Toy With Me
Nov. 30th, 2011 09:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trista_zevkiaTitle: Toy With Me
Author: Trista_zevkia
Chapter: 1/1
Fandom: Superman/Batman
Characters/Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-17
Warnings: SLASH Little bit of kink, 69
Summary: A toy shows up, and drives Batman up a penny.
Disclaimer: All monies made will be sent to Wayne Enterprise approved Charities
Author's Notes: A little something to cheer up LadyBlackRose It's as much kink as I could think of to put in a first time;p
When the first one showed up at the Watchtower, a confused Clark had laughed with the rest of the Justice League. Even Batman’s lips had twitched spastically at the ugly thing on the conference room table. No one had admitted to bringing it to the Watchtower, though Batman hadn’t been the one asking. It wasn’t that serious, nor was there anything against the rules about bringing hideous toys to the Watchtower.
It was defiantly hideous, though Clark had to look for a while to understand what it was supposed to be. For a pillow, the image of Superman’s face wasn’t that bad, they even had the spit curl right. Kind of heavy on the eyebrows, and his nose look like it had been broken repeatedly, but the lips! Clark avoided looking at the lips, looking at the box and instructions.
Apparently, you stuffed a normal pillow into this thing, and suddenly had Superman as your best buddy. It was a toy, so Clark felt Superman wouldn’t be accused of pedophile with it on the market, but the thing still had a creepy vibe. But why did it start at his head and end just below his belt, instead of at his belt? And who had designed the lips? Without the Super-suit it looked like every cheap blow up doll that had ever shown up at a bachelor, or bachelorette, party. Why was the mouth an open, gaping hole that looked like something should be shoved into it?
Clark suspected Lois was behind the one on his desk at work. It had a note about doing a piece on profiteering from Superman’s image, but it was in Lois’s handwriting. That was her idea of covering for an ex-boyfriend that she knew the secret identity of, while still mocking him and making his squirm. Clark had thought about looking into it, because the vision of those lips haunted his nightmares.
Clark suspected the one in his apartment, the one planted without tripping any of the alarms Bruce had set up, was the work of Bruce. Who better to get past the alarms than the guy who installed them? Bruce at least got the creepy part, as he’d put it in Clark’s bed. He’d even put pillows and blankets around to give the creepy thing a body. Clark had almost set fire to it when he turned on the lights, an instinctive reaction to a flesh toned Bizarro in his bed. He’d tried to think of a form of retaliation, but trying to figure out what would scare Batman gave him the nightmares full of those lips.
The Watchtower Christmas party involved a great deal of boxes in just the right shape and size, so Clark had to take a look. The creepy thing was apparently the hot gift this year, at least among the Superhero crowd who wanted to watch Clark squirm. He tried to laugh at it, as each one was opened. He was doing okay, until he looked at the corner Batman was hiding in. Bruce was frowning under his cowl, staring at a recently opened Superman Snuggler.
Clark repeated a phrase in Krypton, thanking all the gods ever worshiped that Bruce didn’t have heat vision. It was a phrase he’d used often, particularly during JL meetings, but he’d never expected to speak it over a toy. Bruce glanced up, and saw Clark looking. Bruce tossed Clark a small package, the neat wrapping flattened from being shoved in a utility belt.
When Clark looked up, Batman was gone. Clark didn’t care what was in the package, he was relieved enough to sag where he stood from Bruce leaving without a word. Bruce didn’t like the Superman Snuggler either, and he was going to take care of it. Clark returned to the party with a real smile on his face.
sBSbBs
Around the fifteenth of every month, Clark found himself in his bank. Direct deposit brought his pay here, automatic bill pay covered his rent and credit cards, and he had a debt card. So why was he here, at least once a month? Despite signing statements that he was opening himself to the threat of identity theft but he wanted those precautions lifted, he still had to come in once a month and remind them.
Yes, I charged lunch in Ireland and supper in Japan. I’m a reporter, I travel, blah blah blah. Yet when he went to charge his coffee in Metropolis, a hold had been placed on his debt card. It hadn’t happened in December, so he thought they’d finally realized Clark Kent was going to have weird charges from strange locations. Now he was standing in line, Clark’s pleasant expression firmly in place. Considering how much of the banking world was automatic, Clark did wonder at the long line. When finally he got to the teller, it was an effort to remain pleasant. It wasn’t her fault after all, he reminded himself as he handed over his card.
“Went to get some coffee, found out I have a hold for some reason. I’m pretty sure I have enough to cover it.” At least hanging out with Batman had taught him to keep cash on hand, so he would be covered in this type of situation.
“Let me just take a look.” She smiled halfheartedly at him, but had her attention on the computer screen. She typed a novel, pausing every once in a while to check her spelling before looking back at him. “According to this, you need to talk to Mr. Roberts.”
Handing back his card, she pointed the way to an office. Taking the card and not sighing heavily, Clark went toward the office. A couple was already in there, and it didn’t take super hearing to figure out they were having problems with their mortgage. Clark listened, sorry he couldn’t help. If the mortgage was a large robot from the future, that he could fix. When the couple got up to leave, Clark made sure he wasn’t looking at them, making the woman feel bad for crying in public.
“Can I help you?” Mr. Roberts asked, as his eyes followed the couple out of the bank. He sounded tired of telling people he was about to take their houses.
“My debt card has a hold on it, and the teller, Sheila, told me to see you.” Clark handed over the card and followed Mr. Roberts into his office.
“Have a seat.” Mr. Roberts made a gesture toward the visitor’s chair, and Clark sat. Mr. Roberts sat and typed up his novel before looking at Clark with actual interest. “You’re on file as having some unusual transactions, so we do overlook a lot. Our policies are in place to protect our customers, and you’ve requested being let out of those policies.”
“I’m a reporter, I often have to travel without taking the time to let you know.”
“That’s fine, we’ve got all the paperwork on that, though you will have to refill those out every year.”
“Oh, of course.” Clark repressed a sigh, just knowing they all would expire at different times and he’d be back here every month for the rest of his life.
“This time, however, you received a deposit for a suspicious amount.”
“I wasn’t expecting any deposit, but why was that suspicious to you?”
“Are you aware that any money transfer of $10,000 or more has to be reported to the IRS?”
“Yes.” A simple affirmative statement, because Clark was aware of this fact and had used it to catch bad guys before.
“Well, bank policy is to tag any deposit of $9,001 or more, as it might be an effort to get around that regulation.” Mr. Roberts looked at Clark, trying to look intimidating.
Clark turned his repressed laugh into a cough of confusion. “How much was it?”
“$9,999.”
“I can see how that would look suspicious.” Clark suddenly was confused and nervous. Who would send Clark such a strange amount? “Who’s it from?”
“CR, or Clypeaster-Rosaceus.”
“Huh.” Clark responded, in one of his less articulate moments.
“Huh, Mr. Kent?”
“I’ve never heard of CR, so I don’t know why they sent me a deposit.” Both true statements, but Clark could make a guess about a few things.
“I’m going to unfreeze your account, I just wanted to make you aware of the situation.”
“Are you sure it’s not a mistake, that they really meant for me to have the money?”
“Oh yes, we called and talked to a nice British gentlemen.”
“It’s a British company?”
“No, LA area code.”
“Ok, thank you for letting me…” Clark trailed off as a thought occurred to him. “You can take deposits from anyone to anyone, you just can’t take money out of any account without approval?”
“Essentially, but we will need names and account numbers.” Mr. Roberts wasn’t sure of where Clark was going with this, but Clark was.
Clark pulled up his memory of the office before he’d entered, including the paperwork held by the distraught couple. Zooming in a little, the account number was at the top. “I’d like to give $9,000 of it to the Casey’s. Apply it to their mortgage, if I could.”
“What? The couple that just left?”
“I want the Casey’s to have it.” Clark wrote down their account number, thanking the gods for his gifts, and handed it over to Mr. Roberts.
“Are you sure?” Mr. Roberts was getting over his shock, starting to smile at the idea of doing a good dead for once.
“Absolutely. I wasn’t expecting it, and don’t need it, they do. Give it to them and if they ask say it was a discount for customer loyalty or something.”
“Mr. Kent, I, well, I thank you on their behalf. I guess if you know them well enough to know their account number, you know you don’t want them to know it was you. I’d also like to thank you as well. It’s nice to not be the bad guy occasionally.” Mr. Roberts stood, and held out a hand.
Clark did the same, solemnly shaking hands with Mr. Roberts. “You’re welcome. I just wish I could do more.”
“Anything you need, Mr. Kent, you come directly to me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Roberts.” Clark pulled his hand out, the bank manager seemed reluctant to let it go. Smiling, Clark picked up his debt card and left the bank. The smile stayed on his face until he was in an alleyway without cameras.
He had a trip to Gotham to get ready for, including a change of clothes and a change of emotions. Clypeaster-Rosaceus was the scientific name of a sand dollar, and what better name for a shell corporation than a sea shell? And if the British man who talked with the bank manager on the phone, whatever the area code was, wasn’t Alfred, Clark would buy a hat and eat it.
Flying over Wayne Manor, Clark took a look around before landing. Knocking on the kitchen door got Alfred to open it, smiling in that dignified, not really smiling way he had. Bruce was down in the cave, even though it was a work day, and probably knew Clark would be there down in a few minutes.
“Master Kent, what a pleasure to see you.” Alfred held the door open, even as he motioned for Clark to enter.
“How’s the new year treating you, Alfred?”
“Very well sir, though I fear Master Bruce is having difficulty with his favorite car.”
“Is that what he’s working on?” Clark leaned on the counter and watched as Alfred went back to sliding his cookies off the baking sheet.
“I believe he would appreciate your presence, if not your help.”
“Only until he hears why I came. Correct me if I’m wrong, but he’ll get angry when I ask about the money Clypeaster-Rosaceus put in my account, won’t he?”
“Anger is not necessarily his only response, simply the one he feels most comfortable displaying.” Alfred spoke this statement to the stove, as he made up two mugs of hot chocolate.
“Is that your way of avoiding saying that CR is his doing?”
“Technically speaking, it is my doing. A shell company started specifically to buy parts of his equipment, things he cannot get from his own company.”
“So why did I get a deposit from them, it, him or you?” Sometimes you had to back Alfred into a corner to get him to admit things, but he did have last wall that was impossible to get through.
“That is something you…”
“Will have to take up with Master Bruce.” Clark finished Alfred’s sentence for him, and Alfred’s lips curled with amusement. That was Alfred’s final word on any subject and he wouldn’t be moved.
“Perhaps your luck will increase if you take him this tray of cookies I’ve just finished making?”
“Alfred, you’re telepathic, aren’t you?” Clark asked as he took the tray of cookies and hot chocolate.
“As if Master Bruce would allow a telepath to reside under his roof.” Alfred gave a small sniff, as he held open the kitchen door for Clark.
“That’s not a denial!” Clark called as he walked toward the cave entrance.
“Very true, sir.” Alfred said, before disappearing back into his kitchen.
Grinning, Clark held the tray with one hand and opened the cave entrance. Bruce was working on his Batmobile, if the overall covered legs sticking out from under it were any kind of clue. “Bruce, Alfred sent cookies.”
As far as Clark was concerned, that was enough of an invitation. Sitting in midair beside the car, Clark set the try in his lap and began eating. Two cookies in, and he was thinking about using the money to hire his own butler, or at least his own cook. If they could do justice to Alfred’s recipes, and what did the man do to make this hot chocolate so good?
“No water.”
“What?” Clark looked up to see a grease splattered Bruce staring at him.
“Alfred uses whole milk instead of water as the basis of his hot chocolate.” Bruce took a cookie and shrugged. “That’s what everybody wants to know when they taste his cocoa, and that’s what I tell them. Truth is, it’s top secret and he won’t tell me.”
“You haven’t done a chemical analysis of Alfred’s hot cocoa to determine that secret?”
“Of course I have, but that leaves out certain factors like temperature control and Alfredness.”
“Well, they are fantastic.”
“You should try his Drunken chocolate-chocolate brownies.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“Yes. I invite you to get Alfred to make you desserts. One a month.” Bruce hastily amended at the look of delight in Clark’s face.
Clark’s face did fall, but only a little. “With my new income, I could afford hire my own cook.”
Bruce didn’t react, just closed his eyes and enjoyed a sip of cocoa.
“Most people would ask about the source of my new income, but you already know. So would you be nice, for once, and just tell my why you sent it to me?”
“Those ugly Superman Snugglers.”
“They made that much off those things? Wait, I can’t have it in my account, it’ll make people wonder why I get it!”
“Relax, I’m not an idiot.” Bruce sent Clark a scowl to calm him down.
Clark realized it had worked and grinned. Bruce: the man with a scowl for every occasion.
“I patented the Superman shield and image, then bought up all the other attempts at ownership. A shell corporation is doling out the profits to various charities that Superman would approve of. The $10,000 is your finder’s fee, for doing that article on all the uses of the Superman image.”
“$10,000?”
“I only sent $9,999 so the IRS didn’t get an alert before you did. Take a dollar’s worth of Alfred’s cookies. You can owe me for the cocoa.”
“So you did know about my bank’s policy!”
“Due diligence. Ever heard of it?”
“I kept back enough money to keep the bank from alerting the people I gave it to, but you wanted the bank to tell me, so you wouldn’t have to.”
“Car trouble.” Bruce gestured toward the Batmobile with half a cookie. “I would have gotten around to it eventually.”
“Yeah, when you needed to distract me from something really important.”
“I’m sure you would have figured it out by next week.”
“What happens next week?”
“Were you not listening? You get another deposit.”
“Okay, how long will I, Clark Kent, be getting this finder’s fee of $9,999 delivered to my bank account.” Sometimes you had to be really specific with Bruce, particularly when he was being all sure of himself. At least he didn’t have Alfred’s fallback of having to ask the master of the house.
“Weekly, until you no longer need a secret identity and can take over the copyright yourself.”
“40g’s a month?”
“Give or take, depending on how well your toys sell. I’ve even put a team on making the toys better for the environment and children’s minds.” Bruce swallowed the last of his cocoa before bring the conversation back to the cause of all this. “Those Superman Snuggles are to be recalled and burned.”
“Thank you for that, but I don’t need the money.”
“I don’t care what you do with the money, but it’s clean and it’s legally yours. Besides, it’s your house shield, and I know you don’t want it put on more blow up dolls.”
“You thought that too! Everybody did, didn’t they?”
“Yeah.” Bruce nodded before setting his empty cocoa mug on the tray, which was also empty of cookies. He looked like he was ready to get back to work, but Clark had a sudden recollection of the way Bruce had stared at the snuggler at the Christmas party.
“Bruce, a few years ago, you would have used those things to torment me about my image. Why’d you rid the world of their evil?”
“Like you said, they were evil.” Bruce shrugged and knelt by his toolbox.
“They looked like sex toys to you.” Clark set the tray on the hood of the Batmobile and leaned down to whisper in Bruce’s ear. “They made you think about having sex with me.”
“I don’t need to have sex with a blow up doll, thank you very much.” Bruce muttered as he pulled out a socket wrench and checked the size.
“You wouldn’t, if you’d just admit you wanted to have sex with me.”
“Is that an invitation?” Bruce meant it to be sarcastic, insulting and insulted. Instead it came out a genuine question.
Clark tried to speak, but found his throat was blocked with shock. Bruce should have been shocked at the question, not nervously playing with his tools. Picking Bruce up, Clark turned him so their eyes could meet. When words still refused to come out of Clark’s mouth, he leaned in to kiss Bruce. The kiss was fire, a fight for control and a meeting of matching passions, more than Clark had ever let himself think it would be.
Bruce broke the kiss, pulling away just when Clark was ready to move in for more. His hands on Clark shoulder pushed instead of pulling, and Bruce was looking anywhere but at Clark.
“That was nice, let’s pretend it never happened. You know the way out.”
“Explain.” Clark barely recognized his own voice, it was so deep with emotion and thwarted need.
“Coworkers, bad idea, look at you and Lois, priorities, homosexual stigma, need to preserve secrets. Shall I go on?”
“Allow me to present my counterargument.”
Bruce stepped back, folding his arms across his chest and tilting his head in a listening posture.
Clark scratched at his head, and tried to look thoughtful as he scanned the cave. Seeing an answer, Clark grabbed Bruce and sped him over to the storage area of the Cave. A bit of rope and Bruce was naked, spread eagle and tied to that giant penny. The curvature of the face on the penny had Bruce’s hips jutted forward, making his half erection even more noticeable.
“Your counterargument is you’re into bondage?” Bruce asked, far too calmly for Clark’s taste.
“My counterargument is you love me. Look at how hard you are from a kiss!”
“That’s from the bondage. I’m a freak, you know.”
“I know, I like that about you.” Clark was trying to look Bruce in the eye, but the erection was just there, neither growing nor shrinking, needing Clark’s attention. “You got rid of the Superman Snugglers so you wouldn’t have to think about me and blow jobs. If I can get that image out of your head, you’ll take me out for dinner tonight.”
“I can get the idea out of my head all by myself.” Bruce hissed from where he was, but he wasn’t making much of an effort to get out of the ropes.
A quick move and Clark was in his Superman suit. A slow move and Superman was kneeling before Bruce. His cock was no longer at half mast, nor was Bruce able to pretend disinterest. Clark skipped the licks and teasing touches, and puckered his lips into the same shape the Snuggler had. Bruce swallowed, just hard enough to make Clark’s point.
Clark shoved back on his own desire, his need to be naked and at Bruce’s mercy. He pressed a hand to his cock and inserted Bruce’s cock into his lips. When Bruce hissed, Clark stopped and added a sucking pressure, before pulling back. Forward and back, experimenting with his tongue and applying pressure. Tasting Bruce until Clark thought he would have come if he hadn’t placed a hand at his cock when he started. That hand clutched convulsively at his cock as Bruce filled his mouth and groaned.
Stripping off the suit without letting go of Bruce’s cock was kind of fun. When it seemed to be completely empty, Clark floated up and waited for Bruce to open his eyes.
Bruce frowned and worked to be serious when he spoke. “I will admit that removed the image of that toy from my mind, if you will admit that doesn’t mean I’m in love with you.”
“You would have got out of those ropes and stopped me if you wanted to. That’s my proof, the fact that you’re still on the penny.”
Bruce snapped his jaw shut loud enough to echo in the cave.
Clark laughed, accepting Bruce didn’t have words to fight back with right now. When he sobered, Clark asked with a smirk. “I’ve got a huge erection that I need to take care of before I go get dressed for our date tonight. What do you suggest I do with it?”
“Stand on your head and you’ll get an idea.” It wasn’t an insult, and Bruce’s lips were curling in a delightful way.
Curious, Clark rotated until he was upside down. Bruce was almost ready for a second go, seemingly quite happy for that second go to take place while he was tied to a giant penny. Kinky, Clark thought, but knew he could work with that. Moving into position for a vertical sixty-nine, Clark grinned as Bruce started sucking on his cock. Yes, Clark could defiantly work with kinky Bruce.
Author: Trista_zevkia
Chapter: 1/1
Fandom: Superman/Batman
Characters/Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-17
Warnings: SLASH Little bit of kink, 69
Summary: A toy shows up, and drives Batman up a penny.
Disclaimer: All monies made will be sent to Wayne Enterprise approved Charities
Author's Notes: A little something to cheer up LadyBlackRose It's as much kink as I could think of to put in a first time;p
When the first one showed up at the Watchtower, a confused Clark had laughed with the rest of the Justice League. Even Batman’s lips had twitched spastically at the ugly thing on the conference room table. No one had admitted to bringing it to the Watchtower, though Batman hadn’t been the one asking. It wasn’t that serious, nor was there anything against the rules about bringing hideous toys to the Watchtower.
It was defiantly hideous, though Clark had to look for a while to understand what it was supposed to be. For a pillow, the image of Superman’s face wasn’t that bad, they even had the spit curl right. Kind of heavy on the eyebrows, and his nose look like it had been broken repeatedly, but the lips! Clark avoided looking at the lips, looking at the box and instructions.
Apparently, you stuffed a normal pillow into this thing, and suddenly had Superman as your best buddy. It was a toy, so Clark felt Superman wouldn’t be accused of pedophile with it on the market, but the thing still had a creepy vibe. But why did it start at his head and end just below his belt, instead of at his belt? And who had designed the lips? Without the Super-suit it looked like every cheap blow up doll that had ever shown up at a bachelor, or bachelorette, party. Why was the mouth an open, gaping hole that looked like something should be shoved into it?
Clark suspected Lois was behind the one on his desk at work. It had a note about doing a piece on profiteering from Superman’s image, but it was in Lois’s handwriting. That was her idea of covering for an ex-boyfriend that she knew the secret identity of, while still mocking him and making his squirm. Clark had thought about looking into it, because the vision of those lips haunted his nightmares.
Clark suspected the one in his apartment, the one planted without tripping any of the alarms Bruce had set up, was the work of Bruce. Who better to get past the alarms than the guy who installed them? Bruce at least got the creepy part, as he’d put it in Clark’s bed. He’d even put pillows and blankets around to give the creepy thing a body. Clark had almost set fire to it when he turned on the lights, an instinctive reaction to a flesh toned Bizarro in his bed. He’d tried to think of a form of retaliation, but trying to figure out what would scare Batman gave him the nightmares full of those lips.
The Watchtower Christmas party involved a great deal of boxes in just the right shape and size, so Clark had to take a look. The creepy thing was apparently the hot gift this year, at least among the Superhero crowd who wanted to watch Clark squirm. He tried to laugh at it, as each one was opened. He was doing okay, until he looked at the corner Batman was hiding in. Bruce was frowning under his cowl, staring at a recently opened Superman Snuggler.
Clark repeated a phrase in Krypton, thanking all the gods ever worshiped that Bruce didn’t have heat vision. It was a phrase he’d used often, particularly during JL meetings, but he’d never expected to speak it over a toy. Bruce glanced up, and saw Clark looking. Bruce tossed Clark a small package, the neat wrapping flattened from being shoved in a utility belt.
When Clark looked up, Batman was gone. Clark didn’t care what was in the package, he was relieved enough to sag where he stood from Bruce leaving without a word. Bruce didn’t like the Superman Snuggler either, and he was going to take care of it. Clark returned to the party with a real smile on his face.
Around the fifteenth of every month, Clark found himself in his bank. Direct deposit brought his pay here, automatic bill pay covered his rent and credit cards, and he had a debt card. So why was he here, at least once a month? Despite signing statements that he was opening himself to the threat of identity theft but he wanted those precautions lifted, he still had to come in once a month and remind them.
Yes, I charged lunch in Ireland and supper in Japan. I’m a reporter, I travel, blah blah blah. Yet when he went to charge his coffee in Metropolis, a hold had been placed on his debt card. It hadn’t happened in December, so he thought they’d finally realized Clark Kent was going to have weird charges from strange locations. Now he was standing in line, Clark’s pleasant expression firmly in place. Considering how much of the banking world was automatic, Clark did wonder at the long line. When finally he got to the teller, it was an effort to remain pleasant. It wasn’t her fault after all, he reminded himself as he handed over his card.
“Went to get some coffee, found out I have a hold for some reason. I’m pretty sure I have enough to cover it.” At least hanging out with Batman had taught him to keep cash on hand, so he would be covered in this type of situation.
“Let me just take a look.” She smiled halfheartedly at him, but had her attention on the computer screen. She typed a novel, pausing every once in a while to check her spelling before looking back at him. “According to this, you need to talk to Mr. Roberts.”
Handing back his card, she pointed the way to an office. Taking the card and not sighing heavily, Clark went toward the office. A couple was already in there, and it didn’t take super hearing to figure out they were having problems with their mortgage. Clark listened, sorry he couldn’t help. If the mortgage was a large robot from the future, that he could fix. When the couple got up to leave, Clark made sure he wasn’t looking at them, making the woman feel bad for crying in public.
“Can I help you?” Mr. Roberts asked, as his eyes followed the couple out of the bank. He sounded tired of telling people he was about to take their houses.
“My debt card has a hold on it, and the teller, Sheila, told me to see you.” Clark handed over the card and followed Mr. Roberts into his office.
“Have a seat.” Mr. Roberts made a gesture toward the visitor’s chair, and Clark sat. Mr. Roberts sat and typed up his novel before looking at Clark with actual interest. “You’re on file as having some unusual transactions, so we do overlook a lot. Our policies are in place to protect our customers, and you’ve requested being let out of those policies.”
“I’m a reporter, I often have to travel without taking the time to let you know.”
“That’s fine, we’ve got all the paperwork on that, though you will have to refill those out every year.”
“Oh, of course.” Clark repressed a sigh, just knowing they all would expire at different times and he’d be back here every month for the rest of his life.
“This time, however, you received a deposit for a suspicious amount.”
“I wasn’t expecting any deposit, but why was that suspicious to you?”
“Are you aware that any money transfer of $10,000 or more has to be reported to the IRS?”
“Yes.” A simple affirmative statement, because Clark was aware of this fact and had used it to catch bad guys before.
“Well, bank policy is to tag any deposit of $9,001 or more, as it might be an effort to get around that regulation.” Mr. Roberts looked at Clark, trying to look intimidating.
Clark turned his repressed laugh into a cough of confusion. “How much was it?”
“$9,999.”
“I can see how that would look suspicious.” Clark suddenly was confused and nervous. Who would send Clark such a strange amount? “Who’s it from?”
“CR, or Clypeaster-Rosaceus.”
“Huh.” Clark responded, in one of his less articulate moments.
“Huh, Mr. Kent?”
“I’ve never heard of CR, so I don’t know why they sent me a deposit.” Both true statements, but Clark could make a guess about a few things.
“I’m going to unfreeze your account, I just wanted to make you aware of the situation.”
“Are you sure it’s not a mistake, that they really meant for me to have the money?”
“Oh yes, we called and talked to a nice British gentlemen.”
“It’s a British company?”
“No, LA area code.”
“Ok, thank you for letting me…” Clark trailed off as a thought occurred to him. “You can take deposits from anyone to anyone, you just can’t take money out of any account without approval?”
“Essentially, but we will need names and account numbers.” Mr. Roberts wasn’t sure of where Clark was going with this, but Clark was.
Clark pulled up his memory of the office before he’d entered, including the paperwork held by the distraught couple. Zooming in a little, the account number was at the top. “I’d like to give $9,000 of it to the Casey’s. Apply it to their mortgage, if I could.”
“What? The couple that just left?”
“I want the Casey’s to have it.” Clark wrote down their account number, thanking the gods for his gifts, and handed it over to Mr. Roberts.
“Are you sure?” Mr. Roberts was getting over his shock, starting to smile at the idea of doing a good dead for once.
“Absolutely. I wasn’t expecting it, and don’t need it, they do. Give it to them and if they ask say it was a discount for customer loyalty or something.”
“Mr. Kent, I, well, I thank you on their behalf. I guess if you know them well enough to know their account number, you know you don’t want them to know it was you. I’d also like to thank you as well. It’s nice to not be the bad guy occasionally.” Mr. Roberts stood, and held out a hand.
Clark did the same, solemnly shaking hands with Mr. Roberts. “You’re welcome. I just wish I could do more.”
“Anything you need, Mr. Kent, you come directly to me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Roberts.” Clark pulled his hand out, the bank manager seemed reluctant to let it go. Smiling, Clark picked up his debt card and left the bank. The smile stayed on his face until he was in an alleyway without cameras.
He had a trip to Gotham to get ready for, including a change of clothes and a change of emotions. Clypeaster-Rosaceus was the scientific name of a sand dollar, and what better name for a shell corporation than a sea shell? And if the British man who talked with the bank manager on the phone, whatever the area code was, wasn’t Alfred, Clark would buy a hat and eat it.
Flying over Wayne Manor, Clark took a look around before landing. Knocking on the kitchen door got Alfred to open it, smiling in that dignified, not really smiling way he had. Bruce was down in the cave, even though it was a work day, and probably knew Clark would be there down in a few minutes.
“Master Kent, what a pleasure to see you.” Alfred held the door open, even as he motioned for Clark to enter.
“How’s the new year treating you, Alfred?”
“Very well sir, though I fear Master Bruce is having difficulty with his favorite car.”
“Is that what he’s working on?” Clark leaned on the counter and watched as Alfred went back to sliding his cookies off the baking sheet.
“I believe he would appreciate your presence, if not your help.”
“Only until he hears why I came. Correct me if I’m wrong, but he’ll get angry when I ask about the money Clypeaster-Rosaceus put in my account, won’t he?”
“Anger is not necessarily his only response, simply the one he feels most comfortable displaying.” Alfred spoke this statement to the stove, as he made up two mugs of hot chocolate.
“Is that your way of avoiding saying that CR is his doing?”
“Technically speaking, it is my doing. A shell company started specifically to buy parts of his equipment, things he cannot get from his own company.”
“So why did I get a deposit from them, it, him or you?” Sometimes you had to back Alfred into a corner to get him to admit things, but he did have last wall that was impossible to get through.
“That is something you…”
“Will have to take up with Master Bruce.” Clark finished Alfred’s sentence for him, and Alfred’s lips curled with amusement. That was Alfred’s final word on any subject and he wouldn’t be moved.
“Perhaps your luck will increase if you take him this tray of cookies I’ve just finished making?”
“Alfred, you’re telepathic, aren’t you?” Clark asked as he took the tray of cookies and hot chocolate.
“As if Master Bruce would allow a telepath to reside under his roof.” Alfred gave a small sniff, as he held open the kitchen door for Clark.
“That’s not a denial!” Clark called as he walked toward the cave entrance.
“Very true, sir.” Alfred said, before disappearing back into his kitchen.
Grinning, Clark held the tray with one hand and opened the cave entrance. Bruce was working on his Batmobile, if the overall covered legs sticking out from under it were any kind of clue. “Bruce, Alfred sent cookies.”
As far as Clark was concerned, that was enough of an invitation. Sitting in midair beside the car, Clark set the try in his lap and began eating. Two cookies in, and he was thinking about using the money to hire his own butler, or at least his own cook. If they could do justice to Alfred’s recipes, and what did the man do to make this hot chocolate so good?
“No water.”
“What?” Clark looked up to see a grease splattered Bruce staring at him.
“Alfred uses whole milk instead of water as the basis of his hot chocolate.” Bruce took a cookie and shrugged. “That’s what everybody wants to know when they taste his cocoa, and that’s what I tell them. Truth is, it’s top secret and he won’t tell me.”
“You haven’t done a chemical analysis of Alfred’s hot cocoa to determine that secret?”
“Of course I have, but that leaves out certain factors like temperature control and Alfredness.”
“Well, they are fantastic.”
“You should try his Drunken chocolate-chocolate brownies.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“Yes. I invite you to get Alfred to make you desserts. One a month.” Bruce hastily amended at the look of delight in Clark’s face.
Clark’s face did fall, but only a little. “With my new income, I could afford hire my own cook.”
Bruce didn’t react, just closed his eyes and enjoyed a sip of cocoa.
“Most people would ask about the source of my new income, but you already know. So would you be nice, for once, and just tell my why you sent it to me?”
“Those ugly Superman Snugglers.”
“They made that much off those things? Wait, I can’t have it in my account, it’ll make people wonder why I get it!”
“Relax, I’m not an idiot.” Bruce sent Clark a scowl to calm him down.
Clark realized it had worked and grinned. Bruce: the man with a scowl for every occasion.
“I patented the Superman shield and image, then bought up all the other attempts at ownership. A shell corporation is doling out the profits to various charities that Superman would approve of. The $10,000 is your finder’s fee, for doing that article on all the uses of the Superman image.”
“$10,000?”
“I only sent $9,999 so the IRS didn’t get an alert before you did. Take a dollar’s worth of Alfred’s cookies. You can owe me for the cocoa.”
“So you did know about my bank’s policy!”
“Due diligence. Ever heard of it?”
“I kept back enough money to keep the bank from alerting the people I gave it to, but you wanted the bank to tell me, so you wouldn’t have to.”
“Car trouble.” Bruce gestured toward the Batmobile with half a cookie. “I would have gotten around to it eventually.”
“Yeah, when you needed to distract me from something really important.”
“I’m sure you would have figured it out by next week.”
“What happens next week?”
“Were you not listening? You get another deposit.”
“Okay, how long will I, Clark Kent, be getting this finder’s fee of $9,999 delivered to my bank account.” Sometimes you had to be really specific with Bruce, particularly when he was being all sure of himself. At least he didn’t have Alfred’s fallback of having to ask the master of the house.
“Weekly, until you no longer need a secret identity and can take over the copyright yourself.”
“40g’s a month?”
“Give or take, depending on how well your toys sell. I’ve even put a team on making the toys better for the environment and children’s minds.” Bruce swallowed the last of his cocoa before bring the conversation back to the cause of all this. “Those Superman Snuggles are to be recalled and burned.”
“Thank you for that, but I don’t need the money.”
“I don’t care what you do with the money, but it’s clean and it’s legally yours. Besides, it’s your house shield, and I know you don’t want it put on more blow up dolls.”
“You thought that too! Everybody did, didn’t they?”
“Yeah.” Bruce nodded before setting his empty cocoa mug on the tray, which was also empty of cookies. He looked like he was ready to get back to work, but Clark had a sudden recollection of the way Bruce had stared at the snuggler at the Christmas party.
“Bruce, a few years ago, you would have used those things to torment me about my image. Why’d you rid the world of their evil?”
“Like you said, they were evil.” Bruce shrugged and knelt by his toolbox.
“They looked like sex toys to you.” Clark set the tray on the hood of the Batmobile and leaned down to whisper in Bruce’s ear. “They made you think about having sex with me.”
“I don’t need to have sex with a blow up doll, thank you very much.” Bruce muttered as he pulled out a socket wrench and checked the size.
“You wouldn’t, if you’d just admit you wanted to have sex with me.”
“Is that an invitation?” Bruce meant it to be sarcastic, insulting and insulted. Instead it came out a genuine question.
Clark tried to speak, but found his throat was blocked with shock. Bruce should have been shocked at the question, not nervously playing with his tools. Picking Bruce up, Clark turned him so their eyes could meet. When words still refused to come out of Clark’s mouth, he leaned in to kiss Bruce. The kiss was fire, a fight for control and a meeting of matching passions, more than Clark had ever let himself think it would be.
Bruce broke the kiss, pulling away just when Clark was ready to move in for more. His hands on Clark shoulder pushed instead of pulling, and Bruce was looking anywhere but at Clark.
“That was nice, let’s pretend it never happened. You know the way out.”
“Explain.” Clark barely recognized his own voice, it was so deep with emotion and thwarted need.
“Coworkers, bad idea, look at you and Lois, priorities, homosexual stigma, need to preserve secrets. Shall I go on?”
“Allow me to present my counterargument.”
Bruce stepped back, folding his arms across his chest and tilting his head in a listening posture.
Clark scratched at his head, and tried to look thoughtful as he scanned the cave. Seeing an answer, Clark grabbed Bruce and sped him over to the storage area of the Cave. A bit of rope and Bruce was naked, spread eagle and tied to that giant penny. The curvature of the face on the penny had Bruce’s hips jutted forward, making his half erection even more noticeable.
“Your counterargument is you’re into bondage?” Bruce asked, far too calmly for Clark’s taste.
“My counterargument is you love me. Look at how hard you are from a kiss!”
“That’s from the bondage. I’m a freak, you know.”
“I know, I like that about you.” Clark was trying to look Bruce in the eye, but the erection was just there, neither growing nor shrinking, needing Clark’s attention. “You got rid of the Superman Snugglers so you wouldn’t have to think about me and blow jobs. If I can get that image out of your head, you’ll take me out for dinner tonight.”
“I can get the idea out of my head all by myself.” Bruce hissed from where he was, but he wasn’t making much of an effort to get out of the ropes.
A quick move and Clark was in his Superman suit. A slow move and Superman was kneeling before Bruce. His cock was no longer at half mast, nor was Bruce able to pretend disinterest. Clark skipped the licks and teasing touches, and puckered his lips into the same shape the Snuggler had. Bruce swallowed, just hard enough to make Clark’s point.
Clark shoved back on his own desire, his need to be naked and at Bruce’s mercy. He pressed a hand to his cock and inserted Bruce’s cock into his lips. When Bruce hissed, Clark stopped and added a sucking pressure, before pulling back. Forward and back, experimenting with his tongue and applying pressure. Tasting Bruce until Clark thought he would have come if he hadn’t placed a hand at his cock when he started. That hand clutched convulsively at his cock as Bruce filled his mouth and groaned.
Stripping off the suit without letting go of Bruce’s cock was kind of fun. When it seemed to be completely empty, Clark floated up and waited for Bruce to open his eyes.
Bruce frowned and worked to be serious when he spoke. “I will admit that removed the image of that toy from my mind, if you will admit that doesn’t mean I’m in love with you.”
“You would have got out of those ropes and stopped me if you wanted to. That’s my proof, the fact that you’re still on the penny.”
Bruce snapped his jaw shut loud enough to echo in the cave.
Clark laughed, accepting Bruce didn’t have words to fight back with right now. When he sobered, Clark asked with a smirk. “I’ve got a huge erection that I need to take care of before I go get dressed for our date tonight. What do you suggest I do with it?”
“Stand on your head and you’ll get an idea.” It wasn’t an insult, and Bruce’s lips were curling in a delightful way.
Curious, Clark rotated until he was upside down. Bruce was almost ready for a second go, seemingly quite happy for that second go to take place while he was tied to a giant penny. Kinky, Clark thought, but knew he could work with that. Moving into position for a vertical sixty-nine, Clark grinned as Bruce started sucking on his cock. Yes, Clark could defiantly work with kinky Bruce.
