S/B Annual #2 Contest Fic: Training

Bruce couldn't take his eyes off the vision before him. Kent, in full workout gear, sweating...a lot. The man's stunning muscle structure rippled as he raised and lowered the bar. Even in the dappled half light of the cave, possibly more so because of it, the play of sinew beneath skin was almost hypnotic. Bruce longed to touch that undulating flesh, to run his hands over it. To explore its texture, to...

At that moment Robin, who was delectably balanced on the weights Kent was lifting piped in with, “Come on, Two more! You can...”

Daydream broken, Bruce growled “Five more! Unless Mister Kent is done playing hero.” Bruce raised a sardonic eyebrow with the last part of that statement.

Outwardly, he projected a calm, almost disapproving visage. Inwardly, he smiled. Yes, five more times to watch those broad shoulders. Five more times to indulge his eyes in this visual treat before him. His fingers almost twitched as he suppressed their desire to stroke Kent's glistening skin. This afternoon's training should be something more... physically involving, maybe sparing? Judo? Yes, that would be interesting.

..........................

Bruce sent Kent and his one-boy cheer-squad off to get some lunch while he headed down to the cave under the pretence of having urgent work to attend to. In reality, Bruce just needed space. He needed to think. To clear his head of the Ex-Kryptonian. Kent had always had this effect on him. Even before he had known to call him Kent. He had presumed at first it was some alien pheromone. It would have been the simplest explanation for this need that Kent created inside him. This alarming scene of visceral lust. Surly it was just a pure chemical reaction? There could be no other reason for The Batman's mind to be behaving like that of a horny teenager? So he had done tests. Many, many tests. They had all been negative.

Maybe it was the power? That sheer unmatched force in humanoid form? Capable of anything, and tempered only by some bizarre, antiquated, Kansas moral code. Maybe part of him wanted the sweet oblivion that would come with submission to such power? Maybe another part of him wanted the intoxicating rush that would come with dominance of such a strength?

But Kent was human now, sort of. No longer the living embodiment of the sun. No longer a source of force that could destroy planets before breakfast. Why did Bruce still want him? Almost ache for him? It made no sense. Okay, the man was exceptionally good looking. That was one of the reasons Bruce hadn't trusted him in the first place. How could the last survivor of an alien race meet the ideals of human perfection?! But Bruce was used to the good looking of this world, never mind any other. It had to be something more, but what? What quality was it that nearly brought Bruce to his knees? He would have to find out over the next few weeks. It would be the perfect opportunity.

Bruce grimaced at that thought. He still hadn't decided if having the irresistible intergalactic hick here was a good idea. He could admire the man's spirit for wanting to carry on his mission. To not let all those he had protected want for a hero. But it was demanding to a level he didn't believe Kent understood. Did Kent have what it took to devote his life to the cause when he couldn't lift a mountain with his little finger?

The training Bruce was planning would be hard. It would push Kent to the limits of his soul and beyond. If Bruce also happened to satisfy some the strange craving he had for the man at the same time then that was purely a bonus. Yes, he would indulge himself over the next few weeks. When it came to an end, so be it. Kent would either sink or swim as a hero, and as for himself, he would understand this attraction.

Once you understand something, you can change it. And change it he would have to do. Because Kent would never return it. He had never shown the slightest hint of interest in Bruce in that way. Actually he didn't seem to show the small tells that hinted at these things about anyone, not even that partner of his that he insisted he wanted. Maybe Kryptonian tells were different? No one knew. Maybe... No, Kent was as straight as an arrow. Straighter actually. Bruce's thoughts momentary lingered on the Archer of Star City. Now Oliver, he could have seduced him with out even trying, if he ever wanted to. Arrow car, really? It was too pathetic. Couldn't the man get his own MO?

.........................

“The computer will randomly choose two seconds of footage from one of Gotham's traffic cameras.”

This was a lie. Lying was hardly a novel concept for Bruce, but when it was directed at Clark... Kent, not Clark. When it was directed at Kent, it was uncomfortable. Bruce would almost say he felt guilty, if such a thing was possible.

The footage that he was about to access was from a clip that was 2 weeks old. He'd chosen it especially to judge Kent's reactions and comprehension skills, to specific stimuli. He needed to know if Kent had any inclination of what his mind had been on the past few weeks. While he was convinced he had hidden it, you never knew. And while Clark's interactions... Damn it! While Kent's interactions with him seemed totally platonic, there had been times he could almost feel a tension that was sexual. Was he imagining it? When they sparred, was Kent's shortness of breath totally because of the exercise? Or in part due to the body that was rubbing against him? Bruce needed to know!

BDETT.. BDETT

“Tell me every thing you saw”

“Um...” Kent's eyes had taken on a dazed look as he searched for an answer.

“One visible licence plate TTS552, There are six people in the image. The woman in the lower-left corner has had foot surgery” Bruce tried to make it sound as if A) this was obvious, and B) he hadn't seen the footage before.

“Come on...”

“Two men sitting outside the Pomordo are drunk and arguing. Based on their body language, I would say they're romantically involved."

Dick mumbled something, Bruce missed what exactly. His entire attention was focused on Clark. The man still looked confused. Bruce let out a small sigh of tension. Clark didn't know. He couldn't read the small signs. This should be a good thing. But for some reason Bruce didn't want to admit to, he felt a small sense of loss.

...................................

Sensory deprivation training. Restricting one or more senses to heighten the rest. It had sounded like a good idea at the time he'd thought of it. Not only good in the long run for Clark's concentration. (He'd given up trying to think of him as Kent. Some forms of mental torture were too much. Even for him.) But also was a great chance to get some good review footage for later studying.

Over the last four weeks he had been slowly coming up with more and more captivating plights for Clark to test his strength of will. This was by far the best, oh yes indeed.

Bruce ran his gaze over the blindfolded Adonis that stood in the tank in front of him. Medicine ball held firmly aloft, every one of those beautiful muscles tensed to perfection. Bruce had to bite his lip to prevent a sigh from exiting them. His frustration needed an escape. Scanning the room, looking for any appropriate object, his gaze settled on a bamboo training-sword. A smile ghosted over his face.

“Are you ready Kent? You think that's tough? Just you wait.”

Smack

A hiss of air left Clark's plump mouth, muscles clenched momentary tighter. But the ball did didn't move an inch.

“You think you can make me drop this?!”

There was a deliciously dark and defiant tone to Clark's growled response. It reverberated down Bruce's spine causing the heat in his groin to increase. Bruce ran the tip of the bamboo slowly over the chest displayed so mesmerizing before him. Wherever the tip trailed, firm flesh shivered. Bruce could imagine it was his hand doing the gentle touching. His fingers feeling the rising goose bumps. That it was his nails sliding over pert nipple that caused a sudden gasp. Frustration rose to an unacceptable level again.

Smack

This time, the strike was enough to leave a sharp red line across Clark's back. As the pink flush of broken blood vessels spread across that broad surface, Bruce could feel his need tightening. He should stop this. This was going too far. A slight whimper escaped Clark's throat... It was unearthly music to Bruce's ears and he was lost. He couldn't leave this moment. He was trapped by his desire and while he may not be able to join with his temptation, he could at least have this.

“You can quit any time you want, Farmboy!”

Bruce put as much scorn into that as possible, knowing it would keep Clark routed to the spot.

“Shut up!”

While Clark's will was strong, his body was starting to betray him. With that defiant yell, the ball had swayed ever so slightly. Bruce felt like flame was coursing though his entire body in response.

SMACK

The impact of that lash caused Clark's head to roll back. Bruce could almost taste the now gloriously exposed throat. He wasn't sure if this was heaven or hell. He really shouldn't be doing this. Deep down he knew this was wrong. But right now that part of his mind had no power to act, no influence beyond cataloguing beautiful sights and sounds.

The ice water Clark stood in came up to his waist. Bruce tantalisingly dragged the sword tip over Clark's abdomen and then down below into the murky water. He gently probed contours that his eyes couldn't see. Suddenly a shudder racked through Clark's frame. The ball swayed a whole inch. It was too much. The friction of the cup of the bat suit, the built up of tension over the last month, having this man so close but yet so far. He needed release and he needed it now! Putting his full force behind the bamboo sword, and swallowing his strangled cry of pleasure, Bruce's entire body gave into its fiery need. Clark screamed as the cane struck his shoulders one last time. The ball finally tumbled down into the tank, splashing foamy water everywhere.

“You bastard! Was that really necessary?” Spluttered Clark as he scrambled out of the tank. He left the room without even looking back at Bruce.

Bruce's head swam. All normal coherency was a myth. A legend of a time before. He sank to the floor trying to breathe. What had just happened? How had he let that happen? Thank god it seemed Clark just thought he was some sadistic bastard as opposed to the twisted, perverted bastard that he really was. Training was at an end. He couldn't do this any more. His idea of getting his full of Clark had backfired. Royally. It was an addiction. He had been in denial. Clark would do just as well on the streets. Better.

Anything was better then letting himself or Clark get into a situation like this again.