Title: Get Out
Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics, and/or anything affiliated with Superman and/or Batman, and I do not make any money from these fictions.
Summary: Bruce threw Clark out after a night of passionate lovemaking. They were just coworkers, after all – and the sexual tension was getting in the way. If only Bruce knew then what he knows now…Slash.
"Get out," Bruce ordered harshly, rolling off Clark and onto his back.
"Bruce?" Clark asked tentatively, obviously unsettled by his friend's mood.
"We're done. Get out," Bruce repeated.
"I…I thought…" Clark started, uncertainly.
"You thought what? We fucked. It's over. Get out," Bruce told him, purposely cruel.
"Bruce, we've been dancing around this for months, years in fact. So…what? Now that you've gotten what you wanted, good riddance? Bruce, at the very least, I thought we were friends…" Clark pleaded as he looked at Bruce with those green, green eyes.
"We're coworkers," Bruce corrected harshly. "And we work well together, most of the time. The sexual tension has been getting in the way, recently…and we've just gotten rid of it. So get your uniform and get out."
Clark just looked at him with hurt eyes for a few seconds. When he closed those beautiful green eyes, only for a single tear to escape, Bruce's heart felt as if it were being crushed by invulnerable hands.
But Clark would never resort to violence to settle the score between them.
"If…if that's what you truly want, I'll go…" Clark said softly, looking at Bruce to contradict him. Giving Bruce one last chance to make things right.
"That's what I want," Bruce confirmed, the lie falling easily from his mouth.
Clark got up out of the bed and superspeeded into his Superman uniform. It was Kal's blue, blue eyes that looked at him after the transformation.
"For what it's worth, B? It was more than just sex to me. I will always consider you a friend, and I had hoped that one day you would consider more. I trust that this will not negatively affect our working relationship," Kal spoke, the Superman shield guarding his heart, making it possible to expose himself in ways he couldn't when he was naked, lying in Bruce's bed.
"I will not allow anything to negatively affect the mission," Bruce said harshly, as if he were offended by even the thought.
Kal just nodded at that.
"Goodbye," he said with an air of finality. Before his voice even faded from the room, a brush of air signaled his departure.
Bruce closed his eyes against the absense and realized that his heart no longer felt as if it were being pulverized.
How could it, when it had just left the room in a burst of superspeed?
The days passed, and Bruce focused on his missions in an attempt to relieve the ache in his heart. He refused to watch the video feed from Clark's apartment, unwilling to torture himself by looking at the man he had pushed away.
He tortured himself enough with his thoughts of what could have been if he just examined his own feelings before throwing his heart away.
Bruce hadn't realized how much he had truly cared about Clark until it was too late. He had thought it simple attraction, refused to acknowledge his relationship with Clark as anything more than close coworkers. He had seduced Clark into his bed, and then he had kicked him out as if he were nothing.
He thought the obsession with Clark would fade after he had gotten a taste. As if having him just once would quench his appetite.
He had been in denial. He convinced himself that buying the Daily Planet, Clark's apartment building, and the Smallville Savings & Loans that held the farm's mortgage were just ways of controlling Superman economically.
He had really been trying to control Clark, bind him tighter to Bruce.
He convinced himself that bugging Clark's apartment, his desk at the Daily Planet, his cell phone, and the farm were just ways of controlling Superman.
But after Clark left the bedroom that night, leaving Kal behind for those few moments, Bruce realized that he really had just wanted to get closer to the man behind the perfect façade. He didn't want Kal to hold him at arms length, piercing him with those arctic blue eyes that could see through so much.
He wanted the warm green of Clark's affection as Bruce held that perfect body close to his own.
And he hadn't realized what he had until it was gone.
The memory of Clark's parting words, "…if that's what you truly want, I'll go…" haunted him. He saw the pain in those beautiful green eyes every time he closed his own eyes. And then he remembered Clark's transformation to Kal. The ways those intense blue eyes had locked with his own.
And that soft declaration.
"I had hoped that one day you would consider more…"
But Bruce had destroyed that hope. Lost it with his cruel words and his harsh expression. Bruce had basically pulled out, rolled over, and told Clark to get out of his bed as if Clark was just some ten-cent whore he had paid for a quick fuck.
When what he really wanted was Clark for the rest of his life.
Bruce was jittery. He hadn't seen Clark in the two weeks since his monumental screw-up. Superman had missed the two Justice League meetings held during that time.
With good reason of course. Not even Batman was paranoid enough to believe that Superman could have caused the mudslide in California and the tsunami in Japan just to avoid him.
So Bruce finally gave in and turned on the live video feed to Clark's apartment.
"Ollie, I said no," Clark whispered, vulnerability plain to see in his pretty green eyes.
"Oh, you and I both know you don't mean it, love," Oliver Queen said cockily as he easily backed the strongest being on the planet towards the wall. "You never mean it when you say no."
"God, Ollie, why is it that everyone thinks I'm just a pretty little whore that they can play with? I'm…you know who I am." Clark pleaded, looking miserable.
"Who you are now doesn't change who you were," Ollie explained as he pushed Clark's ill-fitting suit jacket off of him and started working on his tie.
"It was one summer! I was sixteen and high on red kryptonite. Why does that take away my ability to say no for the rest of my life?" Clark whispered. He looked as if he could be shattered by the answer to that question.
"Once a whore, always a whore. So what's your going rate these days, Clark? I heard that you spread those pretty legs of yours for Bruce Wayne for free," Ollie smirked cruelly.
Bruce started. How had Ollie known? Was his bedroom compromised?
"Lex Luthor," Clark whispered, a tear falling down the side of his face before he had the chance to wipe it away.
And Ollie just melted into the smirking visage of the Prince of Metropolis.
"Oh, angel, why do you do this to yourself?" the being that held Lex's face questioned, seemingly affectionate.
"Because I'm a whore," Clark answered with a whisper.
"Why?" Lex asked again as he unbuttoned Clark shirt.
"I'm a whore," Clark repeated, louder.
"That's right," Lex agreed. "You're a whore. After all, even Morgan Edge recognized that you were a whore. How old were you, Clark? Remind me, how old were you when you gave him your virginity like the slut you are?"
Clark was sobbing in earnest now, sliding down the wall.
"Morgan Edge," he whispered, and just like magic the figure before him transformed into Metropolis's former crime boss.
"Answer me, Kal," the man demanded. "How old were you when I popped your cherry? I forget, sometimes."
"Seven," Clark finally answered. "I was seven."
Bruce's heart stopped and his breath caught in his throat. That…that couldn't be true!
"And yet you still came to me, nine years later, looking for a job. What did you think I'd use you for?" Edge questioned savagely.
"I'd…I'd forgotten. Repressed the memory so completely. Until…until that day that you came to me. You'd never made me service you before. There were plenty of others, but the memories didn't come back until…" Clark cut himself off with a sob.
"Jason Teague," he whispered, no longer able to bear looking at his rapist's face.
"Oh, Clark, it's been a while since we've seen each other, baby," a handsome young man whispered seductively. "Let's get you onto the bed."
Clark let the young man manhandle him from the floor, remove his pants and boxers, and lay him down on the bed.
"You…I thought you cared about me," Clark whispered, touching the man's face adoringly. "That made it hurt more, when you told me that you wouldn't really leave Lana."
"Would you like me to say sorry?" the Teague boy mocked. "I just said what I had to, to get you into bed. That's all you're good for, after all. All you've ever been good for."
"Bruce…" Clark choked out. "Bruce Wayne."
Bruce wanted to kill himself for the pain that he saw in Clark beautiful eyes at just the utterance of his name.
"Oh, come now Clark. You didn't really expect me to love you, did you? You followed me around like a pitiful puppy until I finally gave you what you wanted," Bruce's doppelganger whispered viciously into Clark's ear as he leant over him on the bed.
"I'm pathetic," Clark spat in self-hatred.
"Yes, you really are," Bruce's double agreed. "I gave you what you wanted. What you needed…a good hard fuck. I never promised anything more. We're coworkers, that's all. The sexual tension was getting in the way of us working together, so I got rid of it. I didn't think it would be so hard to get rid of you. You really didn't want to leave, did you?"
"No…" Clark sobbed. "I love you. I love you so much. I thought…I thought we were friends. I thought we could be more. I'm…I'm so stupid. So pathetic. I'm a stupid, pathetic slut. That's why Lex…is the way he is. Because I wasn't enough for him. And Jason…all he had to do was mention the word love and I was on my back so fast…"
"That's right," Bruce said viciously. "And I didn't even have to say love, did I? I just had to touch your hand and tell you that we should take it upstairs. You're so easy, Clark. So easy. That's just one of the reasons why I will never love you."
"Just fuck me," Clark whispered.
Bruce had to turn away from the monitor at the site of his double ravishing Clark. But he had to turn back when it seemed like Clark's whimpers were more of pain than pleasure.
Bruce's hand bore a kryptonite ring as he scored his nails down Clark's green-tinged skin. Clark's veins bulged and twisted in his agony, and blood welled up in the deep gouges left behind by sharp nails.
There was no kissing, no tenderness. Just a glowing kryptonite ring, blood, and Clark's tears.
Bruce's double flipped Clark onto his stomach, spread his cheeks, and slammed home.
No preparation, and the scream that Clark let loose was all pain and no pleasure.
It was over quickly, Bruce's double pulling out and ejaculating all over Clark's nail-torn back. Clark hissed in pain.
"Did you get off?" he asked as he melted into a bland-looking middle-aged man.
"Does it matter?" Clark asked softly.
"Clark... I wish you'd stop punishing yourself this way. No matter how much pleasure I get from this, I'd be even happier if you didn't need them," the man claimed as he helped Clark turn over.
"Why?" Clark asked. "After I kiss you we both know you won't remember any of this anyway. At least until the next time I need you."
"And then you'll give me my memories back, and we'll do this all over again," the man sighed. "You shouldn't punish yourself. Morgan Edge raped you when you were seven years old. That's not your fault."
Clark regarded the man for a second, then leaned up and kissed him softly.
"Return to your apartment," he whispered. "You went for some drinks after work and lost track of time. None of this ever happened."
The man left, moving mechanically as he gathered his clothes.
Clark just sighed sadly as the man walked out the door. He picked up the kryptonite ring from where the man had placed it on the dresser, and with some difficulty returned it to its place in the lead box in his bedside drawer.
The effects of the kryptonite immediately disappeared. Clark's skin regained its golden glow and his injuries healed. He headed towards the bathroom.
Bruce clicked the monitor off after he heard the shower running.
Then he promptly turned and threw up into the wastebasket.
"I love you. I love you so much…I'm a stupid, pathetic slut," Clark words, spoken to that shapeshifter when he had assumed Bruce's appearance, looped in his head.
God, what had he done? Clark had loved him, had opened his heart and taken a chance on him, and Bruce had repaid him by treating him like a whore. Like a slut.
Like the way Morgan Edge had treated him when he raped Clark at seven.
And then pimped him at sixteen.
Like the way Lex Luthor must have treated him back when they were "best friends."
Like the way that Jason Teague boy must have treated him when he told Clark he loved him and then told him it was only to get him into bed.
Like the way Oliver fucking Queen must have treated him, once upon a time. "Once a whore, always a whore." Had the real Oliver Queen said that? Told Clark that he didn't have the right to say no? Or had that just been the way Clark interpreted it, and thus the way the shapeshifter played it out?
Bruce threw up again, thinking of how his treatment of Clark must have further damaged the man he realized he loved.
Clark would never open himself up that way to Bruce again. Maybe not to anyone, ever again.
God, Bruce could still see the look of adoration Clark had graced him with as Bruce had pushed in for the first time. As if Bruce deserved that love, that loyalty, that trust. The way Clark had raised his hand from Bruce's shoulder to touch his cheek.
Softly, reverently. As if he hadn't believed that something so perfect could exist.
It had scared Bruce, badly.
So he had reacted, badly.
And he had hurt Clark worse that he had thought possible.