Do we want some more Super Bat?

(I KNOW this photo isn’t copy righted, since I took it!)

I thought we did…

Bruce Wayne wasn’t afraid of heights.

No, he couldn’t fly. *snort* As it. And yes, if someone decided to shoot him out of the sky as he sat, leaning back on the glass plating that was angled forty-five degrees on the top of the building, there was a distinct possibility that they could.

Except the building was seventy-five stories high, and they’d have to be kneeling in the street with a high powered scope.  Or on the top of one of the buildings around him– and he could see all those access points.

And he’d done his calculations. He was safe.

He could stay there forever.

But he didn’t think he’d have to.

OH yeah– sure enough, there was the guy who thought he was gonna bring Batman down.

He could fly.  And he just levitated his muscular ass right up even with Bruce and glared at him.

“Still perching like a vulture and trying to scare the populace?” Superman sneered.

Bruce rolled his eyes.  “Still letting Pajamas ‘R’Us pick out your clothes?”

Superman scowled. “This is a specially formulated cotton polymer that can withstand most of the things my own skin can stand and that ensures I am never…”  Superman blushed.  “Not dignified,” he finished weakly.

“Which is why you have the specially reinforced red undies, right?” Bruce said soberly. “Because that dignity needs to be preserved at all cost.”

“You had nipples built into your body armor,” Superman defended.  Like a petulant weenie.

Batman smiled, knowing that it wouldn’t reach his eyes through his mask.  “They’re pour points,” he said mildly. “Do you want to touch them and see?”

Superman glared, and for a moment, his eyes flared red.  Oops, yeah. Bruce had struck a nerve.  Good. Mr. Pajama pants had been flying around Bruce’s city, getting all high and mighty, and bitching about Bruce getting hurt, and how he had no superpowers and how he needed to mind his own business and let the crime fighting be done by the real heroes.

Yeah, Bruce knew exactly what ol’ red undies wanted, and it wasn’t for Bruce to back off and leave the crime fighting to Superman.

And it wasn’t for Batman to operate on the right side of the law, either.

No, no– Mr. Clark Kent had some long buried needs that he wanted to keep deeply hidden.  Bruce Wayne knew all about buried needs.  He thought those needs were long overdue the chance to come out and play. 


“YOu need to get down now,” Superman said, sounding remarkably like the hall monitor in junior high.

“Make me,” Batman said, sounding bored.

Superman flew closer, his face inches away from Batman’s, so close that Batman could smell minty fresh breath.

Boy scout.

Bruce yearned to taste him.

“What is it with you?” Superman growled. “You won’t cooperate with me, you won’t cooperate with the police– you’re like a walking death wish, and every time you get involved with an operation, there’s bodies on the floor to prove it.”

Ouch. Direct hit. Batman leveled a look at him. “Not by my hand, Boy Scout,” he said clearly. “So you can’t hold that against me. What is your problem? Really?”

Superman opened his mouth, and Bruce knew that he was about to unravel his entire litany of complaints, and suddenly he was way bored with this game and not in the mood to hear them.

He reached behind Superman’s head as he hovered and hauled him in for a kiss.

For a moment Clark Kent stared at him, eyes wide and surprised, lips pursed shut so tight BRuce wondered if maybe the rumors were true and his flesh was as cold as steel as well as strong as such.  Bruce closed his eyes and kissed harder, hard enough to brutalize another man’s mouth, to leave his lips bleeding against his own teeth.

Superman groaned and opened his mouth, and Bruce swept in.  Breath mints.  Hot man.  Soft, soft welcome.  With a groan, Superman wrapped his arms around Bruce’s shoulders and pressed them, body to body, to deepen the kiss.

Batman felt his feet leave the ground, and knew, without a doubt, that he would live and die on the sufferance of this very human alien who was whimpering with need in his arms.  Bruce kissed him back, easing up on the brutality, leaving room for some softness, some tenderness, the sweet touch of skin against skin.

It was okay if Superman held Bruce’s life in his arms.  He’d held his heart for quite some time.

It was okay that they were flying.

Bruce never had been afraid of heights.