Title: Tale of the Tape
Author: vipers_in_love
Fandom: Justice League
Pairing: Clark/Brice; Superman/Batman
Category: Slash
Summary: Let’s break it down to brass tacks, shall we?
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Batman and Superman do not belong to me in any way.
Notes: Well, after a very lengthy ::cough:: absence, I’m back. I’ve got a couple of stories on the burner, and this is one of them. I want to thank tmelange for her beta and endless encouragement—it really means a lot to me. Anyway, here’s hoping you enjoy it.
“Me.”
“Not even.”
“Bruce, look at it.”
“I am looking at it. I repeat, not even.”
“Tale of the tape, then.”
“There is no tape.”
“Surely you have one in your belt.”
Bruce says nothing.
“You do! You do have one. Go get it. Then we’ll know.”
“Did you just order me…?”
“OK. Sorry, sorry.” I sigh. “I’m just trying to end the stalemate.”
“There’s only a stalemate in your mind, Clark. Any objective observer would correctly identify the winner.”
“Then why don’t we bring in some objective observer?”
Bruce stares. “Like who?”
“Like Diana! She’s the one who suggested this in the first place.”
“That was your fault for arguing with me about Intergang. You know my vector eight strategy was superior to your cowboy approach.”
“No, I know that you were turning a simple operation into World Wars III, IV and V.”
“It’s not my fault that you can’t grasp the finer points of bat matrix battle plans.”
“I can’t grasp—“I exhale, none too softly. “You know what, Bruce? Let’s get this over with.”
I step closer, close enough for our sides to touch. We stand still for a minute.
“Stop stretching it out like that. You’re distorting things.”
“I’m doing no such thing, Clark. I don’t need to.”
I fidget. This isn’t going according to plan, not that I’d had a plan. Damnit. This is all Diana’s fault.
“Fine, Clark. You want to be absolutely sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then stroke up.”
“What?”
“The only way to truly measure the length of the male genitalia is while it is fully erect. This limpness just won’t do.”
“So, so…you’re suggesting we…”
“Yes, Clark. Now shut up and get going.”
Bruce immediately starts working himself, slow and sure. I can only watch as his large hand, beautifully defined by masculine veins and tendons, flexes as he strokes up and down. I notice that he avoids touching the tip. I wonder why. Some control issue, maybe? Several seconds have gone by now and I can see the first flush of blood rise to the surface of that delicate skin. It’s perfect, like the entrancing first blush of a newly ripened peach. Peaches. Bruce. Penis. Bruce.
My tongue has darted out just as Bruce turns to me. I close my mouth and try to act cool.
“Are you going to just watch me, or are you going to get started?”
“I…of course, I was just getting to it…”
We both look down before I can get to anything. I feel the heat sear my face.
“Hmmm.” Bruce says noncommittally. “Looks like you’ve already found your stimulation.”
From watching Bruce, nearly naked, touching himself? Oh, yes.
“It’s a Kryptonian thing. Auto-erection. All I have to do is will it into existence.”
I toss the words out like candy, praying that Bruce is in the mood for sweets. But do bats even eat sweets?
“Hmmm.”
His silence is maddening. “Is that all you’re ever going to say? ‘Hmmm?’”
“I thought you’d prefer that to my laughing in your face.”
“It’s true!”
“Riiight.”
It’s making me crazy, but not only am I the one who got turned on by Bruce’s arousal, but I’m also the one whose breathing has hitched. Standing this close, where all I have to do is reach over and…
No!
“Enough of this, Bruce. We’re both hard. Let’s measure.”
Bruce cocks his head. He makes no move toward the tape I know is in his belt. He just stares into my eyes.
“Wait just a minute, Clark. The optimal experimental conditions still haven’t been met.”
My body is begging for release by now, and I definitely need to touch myself, but I refuse to do so under Bruce’s watchful eyes. If I touch myself, I’ll explode and Bruce will have the ultimate humiliation to hold over me for life. I feel like screaming. How can Bruce, who has never stopped stroking himself, still look so unperturbed? You’d think he was testing the security system.
“Bruce, I don’t know what conditions you’re talking about, but if you don’t take out that measure right now, I’m leaving.”
If it was possible, those unbelievable eyes turn even sharper. I feel a strong hand on my arm, holding me in place.
“If you leave, Clark, I’ll tell everybody.”
I hope I don’t sound like the scared little boy I know I’ve become.
“You’ll, you’ll tell them what?”
“That you got off on watching me.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I would.”
Mental anguish joins physical anguish as I bow my head.
“All right, Bruce. Whatever you say.”
“Exactly.”
He lets go of my arm, speaking smoothly as ever, like any scientist describing his project parameters. “Now. As I was saying, optimal experimental conditions have not yet been met.”
I’m afraid to find out. “What conditions?”
“The human body is an extraordinarily tactile organism, Clark. Touch, sensation, texture, friction—they all elicit distinct physical reactions when applied at the body’s many pressure points. Of course, as we grow older, we become accustomed to our own touch, our own ability to bring pleasurable pressure to bear upon ourselves. But the touch, texture or friction made by another is an entirely new sensation, bringing out the largest reaction of all.”
“What are you talking about, Bruce? Why don’t you just—“
Bruce lays one finger on him.
Just one finger.
Not a thumb, not a pinky. A forefinger, right at the base of my shaft, just slightly tangled in the curly hairs. I would have floated right into the air, but the delicious pressure of that one finger keeps me rooted to the spot. I know that if my eyes had been saucers they would have tumbled and crashed to the floor by now. Bruce Wayne is touching me. There. Bruce Wayne is touching me there. Holy…
One finger is followed by two, then three. By the time Bruce has me fully wrapped, I’m shaking. I risk a glance at him. The look on his face is a wonder. He looks like a young child who, having just caught a firefly in the night sky, opens his cupped palms just enough to see the sparking life inside. I figure it’s worth the erotic torture of having the man I’ve always found so beautiful gripping me without stroking me just to see that look.
“You see, Clark, if we are to truly measure ourselves, we have to push ourselves to the limits of what physical sensations can induce in us. I think that I,” he says quietly, without hurry, “can induce more from you.” He looks back up at me intently. “This way.”
And with that he sends his hand, the mate to the one still stroking himself, down my shaft. I shudder on his hand’s path back up, straining to put into words what the sensation feels like. The skin of his hand is like buttery leather, cool, improbably soft and delightfully cocooning. I try to hold my breath to keep from crying out, but a whisper escapes, just the barest hint of a sound that I know Bruce can hear. I’m sure this will make him stop; I know that he won’t want to take things so far. But, it appears, he does because he continues to fondle me gently for a long time, like a child cradling a beloved toy, again and again. I’ve long since forgotten—what was the point of this experiment again? I don’t care in the least, just as long as Bruce doesn’t take his hand away.
“There. You’ve gotten bigger. At least an eighth of an inch. You see what I mean?”
I rouse myself from my fantasy of what I’d like to do to Bruce with that extra bit of length enough to catch the last question.
“Uhhh….yeah, yeah.”
He keeps watching me, moving his fingers in a rhythm that is predictable, but not. One that is surely driving me mad.
“Of course, there are an almost infinite variety of ways to provide tactile stimulation, Clark. Can you name a few?”
Oh, please. Please don’t make me think, I plead silently.
“Hmmm?”
“I, I really can’t….can’t…”
“That’s okay, Clark. It’s not fair of me to expect you to have a scientist’s detachment at a time like this.” Bruce moves suddenly, still gripping me, until he’s standing in front of me.
“There are several varieties I could name: fluttering, drumming, tapping, rubbing, scratching, kneading, pulling, pushing, plucking, tickling…” With each word comes the corresponding sensation from Bruce’s fingers. How could he find so many different ways to touch me, I ask myself, knowing it would be futile, and insulting, to ask him. Bruce knows everything. Always has, always will. Thank Rao.
“A quarter inch this time, Clark. You’re responding very well. It’s satisfying that you have unusual abilities in the reaction to these stimuli as you do to so many others. It confirms a hypothesis of mine.”
“I’m glad…I’m glad I can be of…service, Bruce.”
“Oh, you are. You are.” He smiles then, catching my heart. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he looks…happy. Happy. Is that a word one can associate with the Dark Knight? I hope so, since happy people usually continue to do the things that make them feel so.
“There is more that can be attempted, of course. I can think of three dozen more ways to use my hand on you that I think would induce an appreciable increase in size. But I think it’s time to take a leap, rather than merely another step forward, Clark.” Bruce looks up from his work back to my eyes, holding me. “Don’t you?”
And with that, I fall.
Bruce has taken me in his mouth.
Tactile, indeed.
The introduction of heat and wet into the situation is almost too much. I know I can’t keep from whimpering any longer and by now I don’t care what sounds I make or who hears them. All that matters is how the man I’ve wanted all along is making me feel. It can’t get any better. Or so I thought until Bruce twists his tongue, which has previously lain dormant, around me. He curls it like a snake coils around his prey, gripping tighter and tighter. I’d never had a reason to think about how long Bruce’s tongue is before, but now the question takes on vital urgency. If I can figure it out, I can figure out how long this rapturous twisting and pulling will go on. And it’s crucial that I know this. Right now. Right now before I—
The warmth disappears. Bruce sits back on his heels.
“A half inch, I’d swear.”
“Bruce. Bruce, please.”
I watch as he reaches into one of the compartments of his belt. He pulls out a disk the size of a dime.
“Bruce…I don’t care about…the tape…anymore. Just please…don’t stop.”
“Where’s your spirit of scientific inquiry, Clark?” Bruce laughs softly. “Oh, I forgot. Never mind.”
He stands up and takes a position next to me once again. We stand side by side, me panting painfully, hard as a rock, and Bruce, who had never quite stopping arousing himself with his free hand the entire time. Bruce is barely breathing at all, it seems. He’s that calm. I watch him, completely baffled, as he holds out the disk.
“So, as you have seen, I have deployed as many varieties of touch on you as one man could reasonably supply in the delimited time frame of the experiment. I could have spent more time with you in my mouth, but I knew where that was heading and I didn’t want to ruin the whole venture.”
Oh goody, I think sourly.
“Now, let us restate the experimental context. After one of our titanic mission arguments in the Tower, and after the others had left, Diana stayed behind only long enough to ask, rather bitchily, in my opinion, why didn’t we just ‘whip them out and figure out whose is bigger.’ Her theory being that maybe then we would ‘shut the Hera up.’ I, deciding that that was the best suggestion I had heard all day, characteristically issued the challenge: ‘Bring it.’ You, also characteristically, in a fit of stubborn anger, replied, ‘Anytime, Batboy.’ I then led the way to the teleporter and ultimately here to the cave where we dropped the necessary articles of clothing, and…here we are.
“Here we are,” I groan softly.
Bruce moves in even closer so that our sides touch from shoulder to thigh. I can feel myself pulsing just at the renewed contact, but it needs to be a bit more localized before I can get back to that state of Bruce-induced bliss.
Aching, in more ways than one, I watch as Bruce pulls the slim, black wire tape with silver markings out from the disk. The tiny numbers scroll by quickly at first, before Bruce slows the pace as he gets closer to the moment of truth. I find myself pouting as he ekes out the tape, fraction by fraction…
“Oh, come on! How long can it take to measure two dicks?”
“Patience, grasshopper. You want me to be precise, don’t you?”
“I want you to get it over with.” I never brag, but the ache in my groin is becoming painful and I’m feeling spiteful. “We both know I’m bigger. They don’t call me Superman for nothing.”
“Don’t they?”
Bruce finally stops the tape.
No.
After all this, after the fight, the arousal, the near climax, after all of Bruce’s teasing.
One goddamned quarter inch.
“You rigged the tape. There’s no way—You said yourself I kept getting bigger under your tactile…whatever the hell. All you were doing was touching yourself. You didn’t have any extras.
Bruce brought the tape up higher for Clark to see, smirking.
“I didn’t need any extras.”
“Oh, please. You are not bigger than me.”
“Tale of the tape, Clark. The tale of the tape.”
I grab the black strip, flipping it back and forth to check for tricks. I can find none.
The ignominy. I’ll never win an argument with Batman or Bruce again.
Excruciating as it is, I grab my tights and force my erection into my shorts. Bruce, who is staring at me with a peculiar expression, watches me wince in pain as I straighten my pants and begin to stalk off.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m done being your little guinea pig. You did all that, just to…to make a point about your leadership. It didn’t even mean anything to you!”
“So that’s the thanks I get.”
I feel volcanic. “The
thanks…”
“Clark. Really. Would you have ever come down here with me to get half naked if I didn’t challenge you?”
I cross my arms in front of my chest.
“Would I ever have found a ‘legitimate’ reason to touch you today without that little experiment?”
I set my feet.
“Would the whole thing have turned sexual if I hadn’t—“
“We were half naked, Bruce. Nature would have taken its course.”
“No, it wouldn’t have. You were too freaked to do anything about the situation, just like you’ve always been too freaked to do anything about what we both knew was there. I just found a way to raise the stakes in a way you would accept without running away. One of Batman’s crazy ideas that just might have a grain of truth in it, right? And of course, I deployed the element of surprise.”
“You got that part right.” I grumble, still keeping my Superman pose.
Bruce pulls up his pants in one fluid motion, which leaves me wondering how it could possibly be easier for him to work his stiffness inside the Batsuit than it had been for me in my spandex, and comes closer.
“Now all the pretense is gone. You want me, I want you. And we’ve both made that very, very obvious. Are you really going to pack up your toy and run back home?”
I consider things, pride and pique warring with love and lust. I do still have a raging hard on and Bruce had gone to an awful lot of trouble. He probably put Diana up to it, in fact. Besides, now that we have come this far, the rest would be easy. I shift uncomfortably around the bulge in my shorts. Or very, very hard.
“You promise to finish what you started?”
“Yes, Clark.”
“You promise to let me be on top?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m bigger.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“Yes, it is. If the situation was reversed, you know you’d say the same thing.”
I did know.
“Well….alright, then.” I mutter.
“Well…alright, then, he says.” Bruce mimics me perfectly. “Like he’s doing me a favor by letting me blow him.”
I had to laugh.
“Come here, please.”
When he gets close enough, I grab the hand that had been making me delirious all afternoon and position it.
“I’m sorry, Bruce. Please blow me.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
finis
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cheerful