.

Batman is turning the projection off when he notices that the others haven't left yet when they usually should have. He swipes his gaze at the members still gathered around the table, and places a hand at his hip, cocked; instinctual in the way he would usually posture when questioning if Dick or Jason had gotten into any trouble around the manor. (Usually, Jason wouldn't. But he still can't get rid of that doubt considering how much Richard could get up to without supervision back when he was younger.)

"Is there something you need."

"Nope," Hal sighs out, leaning back into his seat and propping his feet up on the table. Batman meets his gaze head on. Hal can't tell if Batman's frowning in disapproval or glaring in anger even with the lenses of his cowl being pulled back to show his eyes, but there's still that prickle of guilt at the back of his neck that he'd get when he got scolded by his teachers when he was a kid.

Visibly rolling his eyes, he stomps his feet back down. Gesturing with his head, silently asking There, are you happy? At Batman.

"I don't," Shayera croons, "Say, why don't you shed the cape more often? Certainly could use a bit more of a show once in a while."

Superman clears his throat, Batman doesn't even react.

"I see no use to taking my cape off unless absolutely necessary. The last thing I need is lose the element of surprise."

"Well, we definitely got that." Hal snickers, leaning forward and cradling his chin on his palm, elbow on the table. "I'd say lose the cape every time you come up here. It helps with team morale that you've got good looking legs."

Batman gives off the impression that he's raised a brow, hip still cocked, he crosses his arms against his chest this time. And like this, it pushes his chest together, the bat logo on his suit bends, creasing just a tad where a cleavage would definitely have formed and squeezed together.

Hal's jaw drops, the exposed portions of Barry's face is red with his eyes flitting all over the place, Shayera's grin has turned practically predatory--

A crack forms on the table. "Meeting adjourned." Superman rumbles out, his voice shaking the air with its bass, eyes flashing, just for a nanosecond, in red. His chair is pushed back as he abruptly stands, snatching his folded cape and once again covering Batman with his bulk.

"Here, put this on."

"I don't need your cape, Kal."

"I know but I'd appreciate it. It's strong, it'll keep you safe like your own usually does. You can take it off once you get back to the cave."

Wordlessly, Batman accepts the offered fabric, and warmth bursts like fireworks in Superman's chest. He remains standing there, hiding Batman with his body until the cape is situated over Batman's shoulders.

It doesn't fully close around his body like his own does, but the excess fabric is enough to fall close where the bat logo is still visible.

Clark, who's 42 and Bruce who is 20 start an affair (prompted by Clark). Need me a morally questionable Clark Kent who asks his quietest student to "stay behind" and then fucks him on his desk.

Do they get caught? Does Clark get fired? Is he married? All up to you!

Just need me a charmingly manipulative Clark Kent who convinces Bruce to start having sex with him.

Well, I'm always in for some erroneous age gaps, so I say make Clark be 45 to Bruce's 19 (he's turning 20 in a few months).

Bruce is the kind of student who doesn't necessarily like having to wake up early just to get to class, so he picks out class schedules for later in the morning and afternoons.

Bruce stumbles on Clark's class because he wanted to be in a room where it was quiet, and finds a lecture hall that wasn't being used, but then Clark shows up and Bruce is discovered, doesn't get the time to leave because Clark thinks that he's his student.

Cue Bruce being sort of interested in what Clark teaches—it's literature, and Bruce finds himself having fun arguing with Clark's points and takes on a passage or story.

It's a slow build up of Bruce realising that he's got a crush on Clark. If he's not arguing with Clark about literature, then he's staring at him. Clark is surprisingly built for a literature professor—Bruce always anticipates the part of the lectures where Clark gets fed up with his blazer/suit jacket and takes it off because then Bruce has full view of the way Clark's biceps jump and tense beneath the white shirts that Clark loves wearing.

Then eventually, Clark calls Bruce and reveals that he's known Bruce isn't his student for a long time now, asks why Bruce keeps coming back to his lectures. Bruce smiles and lies that he just finds literature fascinating. Drops a little hint that he's mainly there just to see Clark.

Clark goes on about how it's not right whatever it is Bruce is insinuating, and Bruce goes "I didn't insinuate anything though. You're making assumptions on clues you think that's there, when really, maybe they weren't" which just sets Clark's teeth gritting because fuck this kid is a capital b-Brat.

Blah blah blah, something something, Bruce's frequent hide out when he wants to be alone and study or just wants to people watch eventually becomes Clark's office.

Clark gives Bruce a spare key for whenever Bruce wants to stay there and Clark isn't there to open the door for him.

Something something, Clark starts flirting through their little discussions whenever Bruce wants to be a little shit, Bruce of course picks up on it. Goes, "Professor, you do know that it is unprofessional to be flirting with a student. I mean, think about your reputation." With this shit eating grin on his face.

Clark harks back, "Well, you see, Mr. Wayne. When it comes to secrets, discretion is always advised. What happens behind closed doors should remain there for the party involved."

Anyway, Clark fucks Bruce on the desk, they start dating, blah blah blah. Bruce moves in with Prof. Kent when he's 21, they live about 15 minutes away by car from the campus itself. Bruce likes being the passenger princess because then, Clark would place his big hand on Bruce's thigh. So to make it become a regular, routine occurrence, Bruce starts wearing skirts that allows Clark's hand easy access.

No faculty members find out, but a few students kind of do, they're mainly speculations, however.

Spoilers ahead.

It's hottttt as fuck 😩😩😩

Ohh, Clark definitely forgets that Bruce needs to breathe.

One time, after going on for about, maybe 3-4 dates, Clark and Bruce finally share a kiss. It starts off as chaste at first but then when Clark pulls back, Bruce is blushing pink and blinking really prettily, shyly, and he's just so adorable that Clark can't help but go back in for another kiss.

Then another until he finally swipes his tongue along Bruce's bottom lip, gives it a little nibble, before pressing the tip of his tongue along the seam of Bruce's lips. He doesn't plunge in immediately, no. He teases, tracing Bruce's lips with his tongue, suckles and nibbles at both the top and bottom, pulling back to press chaste pecks on Bruce's spit-slick mouth.

It keeps happening until Bruce is finally whining, chasing after Clark, pouting at him and he's so fucking cute that all Clark does is laugh and keep giving him kisses.

When Clark tongues along Bruce's lips again, Bruce parts his mouth open and Clark growls at the moment it happens because Bruce is opening up for him, waiting for him to explore such an intimate part of his body (that isn't his ass and pussy).

So, Clark goes in, trails his the tip of tongue along Bruce's top row of teeth, holding Bruce close when he shudders from the ticklish sensation it creates. Then Clark reaches back, far in to reach Bruce's molars, traces them and caresses them, flicking his tongue at the crowns.

Bruce's hands are trembling as they grip onto Clark's shirt, hands balled into fists at his chest while Bruce tries to follow along what Clark's doing but he can't because then Clark is teasing at the inner sides of his cheeks, poking and prodding at his tongue until Bruce lifts his tongue to poke and prod at Clark back.

Clark retreats, moaning when Bruce chases before trapping his tongue in his mouth, sucking it into his, lets his saliva pool to bathe Bruce in it before he releases, going back in to Bruce's open mouth.

He starts tilting them, arm wrapped around Bruce's waist as he starts dipping Bruce, Clark's other hand cradling the back of his head to keep it still, keep Bruce from moving, keep him from going away, from pulling away too far.

With Clark's large hand holding on Bruce's head, it makes it easier to control Bruce and the angle of his head, makes it easy to keep them pressed close than ever before as he kisses him, as he makes Bruce shiver and shudder in his hold.

Then, a hand comes and pounds him at his back, repeatedly.

Eyes snapping open, he pulls back. A string of saliva stretching and connecting them until it eventually breaks and falls. Bruce is panting, completely red and teary eyed.

"I need to breathe!"

"Oh, right... Sorry, hehehe."

Bruce's glare and frown is ineffective, especially when he's so flushed and panting still, lips red and swollen.

And then it happens again, usually Clark realises pretty quickly, remembers that Bruce needs to breathe before Bruce even has to remind him.

But this time—this time, Clark is just so ecstatic. Bruce looks so good, so beautiful and gorgeous with peach-pink cheeks and wholly mesmerized by the ring sitting wrapped daintily around his ring finger.

Because Bruce said 'yes'. Bruce said that he'd love to marry Clark, that he's so happy and lucky. If anything, Clark is the lucky one. Bruce is so smart, kind and good, so ethereal and caring; Clark would be an idiot if he doesn't wife him up.

When he finally puts Bruce down, he keeps them pressed, chest to chest, and leans down. Bruce's fingers tangled deliciously with Clark's hair, blunt nails scratching delightfully at his scalp.

And he kisses him. His fiancè. His wife-to-be. (It's amazing that the kids already love to call Bruce "mom", Clark can't help it.)

He kisses him, fast and short-lived chaste pecks raining down on Bruce's lips until he presses them together for longer, firmly yet delicately.

Clark nibbles on Bruce's lips, suckling on them just like he always does. Tongues along the slit of that delectable mouth, Bruce tastes sweet like the strawberries he ate, savoury like the salmon they shared, rich and milky from the pasta he had, tangy from the fruit juice he nursed all night.

Bruce is just so—

Groaning, Clark plunges in deeper, takes Bruce's tongue between his teeth, spills his spit into Bruce's pliant mouth, fucks into that succulent cavern that the thought of resurfacing is far, far from his mind.

There's a few thumps that Clark barely registers as he keeps kissing Bruce, before they stop. As he keeps going, Bruce limps more and more in his hold, mouth slacking open just for him.

Then Bruce's dead weight rests on Clark's arms and he snaps awake from his dizzying daze.

Pulling back, Bruce's eyes are half-open, mouth drooling and body slumped—passed out.

Clark feels embarrassed, a bit guilty. Oh, he'd just kissed Bruce to the point of unconsciousness. He'll never hear the end of it when Bruce wakes up.

He'll be lucky if Bruce even lets him anywhere near that luscious mouth ever again. In his mind, Clark apologises in advance and mourns in advance.

one of gothams rogues shrinks batman, and clark has to take care of him, everyone else keeps losing him by accident

he sits in clarks chest pocket first but someone at the planet sees it move so he has to be in his trouser pocket. clark hyperaware of how close bruce is to his cock, can't help but get hard and bruce salivating when clarks pants get tight and he realises why. loving that clark is hard and bruce can literally feel the heat from his cock through the fabric

or clark hears an emergency when hes out and about, and doesnt have anywhere to put bruce in his superman suit and he cant leave him in the city but time is of the essence so bruce gets shoved into his trunks while he flies off to fight. tiny bruce pressed up against clarks cock as he fights, and like this its bigger than him. bruce unable to resist and playing with it, figuring either clark doesnt like him or they get together now. clark that likes him way too much and tries not to blow in the middle of a fight

playing around, dressing bruce up in doll lingerie that fits perfectly and 'accidentally' brushing agaist his chest or touching his crotch, blaming it on bruce being so small its hard to avoid

slutty macro/micro superbat where they tease each other until they cant resist anymore

I'm sorry that I haven't answered this, Anon. I'm inflicted with the deep and sever case of needing a job and no one replying to me and thus wallowing in nothing but stagnancy and anxiety. Anyway!

Macro/micro is definitely something I want to write (someday. Maybe in my smut collection? As a drabble?)

Okay.

There's been a new rogue going around lately. At first, their tracks seem to disappear, as if they were never there. But a thorough survey of their crime scenes with Gordon's permission and Bruce realises that anything this rogue may have touched has been shrunken into a miniature. Something so small that most of them have been trampled on, kicked away, or simply ignored.

Bruce files this away, collects them in tiny ziplock bags, as much as he can. Even meticulously picks up a broken and ruined table inside of a broken in office, takes them back tot he cave for analysis and filing.

He collects the evidence, logs them in, scans for any DNA that may have been left.

He gets so engrossed that he was nearly late for a Justice League meeting, the once-a-week one of all the founders, just to check in. So engrossed that nearly everyone at the table had noticed. Diana had looked at him, her voice calm and soothing, that older sister tone of her's vibrating against the walls as she asked, "Are you all right, Batman?"

He was... A bit embarrassed by it, to say the least.

But after long nights and days of this case taking over his weeks, he finally figures out who it is. A new graduate of Gotham Uni, one who's actually taking their doctorate when they finally had enough. Deep in research and debt that even the Wayne Student Foundation could barely keep up, they broke down.

Invented a little ray gun to shrink objects, constantly improving, adding and taking notes. Until, eventually, one face to face battle later, Bruce is shrunk.

Thankfully though, they're caught. But Bruce takes a mental note to make sure to let them finish their studies even in prison, and arrange something to help pay off their student debt.

As the police cars drive away, and after Gordon asks him, voice booming as he looms like a giant, if he's okay to be left alone, Bruce stands, the ground trembling beneath him as Gordon walks away. Steps so large he looks like a moving skyscraper.

Bruce exhales, "Superman." It isn't too long later, as Superman with his red cape billowing behind him swoops in. Larger than even Gordon had been. He lands without a sound, but Bruce can feel the way the ground still quivers from the weight, the air vibrating upon his arrival.

"Br—B?"

"Over here." Clark's head whips to his direction, eyes narrowing just so as his pupils shrink.

Bruce gets a front row seat to Clark's mouth parting, tongue darting out as he breathlessly asks, "B?"

Giving the other man a nod and a wave of his hand, Clark gets down on a knee. "You're so—"

"Don't."

"Tiny." Clark snorts, his pupils going back to normal, "I was going to say 'tiny', B."

Bruce can't help but scowl at that. He doesn't look at himself, he knows that he' small. But—"I'm not tiny. I'm the size of a doll."

"Mmhm." A smile—no, a grin pulls at the corners of Clark's mouth.

"I'm 12 centimeters tall."

"I'd say you're about 10 without the suit on, B."

Bruce lets out a disgruntled noise at that. Yes, sure, he's the size of an average human's palm. He glances at the hand resting on a knee—Clark's hand is a bit bigger than an average human's palm, though, and for a moment thinks of how that warm palm and those long, thick fingers would envelope him. Clark would surely only be able to dig in the blunt tip of a finger between his legs—

"Are you done? Take me to Metropolis."

Clark blinks, "Not to the cave?"

Bruce doesn't shift. He's Batman, Batman doesn't shuffle on his feet.

"No. Dick is visiting."

Clark's eyes crinkle, turning crescents at the mere mention of the boy—man, Bruce reminds himself, but would continue to forget for Dick will always be his first baby. And Clark's, too.

"How is he?"

"He's well. He mentioned visiting you before going back to Bludhaven."

Humming then a nod, "Good. That boy hasn't spent time with this old man in a while now."

Bruce tamps down whatever swell of affection swirling in his chest at that. Ignores how Clark's voice is dripping with fatherly fondness for his son.

"Superman."

Clark blinks, head cocking to the side, before he seems to perk up. "Oh, right. Oops." He giggles, reaching out his other hand and placing it next to Bruce's body. "Your carriage await, my queen."

A flutter in his chest, a twist in his stomach. Bruce bares his teeth, ignoring how he can feel the way his entire body flushed with warmth, "I'll bite your fingers off."

"Okay."

Batman sends the other man a glare before getting on the hand waiting for him.

Clark then uses his other hand, cupped over him as a cover and quietly tells him to hang out. The wind whips past around them but thanks to the Kryptonian's invulnerable skin and the tight seal around him, Bruce barely feels the ice cold breeze hitting them.

"Here we go," Superman announces before lifting his hand to open up his window. Bruce is greeted with a familiar sight. An open loft of a kitchen and living room. Two doors on the right of the room where Clark's bathroom and bedroom resides.

The television is turned on, casting shadows on the wall facing it, a overhead stove light casting gentle light in the kitchen.

Clark deposits him on the coffee table before zipping out of sight. When he comes back, he's in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. "So, how are you going to shower?"

Bruce doesn't even think it, "I can take a bath in a bowl."

"Mhm, clothes?" Clark sits on his couch, elbows on his knees, "I think I can get you some doll clothes but we won't get it until tomorrow."

Nodding, Bruce simply takes off the top half of his suit, careful as he places down his armor and eventually the cowl. "I can sleep in these just fine. It wouldn't be the first time."

Clark's eyes flit all over him, lips pursing, then nods in assent. "If you say so. But, uh, I think I have some cotton pads you can use to—" He makes a wide gesture to his own face, Bruce thinks on it for a split second, it certainly wouldn't hurt to face his face and wash off the grease paint so he nods. Clark rushes off to his bathroom but this time he jogs rather than super speeding away.

Coming back out, he's got a dampened circular cotton pad. And in Bruce's hands, it's the easily the size of his entire torso, it hits just how small he truly is as he uses it wash and wipe away the sweat, dirt, and grime away.

When he opens his eyes, fresh once again, Clark is crouched in front of him, giant face wearing a soft, small smile with a tender gaze. "What?" Bruce says upon instinct, vehemently ignoring the way his heart keeps stuttering in his chest or the way his stomach keeps fluttering.

"Nothing," Clark's smile turns into a toothy grin, dimples popping on each cheek and eyes turning into crescents.

Turning in for the night, Clark made him a makeshift bed on his bedside table made out of the fluffiest scarf he has and a repeatedly folded cotton pad shaped into a square.

The morning is, thankfully, a slow one, with Clark waking up groggy and dragging his feet across the floor. Bruce wakes up at the first shuffle of fabric, and gets to watch Clark's jaw unhinge in big, wide yawn, eyes squinting as he walks out of his bedroom and presumably to his bathroom.

He takes that time to fully wake up himself, dragging himself out of the warmth of his new bed, except, when he finally does get up, he's reminded of his predicament as he stands there by the edge of the night stand while Clark is yet to be seen. How he can stay so long in the bathroom, he doesn't know. And he'd rather not wait just to be scooped up like some doll.

Taking his time, Bruce looks down and calculates a path of least damage and harm to himself while reaching the floor as fast and efficient as possible.

It's like rock-climbing—or more accurately, solo climbing. He hangs at the edge of the bedside table, carefully puts a foot on the handle as he manoeuvres his way to transferring his grip here. The space between the second drawer handle and the first one is a bit too far, and the gap between the drawer itself and the shelf it sits on is just enough for his fingers to hold on to but it'll be a tiny ledge to hold on to. He'll have to rely on his finger strength and grip for this.

Bruce is just about to start the journey to the second handle when the bedroom door swings open again, revealing Clark with dampened hair and a towel wrapped around his waist, a few leftover water droplets clinging on to the hair of his chest.

"Woah—" He gasps out as he immediately scoops Bruce up, lifting him up on his palms so that they're face to face, "What're you doing, you could've dropped and hit your head."

"I had it calculated."

"Ca—You could've just waited for me, you know."

"You were taking too long."

"Because I was taking a shower." Clark sighs, moving further into the room and placing Bruce on his bed. "Don't move," he sternly insists.

Bruce doesn't pout, he doesn't but it's certainly a close thing. And even then, it's short lived as Clark casually drops the towel from his waist as he makes his way over to his closet.

It's enough time to see the behemoth that Clark carries, hanging heavy between his legs. Bruce looks down at himself, the flash of Clark's genitals seared so vividly in his mind that even now with only a view of Clark's back and ass, he can still see the size and girth of him and compare it to his current size.

Heat prickles at his skin at the realisation that Bruce is the same size, maybe even smaller than the package Clark has. Pressing his thighs closer together, he briefly imagines what it'd be like to stand next to it, throbbing and hot with blood, weeping salty slick as Bruce is forced to drink large mouthfuls of it, forced to used his entire body just to rub Clark properly.

The heat travels, blood rushing down to the space between his legs. His cunt squeezing on nothing at the thought of it, his clit pressed against the fabric of his underwear tightly that he can't help but shift, lets the cloth of his panty to press down on the throbbing nub, rubbing his thighs together to further stimulate and rut against the cloth.

Bruce can see it now too, just it'd only take the use of the pad of Clark's thumb to satisfy Bruce, to get him cumming and squirting, legs forced wide open as Clark insistently and roughly encompass his whole pussy with a thick blunt thumb.

He's getting wet, he can feel as he gives his thighs another squeeze, crossing one leg over the other as he resists slotting an arm between them and use his forearm to rut into.

Looking over, Clark's got on boxers now, pants still unzipped and unbutton, hanging loose around his hips as he rummages for a shirt to wear. He puts his arms into a wide approximation of a circle, trying to gauge Clark's girth against his body, thinks of the logistics of potentially giving him a blowjob with a too small Barbie-mouth and can't wrap his head around it other than he'd probably choke on a drop of precum alone, much more with the spongy, flushed pink tip of Clark's cock.

It certainly wouldn't be a bad way to go, he thinks to himself, mind picturing the fiery heat of said cock, rutting along his entire body as he just lays down, legs spread and covered in slick, cum, sweat, and lube, Clark's cock head bumping against his own head with every thrust he'd make—

"All right, I'm ready to go," Clark announces. Bruce tightens his legs together.

"Go where?"

"We're going to get you some clothes, and since we're already going out, we can just eat breakfast outside." Clark doesn't wait or say anything before scooping Bruce up and tucks him into his jean pocket. With the use of a finger, he gives Bruce's head a pat. "You can stay there, you'd look just like any ol' doll."

A shiver runs down his spine, head whipping up just in time to catch a look. There and gone before Bruce could truly register it.

"All right, c'mon." Clark ushers even though he already has him in his pocket. "Time to go clothes shopping for the cutest doll."

Superman watches as Batman is gangbanged by an army sized group of robot Supermen.

Batman is slowly turned into a cock drunk overstimulated mess who can't even get hard anymore.

When the real thing gets his turn? Batman's night has just begun.

The thing is, Clark would've modified every single robot to have cocks and to vibrate and simulate ejaculation, made from his own, of course.

Clark noticed how Bruce would sometimes look at the robots with a thoughtful gaze, how Bruce would shift in place whenever a robot so much as grazed him, how Bruce seemed so eager to get a closer look at the robots.

Clark starts modifying them, then, without telling Bruce. A surprise of sorts except Bruce came to the Fortress with a case when Clark was still working on them, so far, he only had a handful of robots who could pleasure Bruce.

The thing is, Bruce wouldn't be found so easily because his feet, compared to others, isn't necessarily unique or uniquely small/big.

But Prince Clark would be able to tell who it is by the simple question of "Can you stand" while wearing the heel, and people would go "of course I can!" only for them to topple because the heels are special.

You know how oiran wear special footwear called koma-geta where there's three stilts and the footwear is made out of a solid block of wood, so it's pretty heavy and this means that the oiran has to sort of drag their feet instead of walking normally?

That's kind of how Cinder-Bruce walked with his special heels. He doesn't walk, so much as drags his feet/shuffles his feet to minimize noise. He learned to walk like that to avoid his abusive mother and sisters.

So, the moment Prince Clark clocks that whoever is wearing the heel lifts their foot instead of tilting their foot sideways and sort of drags their feet, then he knows it's not Bruce. (Something something, Prince Clark is obsessed with the way Bruce danced with him, mesmerized with how Bruce glided so easily.)

When Prince Clark finally knocks on the Wayne family manor, it's Bruce's step mother who opens the door, readily invites her daughters to sit down and try on the footwear.

Bruce is lurking in the shadows, using servant entrances and hidden doorways. He'd be serving them tea and no one would even notice him being there because the tea is just sitting there, already served and you barely caught a glimpse of the servant who put it out.

Now, Clark is never one to fully ignore other people, especially considering when there's someone who's just darting in and out of corners, serving tea and biscuits and sweets while the Wayne matriarch is flustering with her daughters about putting on a single shoe.

"Do you have servants in the house, Madam?" Clark asks, something in his periphery moves, moving out of sight completely and disappearing.

"Servants?" She asks, sounding scandalized. "Oh, no, my Prince, we have no need for servants."

Clark frowns, directing his gaze back on to her, "Then you keep up with all the house work in your estate?"

The Wayne matriarch nods, and her smile is relaxed, her demeanour serene.

"Then can you tell me who served the tea? The desserts? I don't seem to recall you or your daughters having brought them out with you."

She opens her mouth but no sound comes out, her hands clasp together. Meanwhile one of her daughters stand with the shoe on. Clark doesn't remove his gaze from the mother as he tells the daughter to stand up and walk.

The prince doesn't need to look to know that she fell over, most likely tripped, just like all the others who had tried. He then ignores the bickering of the two sisters as the second one takes the shoe for herself.

Clark raises a brow. "I asked for all eligible young person in the kingdom, Madam. If you are hiding someone from me, whether they be a stable hand or just someone who shovels horse shit out of the road, I need them present."

The Wayne matriarch clenches her jaw, back straight and head held high, her eyes narrow as she meets the prince's challenging glare with one of her own.

A moment passes as her second daughter continues with shoving her foot into the heel.

Then, the mother separates her hands, and hanging, cleverly hidden, from a sash around her waist, she unclasps a bell and rings it three times.

Somewhere, there's a barely there creek, then a servant walks up, head bowed, foot falls quiet and demure. "Yes, Madam?"

Her hand shoots out and the servant doesn't react as his head is grabbed by the chin, lifting his head upward. "My servant, your highness." She announces, showing off her servant's face as if his skin being dirtied and coated with a thin sheen of sweat is something to balk at.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Clark says instead, coming forward to grasp his hand, leaning down low to press a kiss to the back of his hand.

"Bruce." The servant says. Bruce.

"Bruce," Clark repeats, tasting the name on his tongue, savours the way it rests on palate, sweet and savoury, delicate and delectable. "A pleasure, once again."

Bruce doesn't react, if anything, he seems to be calculating. His eyes moving easily from Clark bowing before him to the spectacle of the Wayne matriarch's daughters trying on a simple shoe.

He leans Bruce to the chair when the second daughter flails as if she'd figured out what was wrong with the shoe and tried to overcompensate.

She harrumphs like any other spoiled wealthy child he's met so far, a far more frequent reaction whenever a servant is called and is told to try on the footwear. The select few who didn't react like so, Clark posits were actually raised with manners, and knew how to bow out gracefully.

Bruce takes a seat on the chair, back straight, shoulders lined, head held high. A regal posture for a servant. Clark glances back to the Wayne matriarch, how her glaring has turned tense. Her lips pursed and her hands wringing.

This time, Clark is the one to kneel down, careful as he takes off Bruce's thin and frayed footwear, replacing it with the heel.

It fits, snug with just a bit of space and give for comfort. Bruce's foot isn't the first foot to fit perfectly, so Clark stands and takes a step back. "Can you stand?"

Bruce's hands ball into fists on his lap, jaw clenching as he looks up at the prince. He and Clark stare, and it's through it that Clark notices the way Bruce shakes his head subtly, lips moving just so, no, he mouths.

Now, he's met hundreds of people for the past few days and he's seen eagerness and hesitance in different degrees. However, Clark has never met someone who refused to stand, who refused even just shifting with the shoe while seated.

Bruce has remained statue still, only letting his leg be moved when Clark placed the shoe on him.

Clark shifts, stands with his back straight, as regal and grand as he was raised. "As your prince, servant, I order you to stand." He can grimace later, he can apologise later, but his heart is beating frantically within his chest, knocking and threatening to burst out of him. He can feel the way air barely fills his lungs and the simmering anticipation as he and Bruce continue to stare at one another.

Then, finally, Bruce unnoticeably huffs as he draws his heeled foot beneath him, then his ankle tilts at an angle, careful as he stands. And like this, Clark gets to see how Bruce's heeled foot is resting almost to its side, resting gracefully on the ball of his foot.

For a moment, Clark can't help but compare how it looks almost like how one would position a foot when on tip toe, except for Bruce, he rests more to the side, with the heel of the shoe arching the foot.

"Walk." Bruce looks down his foot then up at Clark, a lour, quick and gone. Bruce drags his foot, still tilted at an angle, the heeled foot coming forward, then he sways back and Clark feels disappointment plummeting to his stomach until Bruce keeps his posture up, keeps standing as he takes a small step back and with his non-heeled foot does the same dragged motion as if he's wearing both heels.

He stops after the second step, "Happy?"