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Your peace, suffused with sunlight

by Te

[Story Headers]

Your peace, suffused with sunlight
by Te
March 14, 2004

Disclaimers: All belongs to DC, not me.

Spoilers: None, really. Time-frame is sometime in the late middle of Dick's years as Robin.

Summary: Dick's starting to get a little restless. Clark helps.

Ratings Note: NC-17.

Author's Note: There's just no excuse for this, other than this picture:

Title from "Untitled" by Akhmatova:

"... Your red house I pass by with intent, Your red house above the river's ferment, But I know that I aggrievedly excite
Your peace, suffused with sunlight."

Acknowledgments: Much love to Livia, the Jack, and reilael for audiencing and much-needed encouragement.


Superman stopped ruffling his hair a couple of years ago.

Not that he sees Superman all that often -- the League has had a pretty firm 'no sidekicks' rule since the time Wally unrolled all of the toilet paper rolls at the Tower, glued sandpaper to the underside, then re-rolled them -- but... still. It's the sort of thing you notice.

Or he notices.

These days, when Bruce lets him come along to Metropolis, or when Superman visits them here, he doesn't get a hair ruffle.

Sometimes he gets a big, warm hand on his shoulder, or a light clap on the back -- lighter even than Bruce does it, though chances are Superman is just being careful. Always, always a smile.

Lots of smiles.

Those are... really nice. Really nice, but they also don't really count. He's seen Superman smile at supervillains. It always makes Bruce narrow his eyes behind the cowl, in exactly the same way he does when he's getting a headache.

The touches count, though.

Kids get their hair ruffled. He's not a kid.


The first time he'd met Superman, Batman and Robin were chasing down some kidnappers who'd run from Gotham to Metropolis. He'd only been Robin for a few months, and it was the first time Robin had worked anywhere but Gotham.

It was definitely strange -- even at night Metropolis didn't look like it had any real shadows. Robin blended in in Metropolis, and Dick had been woolgathering a little as he followed one of the suspects back to their hideout, wondering if this was what Batman felt like.

And then he'd had to laugh, and mug a little, and, okay, that would've been a mistake in Gotham, where he at least knew the territory and had a general idea of what he could expect.

In Metropolis...

Well, even now, when he has an entirely different reaction to Superman just in general, he still has to cringe at the memory of swinging smack into Superman's chest.

Literally. Ow.

It had taken a really, really long time to explain that, no, he didn't have parents to go home to, yes, he did have a home, and anyway, hadn't Batman explained it?

Batman hadn't explained it.

In retrospect, Dick thinks he really, really would've liked to be there for that conversation, even though getting sent back to his hotel room -- and locked in -- had felt like a relief at the time.

Superman helped them catch the kidnappers, the little girl gave him a big hug and called him "Wobin," and Superman had ruffled his hair.

And Dick had done his best not to think about the incident for a really long time.


Sometimes Superman comes to Gotham just to visit. Batman doesn't seem to understand that at all, though if Dick could fly, he'd always be in Keystone, or Star City, or New York.

"It's what you do when you have friends, Bruce," he'd said.

And Bruce had looked at him like... he's never been able to figure out that look, even though he knows it by heart: The way Bruce's eyes soften, and the way he looks like he can't decide whether to be shocked, amused, or... something else.

It's a nice look.

"I have Alfred," Bruce had said, "and I have you."

So when Superman visits, there's always those first really awkward moments where he tries and fails to get Bruce to be anyone but Batman, and he could kick Bruce for it, but mostly he's always at least a little grateful.

Because Superman always gives up, and smiles at Dick, and smiles even wider when Dick smiles back, and then...

Well, it used to be hair-ruffling. Now there are the shoulder-clasps, and back-pats, and...

And last year he'd flown into Gotham on Christmas Eve, with presents for all three of them.

From himself and his parents.

Somehow it was never weird to think of Superman having parents, and that night they'd sat on the roof of the Manor while Alfred cooked and Bruce hid -- it was definitely hiding -- down in the Cave.

And the roof was white with fresh snow, and Dick had done his best to keep his handsprings and tumbles in even lines, so as not to mess it up too badly, but the look on Superman's face was just too funny.

So he slipped, a little, and messed up his spiral, and Superman had dived for him and hauled him up into the sky.

"I would have caught myself, you know."

"Of course you would have. And Bruce definitely wouldn't have dumped Kryptonite in my hot cocoa."

And Superman had smiled at him while he laughed, and... it had to be okay. Dick hugged him hard, and he didn't even mean it that way -- mostly -- and anyway Clark had hugged him right back.

He was about the same size as Bruce, but his hugs were entirely different. Like Superman was maybe just waiting for the chance to give them, instead of constantly being surprised that anyone would want one.

He was warm, even with just a shirt on against the cold, and it had been difficult for Dick to let go right up until he absolutely definitely had to. He'd wriggled -- twisted -- out of Superman's arms and managed one almost perfect somersault and one definitely perfect landing.

And grinned.

"I didn't think I could actually have a heart attack," Superman had said, and Dick had decided to take it easy on him.

They sat and watched the snow fall.

Dick has spent a lot of time remembering exactly what Superman had smelled like, what he had felt like. Except that 'remembering' implied more thought than had actually ever happened.

After dinner, they'd opened the presents. Superman's mother had knitted them all sweaters.

Alfred assured him he'd grow into his.

He doesn't actually believe that.


He travels a lot with the Titans, but it's almost always work-related. Which is fine -- he likes being a hero without Bruce almost as much as he likes being one with him, but there's not a lot of time to just move.

He's been all over the world -- and further into space than he'd ever thought possible -- but somehow, none of it really counts when the snowy mountaintop or the strange, purple meadow is just another place to beat up bad guys.

He gets... restless.

Alfred says that it's part of growing up, and he supposes he can understand that, but... it doesn't actually make it easier to just stand still.

He knows it's bad when Wally tells him to stop pacing, and... well, it's not as though the team does need him right now.

And Bruce would call if he wanted Dick back in Gotham for anything, so... why not?

He takes the jet, and is in Metropolis within a few hours. And he hadn't actually meant to fly here -- there isn't any reason in particular he couldn't have just flown out to one of Bruce's practically-never-used cabins somewhere, but.

He doesn't want to be alone.

And it's not like they don't all owe Superman dozens of visits, and it's a good day for it, and he's actually pretty damned pathetic, now that he thinks about it.

Still. The Titans' jet is well-recognized enough that he doesn't get hassled at the airport -- though he does have to reassure a few people that there isn't an emergency. He really should've done this as Dick Grayson. Except that Dick Grayson visiting Clark Kent without Bruce Wayne would probably look a heck of a lot weirder than Robin visiting Superman without Batman.

Sometimes his life is confusing.

But still fun. He takes his bike not too far into Metropolis proper, and then just starts swinging. And, yeah, it's daytime, and even in New York that tends to mean 'slow time,' but... wow.

He sees exactly one purse-snatching, and before he can so much as change course, a shopkeeper stops the kid by tripping him with a broom.... and then makes him apologize to the little old lady.

All three of them wave at him as he goes past.

Dick waves back, and tries to hold on to the 'aww' feeling, as opposed to the 'eek' feeling.

It's never really a surprise anymore that Bruce dislikes Metropolis so much -- and daylight work in general -- but... it just doesn't seem like the sort of thing he should want to have in common with the man.

Which just feels disloyal.

Which, in turn, feels a little bit insane.

He really needs to just... he isn't sure what he needs, really. It was easier when he was back in New York, and he could tell himself all he really needed was a vacation, but here he is, in somebody else's city, actively looking for crime to fight and... itching, under the skin.

And not because he can't find any.

After all, it makes perfect sense that a city with Superman as its protector would be a little light on traditional crime, and it's not like he's just coming to this realization, either.

Bruce's files are about as extensive as anything could ever be.

He just... doesn't really want to see Superman like --


This. He lands on the nearest rooftop, automatically bracing himself for the rush of air when Superman lands, too.

"Is something wrong? Is Batman all right?"

Dick blinks. "No, uh... Batman's fine. I'm just... visiting."

It should be funny to see Superman look this shocked, but it makes Dick feel ridiculously guilty. He should just be here to visit.

But when Superman grins at him, he really can't help grinning back.

"I know I should've called, Superman, but --"

Superman claps him on the shoulders. Both shoulders. "Not at all! It's good to see you!" And pauses.

Dick knows that pause, and he has to grin even wider. "You've been spending too much time with Batman," he says, and hugs Superman before his mind can start yelling at him.

It's just as good as he remembers. Dick's bigger and taller than he was at Christmas, but Superman can -- and does -- still wrap both arms around him. Superman's big and warm and hard in all -- almost all -- of the best ways. Mmm, he thinks, and does his best not to actually say it.

Best of all, Superman doesn't really let go so much as lean back a little, and smiles at Dick some more.

"You're growing into a fine young man, Dick."

Go with that thought, he thinks, and then blushes much too hard.

Superman lets go.


"Have you eaten?"

Food. Food. "Oh, uh... not since breakfast, actually, but --"

"Great! There's this little place I know that makes wonderful sandwiches." Superman's still smiling.

Dick could seriously, honestly, sincerely spend a large proportion of his remaining lifespan being smiled at like that. And he really should use his brain, too. "Oh, I... didn't bring street clothes with me." He winces to himself. Really, because Superman needs to KNOW he just commandeered the Titans' plane to stalk him.

But Superman just grins even wider. "Don't worry. They're used to... people like us."


And the weird thing -- one of the weird things -- is that they really are. There's a framed snapshot of the League -- minus Batman -- over the register, and they'd all signed their superhero names.

The woman behind the counter says, "oh, you must be that nice Robin boy," and beams up at Superman, who beams right back and says,

"That's right, Mrs. Miller, Robin stopped by for a visit, and I thought he should try some of your delicious sandwiches."

Dick shakes hands, and wonders, briefly, if Metropolis actually exists on the same physical plane as every other American city.

But not for long.

It's... really, really nice. Lots of sunlight through the windows, and the smell of really good, cooking food. Like a holiday at the Manor.

Granted, Alfred doesn't do much with corned beef, but still. You have to cook a lot of food to make the smells go through the Manor like they go through this little restaurant.

Like they'd go through the camp back when... back when he was a kid. The homesickness hits hard, hits deep, and Dick swallows a lump of rye bread and pastrami and tries not to be completely obvious. How often does he get to go out and just eat with Superman?

Superman, who is... looking at him worriedly. Damn.

"Is something wrong?"

"Oh, I... no. No. I'm just..." Dick gives up and drinks some iced tea. Good, sweet, cold iced tea, and Superman is frowning at him. "Really, everything is great, Superman."

"You know, I only let Batman get away with that when he's threatening me with bodily harm."

Dick chokes on the ice cube he's rolling around his mouth, and Superman claps him on the back briskly.

"Now, unless you're carrying some Kryptonite in that belt..."

Dick throws up his hands in surrender. "I just... this place. It made me remember... where I come from."

Superman looks confused for a second, and then he really just doesn't. "You know, Batman told me -- a little -- about that."

And, being a reporter, Superman had probably found out the rest on his own. Dick stares at his plate.

"D -- Robin."

Dick's heart knocks hard, and harder when Superman reaches across the table to cover Dick's hand with his own. "Um."

"The last thing I wanted to do was make you sad today."

Dick looks up, and Superman looks like he's hurting, and even though it would be really incredibly easy to vault across the table and kiss him, it would also be a really incredibly bad idea.

He tries to smile, instead, and tries not to show everything in it.

"It's okay. I'd just forgotten how much I missed... it."

Superman nods slowly. "Maybe... have you thought about visiting?"

A lot. "Sometimes. There... never seems to be enough time."

A rueful smile. "I understand that. Still, I'm glad you found the time to come here."

And Superman pats his hand, and Mrs. Miller comes out to ask them if everything is all right, and Dick smiles at her.

And gets his hair ruffled.

Which would be a lot more embarrassing, except that Superman catches his eye as she's walking back to the kitchen.

And winks at him.


Which, apparently, is something Dick isn't going to get over anytime soon, because...

Well, he's used to being around fliers. Donna flies him around all the time -- and threatens to drop him whenever he tickles her, and never actually does, and... this isn't anything like flying with Donna.

Even though it really was on the way to the restaurant, and the only thing different is that Dick's stomach is full and that Superman winked at him.

He isn't going to sigh. For one thing, it would be ridiculously pathetic. For another thing... there isn't really another thing, beyond the fact that he doesn't want to move.

Superman has his arm around Dick's waist, big hand splayed over Dick's chest, and... no. Dick is not going to turn and wrap himself around Superman like a kid on his first trip into the sky or something. There's no excuse for it, no matter how much he wants to.

Even less excuse because he wants to, because he's been half-hard since before they finished eating, and the groin guard in his shorts can only hide so much. He can turn his head, though. Watch the big, flat planes of Superman's muscles flex and shift as he moves them through the sky and --

"It's a beautiful day, don't you think?"

"Absolutely gorgeous," Dick says, honestly.

Superman tightens his hold on Dick, just a little, and Dick puts a lot of effort into remembering how to breathe like a person who isn't about to come in his shorts.

And then just gives up and feels it, because not even the wind and the chill this far off the ground can make Superman's body feel anything but warm next to Dick's own. And Superman's hand is just...

Part of his mind is memorizing this. And it isn't that part of his mind that memorizes everything for the purposes of crime-fighting, either.

Dick bites the inside of his lip and focuses on holding on until they get back to the building where Superman tracked him down in the first place.

Except that when they do land...

Well, he doesn't know Metropolis all that well, but he does know they're nowhere close to that. "Superman...?"

The grin Superman gives him is sheepish. "I thought... maybe we should talk? This is my building."

Dick blinks and goes back to focusing on breathing. "Um --"

"We can't stay up here too long, because... well, you know. Would you like to come in?"

Dick nods, because words are completely failing to... do anything but completely fail him.

Superman flies them both through an open window, and Dick looks around to keep from looking at Superman, because he really does know what's coming. It's a nice apartment, and pretty much exactly how he'd pictured it. Clean and neat and spacious, with, of course, lots of sunlight.

Lots of muted blues and reds, that somehow manage not to clash, despite... he's not really going to let himself obsess over the inside of Superman's -- Clark's -- apartment.

He forces himself to look at Superman. "Nice place." He sounds sickly to his own ears, and Superman is wincing.

"Dick. I... I couldn't help but notice... um. I really like you, quite a lot, but... I..."

It doesn't matter that he'd known it was coming. It still feels awful. "Listen, Superman --"

"I mean, you don't even call me Clark."

Dick blinks. "... what?"

Superman crosses the room to stand in front of him, and holds on to both of Dick's shoulders. He smells like wind and sunshine, and Dick has to bite his lip to keep from leaning in.

"You... Superman --"

"See? Again. Even here, in my own apartment..." Superman squeezes his shoulders and looks at him seriously. "You're very attractive, and good, and kind, and loving... but I don't think it would be a good idea for me to be involved with someone who only thinks of the uniform and... Dick. Your hand..."

Is in a very, very good place. "Let's go back to the part where you think I'm attractive."

"Of course you're -- you shouldn't -- I -- oh, dear --"

The blood's pounding in his ears, pounding all through him, because Superman is hard under there, and he doesn't have anything like the armor Dick does and -- "Ow."

"S-sorry, I -- Dick --" And Superman takes his hands off Dick's shoulders and steps back, and that's a terrible idea.

But when Dick tries to follow, he runs smack into Superman's hand. Which still feels really, really good on his chest, but he knows where it would feel better.


Focus. He can focus. Superman has an actual problem with this, and it's one he can deal with. "I do think of you as Superman --"

"And that's why --"

"But I think of all the --" Don't say 'adults.' Don't say -- "Older superheroes by their code names or whatever, so I won't slip up and say the wrong thing." Like how I started wanting you when you were still ruffling my hair. "It's... it doesn't matter as much when I'm with the Titans. Or, it does, but... it's different. Really." He covers the hand Superman has on his chest with his own. "I know you're Clark. And if you want me to call you that..." He pushes Superman's -- Clark's -- hand down, pushes hard until Clark lets him move it, and he really, really hopes they're done talking, because dear God he feels good.

"Dick..." Clark's voice is throaty and deep and feels almost as good as his hand.

"Mmm, Clark. Please..." He thrusts against Clark's hand, and he means to be subtle about it, but Clark curls his fingers, pushes those big fingers between Dick's legs. "Oh."

Dick rubs Clark's hand with his own, and he isn't really guiding it anymore, but just feeling those fingers moving...

"Clark, oh Clark --"

And Clark is looking at him with a weird, shocky hunger. Or... it's not weird. It's just that no one ever really looked at him like that before. Dick swallows and bucks into Clark's hand and wonders what he'll have to do to make people look at him like that all the time.

It's like being... it's like being held, except it isn't, because being held is even hotter, especially since he doesn't have to hide how hard he is anymore. Clark knows, Clark can feel it, against his broad, strong thigh, the thigh that's pushing between Dick's legs, and Dick scrabbles and pulls at Clark's suit until he can get two get handfuls of it and rides.

And then Clark kisses him, and it's even better.

Soft, wet, deep, and Dick moans into Clark's mouth and licks Clark's tongue and throws his arms around Clark's neck, and he knows Clark is trying to slow things down -- the kiss is slow and soft -- but trying to stop moving his hips feels like trying to stop breathing.

"Oh, Dick, you're so beautiful."

Or keep breathing, because Clark's hands are moving on his back and Clark is looking at him so... he didn't think anything that hot could still be so gentle. Dick gasps and stares and tries not to blink too much.

He doesn't want to miss one second of that look, especially because whatever's on his face makes Clark look even hungrier, and then those hands are cupping his ass and pulling him in tight, so tight he can barely move, and he still can't stop.

"Clark -- Clark, please --"

"Shh. Let me..." And Clark shifts one hand to Dick's throat, and Dick tilts his head back. "Ohh," Clark says, and it's almost a moan, and he fumbles with the collar of Dick's cape and it's like a light bulb clicking on in Dick's head.

Only he's too horny for that, so it's more like having a sun go supernova behind his eyes, because clothes. Are in the way. He pulls back, twisting away, and Clark tries to hold on, and that's...

It just keeps getting better. Dick grins at Clark and strips off the cape, and the tunic, and the shirt, and kicks off the boots and Clark... swallows. And Dick had done it fast -- he always does -- but he'd also left the shorts for last. Which he also always does, but... now it kind of seems like a tease.

Especially since he can't just skin them off quickly right now without causing himself large amounts of pain.

"Dick, you really... you don't have to... I was just..." Clark blushes all the way to his hairline.

"Wait, you think I want to stop? No -- no, don't wait, I just..." He pulls the shorts away from his body, and, okay, definitely time to get them in a larger size. Next time he'll listen when Alfred makes a suggestion like that, because he hadn't even realized how little he was breathing, and his dick is screaming with relief.

And, well, other things.

Dick bends over and pushes the shorts down, stepping out of them and standing up and Clark is right there, and his hands...


He's rubbing at the welts the shorts have left on his skin, and it is, actually, soothing, but more than that it just reminds Dick how much he wants this.

As if he could ever forget. "Clark, touch me... I mean, could you --" His turn to blush, but Clark doesn't laugh at him.

He doesn't look like he wants to laugh at all. He just nods, slowly and seriously, and wraps one of those big, hard hands around him, and Dick's knees buckle, but Clark wraps his free arm around Dick's waist and holds on. "Beautiful," he says again, and Dick throws his arms around Clark's neck again and holds on.

He wants to say so many things, about the way Clark looks when he's taking off into the sky, or when he's smiling, about the way it makes Dick feel when his hands are on him, holding him, stroking him, and he can't make words form. All he can do is whimper and clutch at Clark and look at him.

Stare into Clark's eyes until he can't anymore, until he has to close his eyes and let his head fall back and just pump his hips.

The way he does when he's fantasizing about just this, only the hand around him is Clark's, and Clark's gaze is like a hot, crushing, wonderful weight, and --

"Oh, Dick..."

Dick comes all over Clark's fist and moans and shakes. And moans again when Clark lets go and starts to move and -- a million kinds of 'no,' right there.

"Hey --"

But Dick's climbed much harder -- more difficult -- things than Clark, and most of those things don't give helpful pushes and none of them kiss him. Dick thinks he could spend a lot of time kissing Clark. He knows he'll spend a lot of time thinking about it, and wishing he could do exactly what he's doing right now -- wrapping his thighs around Clark's waist and flexing.

And sucking Clark's tongue because... mm. He still tastes like the lemonade he had with lunch, and his hair is thick and soft between Dick's fingers, and --

They're moving.

Dick breaks the kiss long enough to check, and -- yes. That's definitely a bedroom and -- "Ohh..."

Clark's mouth on his neck is so hot, so wet and soft except for his tongue, which isn't soft at all.

"You taste," Clark says, but he doesn't finish the thought. Just kisses the other side of Dick's throat and squeezes his ass and Dick wonders how he's ever going to stop having sex.

And then Clark stumbles, a little, and they're on the bed, and Dick takes the opportunity of Clark no longer being attached to his throat to kneel up and pet the man. That broad expanse of chest and -- naked. Clark can be naked, too, and that's just another reason to pet him, because Dick has to find where the suit catches or zips or... whatever it does, and Clark's looking vaguely shocky again.

Dick smiles.

Clark blinks, and grins right back, and reaches up to cup Dick's face, and that's... really distracting. Dick rubs his cheek against Clark's palm and just tugs on the suit.

"Do you want me to... take it off?"

Clark probably -- probably -- isn't insane. So Dick just nods and looks fervent.

And Clark grins even wider and scoots back and sits up and... pulls the top of the suit off like a shirt.

Dick never would've considered that, but it works. It definitely, definitely...

"Dick, your mouth is so soft..."

And he never would've considered that a compliment, but Clark buries one hand in Dick's hair and pulls him in tighter, and Dick can feel Clark moaning. He drags his mouth over to one broad, dark nipple and has to close his eyes again. Clark feels so good, and every time he shudders it just goes right through him. Dick holds on to Clark's biceps and sucks and --


Clark sounds almost hoarse, so Dick sucks harder, and squeezes Clark's arms and bites and Clark jerks so hard he nearly tosses Dick off.

He's not going anywhere. Dick grins and bites harder and Clark strokes his hair and mumbles something that sounds vaguely like "worth it," which doesn't make any sense, but it sounds wonderful.

And feels... "every time you make a sound, I can feel it in my mouth."

And the noise Clark makes is high and sharp and Dick is already half-hard again. He grinds down against Clark's hips and -- he still has pants on. He bites one more time and then pushes back against the hand on the back of his head until Clark lets go.

And has to stop and stare, because Clark looks so... so... Dick leans in and kisses him, and sucks on Clark's lower lip because it seems like a good idea, and then just because it feels good, and... he was doing something. Something... pants.

He pulls back --

"What -- oh."

Dick curls his fingers under the waistbands of Clark's briefs and tights and tugs, and Clark lifts his hips and Dick feels himself just seize, because it's just the hottest thing he's ever seen. Watching that big, perfect body just arch right up... Dick moans and pulls and stops long enough to yank off Clark's boots and then just pulls everything off and tosses it elsewhere.

And stares some more, because he doesn't think anyone who got to look at this could do anything else.

Long, long legs and all that muscle, and Clark's dick is hard and wet at the tip and resting against his stomach and Dick thinks he's feeling religious.

He's definitely happy to be on his knees.

When he looks up -- when he can make himself look up, Clark is blushing again, and digging one hand into the sheets -- maybe literally -- and generally looking like he wants to hide.

"You're perfect," he says, and it's nothing but the truth.

Clark blushes even redder, and reaches for him, and Dick leans up and in for another kiss, but Clark rolls them, and for just one tiny second all of that wonderful weight is pressing Dick down into the mattress, and he groans happily.

But Clark pulls away and braces himself on one elbow, and catches Dick's wrist when he reaches up for him. And kisses his palm, and his fingers, and looks down at him seriously.

"You're perfect, Dick."

And Clark just keeps looking at him, and Dick has to turn away. Clark kisses his cheek, and nudges Dick's face with his own until Dick looks up again.

"You don't have to believe me, but you are."

"I..." He can't breathe. "I've wanted you for so long." And he doesn't think he's ever going to figure out how to stop wanting Clark.

Clark smiles at him, a little ruefully. "Do me a favor and don't tell me how long," he says, and kisses Dick again, tongue stroking into Dick's mouth over and over, and Dick wants to put his hands back in Clark's hair, but he can't seem to stop squeezing Clark's shoulder with the right, and Clark is still holding his left wrist, and rubbing circles into the palm of his hand.

Dick moans into the kiss and rocks up, and, God, skin. Hot, smooth skin, except where Clark is sweating and they stutter against each other raggedly and make Dick moan more, and Clark squeezes his wrist and pulls away.

"I... I want to --"

"Yes," Dick says, and feels himself blush, but Clark just looks at him for a long, heart-pounding moment, the tip of his tongue slipping out between his lips.

And then he releases Dick's wrist and moves down, kisses and licks his way down, and sucks Dick's nipples so hard Dick has to grab the sheets and shout, and just keeps moving.

That tongue dips into his navel, and it feels like it should tickle, but it doesn't, at all, and Clark never really stops watching him. And Dick knows that Clark's checking to make sure he's okay, and he really wants to look reassuring, but all he can do is whimper and writhe.

Clark doesn't stop, though. Doesn't stop, and just -- kisses the length of him, down and back up to the tip of Dick's dick, and still doesn't stop.

Licks his balls, and sucks on them, and Dick watches himself shoot pre-come all over his own stomach and whimpers, because he hadn't even fantasized about this, but it feels so good. He spreads his legs helplessly and plants his feet and arches up, and Clark makes a low, pleased humming sound against him.

"Oh, please, Clark --"

And Clark strokes up the backs of Dick's legs and down the backs of his thighs and under his ass and lifts.

And kisses him again. Kisses him there, and Dick hears himself make a weird, strangled sound, and then just keeps making that sound, over and over, because he knows Clark isn't using a fraction of his strength, but his tongue is hard and strong and pushing in, over and over, and his own fingers had never felt like this and --

"Clark -- oh God oh God oh --"

And Clark squeezes his ass with both hands and spreads him wider, and Dick comes gasping, shooting all over his own chest and stomach, hands fisted in the sheets. Clark hums again and licks his way up Dick's cleft and over his balls and through the come on Dick's stomach.

Dick spasms and whimpers and forces his hands out of the sheets and into Clark's hair, pulling what would probably be much too hard on a human until Clark finally crawls up and kisses him and oh, he tastes... Clark tastes like him, and Dick feels himself spasm again and wraps his arms around Clark's neck and his legs around his waist and pulls.

"Dick -- I don't want -- I don't want to crush you --"

"Crush me," and Dick leans up and kisses Clark again, and shoves his tongue into that hot, wonderful mouth, and Clark lowers himself down.


And he wants to remind Clark that he isn't made of glass, but he also doesn't want to distract the man, because heat and weight, and Dick moans into Clark's mouth and squeezes him with his thighs and Clark moans and thrusts.

"Sorry --"

"Do that again."

And Clark gasps, and Dick can't decide if it's better to hear it or see it, see Clark's mouth fall open and his eyes widen and narrow, and then Clark's grinding down against him, dick sliding through the come and sweat on Dick's belly, and Dick whimpers and holds on.

He's going to be hard again so soon, and Clark is... he isn't inside him, but it almost feels like he is, and the fact that Dick can't breathe has nothing to do with Clark's weight on him.

And everything to do with the look on Clark's face, so hungry and so hurt, at the same time, and Dick strokes Clark's cheek and Clark turns his face into Dick's palm and bites the heel of his hand.

"Oh God, Clark --"

Licks him and bites him again and just keeps thrusting against him, faster now. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he says, and sucks two of Dick's fingers into his mouth and stares down at Dick.

Dick whimpers and Clark sucks hard, and the bed is moving with every thrust, slamming back against the wall, and Dick isn't sure how it could be better.

And then he pushes his fingers in a little deeper, and Clark's eyes flutter closed, and Dick whimpers again and Clark comes on him, groaning around Dick's fingers and... coming on him.

Clark came on him, all over him, and Dick thinks his brain might be dribbling out of his ears, but he really, really doesn't care. "You're so sexy, Clark."

And Clark opens his eyes and looks at him. "I think... I think..." And he shakes his head and kisses Dick again, rolling them onto their sides and pulling Dick in tight and licking the roof of his mouth until Dick has to pull back and laugh.

Clark grins at him with a lazy kind of happiness and squeezes. And kisses him again, slow and wet and messy. Faster when Dick starts to moan again, and he can feel Clark getting harder against his stomach again, and Dick reaches between them and wraps his fist around Clark's dick. So hot in his hand, and slick with sweat and come, and Clark says, "Dick," so softly, but his voice is too deep and rough for it to be a whisper.

And Clark searches his face for a moment before lifting them back up onto their knees, and guides Dick's hand until he's holding both of them. And then twines their fingers together, and it feels...

Somehow it's the most intimate thing, and Dick stares into Clark's eyes and tries to keep breathing, tries to keep his eyes open, but Clark looks... Clark looks exactly like Dick feels, and he can't -- He thrusts into their fists, and thinks 'I'm fucking his dick' and whimpers and comes again, and he's too sore for this, but when he tries to pull away, Clark grabs his arm with his free hand.

"Oh --"

"Don't... don't move. Please."

And Clark adjusts his grip until he's just holding on to himself, and starts to stroke faster.

Dick can see his shoulder working, and looks down, and it's just so hot, the slick head of Clark's dick disappearing on every upstroke and then pushing out through the circle of Clark's fist and --

"Oh Clark. Oh, Clark, I do it all the time. I do it and I think of you --"

"Dick --"

And Clark's voice is so choked that Dick has to look up again, and he gets to stare into Clark's eyes for just a moment before Clark squeezes his eyes shut and comes on him.


Dick thinks he might have a new favorite thing in the universe. He slides his hand through the mess on his stomach and brings his fingers back to his mouth and... Clark doesn't taste anything like him.

Which makes sense, but it's going to be terrible for all the times he sucks comes off his fingers pretending its Clark's.

"Jesus, Dick."

It sounds like the dirtiest curse in the world when Clark says it, and Dick moans around his own fingers right up until Clark tackles him -- gently -- back to the bed.

And then he focuses on kissing Clark a lot.


Dick wakes up... messy. Really incredibly messy, worse than the time he'd had two wet dreams before getting up and cleaning himself off.

Which makes sense, because, well, more than two orgasms happened, and Clark is half-on top of him.

He knows he's grinning like an idiot, but he really just doesn't care. He hasn't felt this good... he didn't know he could feel this good. He stretches as carefully as he can and tries not to move.

And pretty much immediately gives up and pets Clark's hair.

"Mm. Mmm. Dick."

Dick turns the volume down on his smile by force of will. "Yeah."

Clark shifts, and presses a soft, dry kiss to his chest before looking up and grinning back at him. "Hi," he says.

Dick pushes Clark's hair into something like order, and isn't really surprised by the fact that his little curl is the first thing that pops back into place. Clark cups his cheek and leans in, kissing his way along Dick's jaw-line.

"How are you," he whispers into Dick's ear.

Dick shivers. "Good. Really... trying hard to remember why I have to go back to New York."

"Tonight? You know you can stay, right? I mean... I know you can't stay, but... um. You barely got any rest!"

Clark's eyes aren't, actually, the bluest ones he'd ever seen, but they feel like they should be. Dick blinks and shakes it off. Mostly. "I've flown in far worse shape than this, Clark."

Clark raises an eyebrow at him. "That doesn't actually make me feel better."

"Oh, I... guess not." Clark's thumb on his cheekbone makes him want to close his eyes and... snuggle. And then do other things.

Clark sighs. "I can't believe I'm trying to keep you from your responsibilities."

"I don't mind," he says before he can think. "Er... you trying."

Clark sighs and stops rubbing his cheek. "Tell me something."


"Is there any way Bruce can know about this that wouldn't end in bloodshed?"

Dick blinks.

"Let me guess -- you didn't really think about that, did you?"

Dick winces. "I... no."

Clark winces with him. "And you're... I'm not going to think about how old you're not."

"Hey --"

Clark taps two fingers lightly against his mouth. "I'm not the one who minds, Dick." And then he grins. "Or didn't you notice?"

Dick grins and licks Clark's fingers, but Clark pulls his hand away.

"Dick, I don't think..."

Dick really isn't going to let him finish that thought. "I know how to keep a secret, Superman."

Clark looks shocked for just a second, but he narrows his eyes again. "Dick, that's really... I mean, I know you and Bruce pretty much have the patent on compartmentalization as a way of life, but... is that really healthy?"

"It's... what I know how to do. Clark --"

"Wait. That wasn't what I wanted to ask. Dick..." And Clark rests his hand on Dick's chest, and stares at it for a moment before looking up again. "I know you can keep secrets. I know it's what you do, and I don't actually think it's hurting you. But... do you really want to start keeping secrets from Bruce?"

Dick winces again, hard, because... he knows the answer to that, and it's the wrong one and the right one.

Clark smiles ruefully and strokes his cheek again. "Yeah. Me, either."

"Clark..." I want this, he doesn't say, because he isn't a kid.

"Me, too." And Clark leans in and kisses him softly, dryly. "But... we have time, right?"

Dick nods, and takes a deep breath, and doesn't grab Clark and haul him back on top of him when he moves. Instead, he gets up off the bed and... "I need a shower."

Clark laughs. "We both do -- separately. And then I'll give you a lift back to... the airport?"

"I have to get my bike first."

"All right."

Dick looks at Clark for a long, quiet moment, and Clark looks back.

And then Dick heads for Clark's bathroom. They do have time, and he won't be (with Bruce) fifteen forever, and...

Dick steps into the shower and grins.

He's got a lot of new material for those fantasies.


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Fandom:  Batman
Title:  Your peace, suffused with sunlight
Author:  Te   [email]   [website]
Details:  Standalone  |  NC-17  |  *slash*  |  40k  |  03/14/04
Characters:  Superman, Robin I
Pairings:  Superman/Robin I
Summary:  Dick's starting to get a little restless. Clark helps.

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