
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4604.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Smallville, DCU
  Relationship:
      Bruce_Wayne/Clark_Kent, Bruce_Wayne/Lex_Luthor, Clark_Kent/Lex_Luthor
  Character:
      Bruce_Wayne, Clark_Kent, Lex_Luthor
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Orgasm_Delay/Denial, Voyeurism, Gift_Fic, Pining, Rare_Pairing,
      Self-Denial
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-01-22 Words: 5690
****** The Brave and the Bold ******
by Abi_(justabi)
Summary
     Bruce has rules, discipline. He doesn't touch, not Clark, not
     himself, not ever.
Notes
     This story is the Bruce POV for All_Yours by Roxy, a delicious Clark/
     Lex hooker!fic that you simply must read. It might make sense if you
     don't read Roxy's fic first, but I wouldn't count it. And also,
     hooker!fic where Clark is the hooker. You want to read that fic.
     *licks it*
  This work was inspired by
      All_Yours by roxymissrose
Bruce has rules, discipline. He doesn't touch, not Clark, not himself, not
ever. He gets a high off Clark climbing in his bed cum-soaked and used,
babbling filth and touching himself, because Clark is ethereally beautiful
debauched and ruined and the temptation of him is too exquisite to refuse.
Strength of will is nothing if it isn't tested, and it's heady to know his will
can pass a test like Clark. He used to watch Clark's assignations. He doesn't
now, because he knows without the effort of walking out the door that he can
sit in the car for an hour with his dick stiff in his shorts, throbbing so hard
it aches down to his fingertips, and not touch, even with no one else there to
see, when no one else would ever know, and that's all he needed from the
exercise.
He was just this edge of sure of himself with Clark right up until he found
Clark's research. Bruce felt something twist up inside him when he saw Lex's
name in the search engine, felt actual honest to god shame watching Clark jerk
off to pictures of Lex in front of the computer and the heat of the shame was
the thing that stopped him from wrapping his hand around his dick and jerking
it raw, not discipline. He feels like he's losing his mind a little, and if
Clark had come into his room and offered Bruce his hand or his mouth or his
ass, Lex's name and face rolling around in Clark's head, Bruce thinks he
wouldn't have been able to say no.
He's a complete fucking mess whenever Lex is in town even without Clark poking
around. Bruce doesn't drink or fuck his way through Gotham, but Lex had been in
town the night Bruce picked up Clark and Bruce had had a reckless moment where
he'd thought about it. It's his mind that's cracked, wild around the edges, not
his heart. Perhaps sometimes his knuckles are cracked as well. Violence is very
soothing when Lex comes to town, he finds, and there is no shortage of villains
for Bruce to extract his calm from these days.
When he sees Lex drugged and passed out in the car he's stricken, out of his
mind with the desire to do something foolish like rescue Lex. All he can think
about is how vulnerable Lex is, has a nearly undeniable craving to swoop in and
scoop Lex up in his arms and nurse him back to health like some appalling
Gothic romance novel. He's paralyzed with it right up until he sees Clark.
Bruce breaks every piece of equipment on his dashboard console, rips his gloves
and leaves shards of shatter-proof plexiglass sticking out from his knuckles
while he rubs himself off with a bloody fist watching them. Literally seconds
after he cups his cock he makes a mess of his suit. He's hard again just trying
to peel the rubber away from his skin. Blood and cum mix all together while he
moans himself hoarse, wantonly, frantically masturbating all night as he
watches them.
He's never wanted Clark more, never hated him before, but now that he does, the
desire to have Clark on his knees, pretty red lips wrapped around his cock is
almost as unbearable as the desire to hit Clark's pretty face while he does it.
He's not sure he could stop himself from either impulse, but no matter, the
impulse to run far, far away from Lex trumps it all.
 
===============================================================================
Life was different in many ways before his parents died. Bruce remembers being
happy, remembers loving his parents very much and having a grand time playing
lord of the manner with various and sundry playmates, mostly the children of
his parents' friends. Lex Luthor was not one of them. Lex was more like a tiny,
chubby, ginger puppy that followed Bruce around making a nuisance of itself.
Bruce found Lex to be immensely annoying to say the least.
Alas, no matter how annoying Bruce told his mother Lex was, his mother
continued to invite Mrs. Luthor to everything because she and Lilian were at
school together in the same Sorority. Besides which, his mother says, Mrs.
Luthor and the boy need as much time away from that neuvo riche husband of
hers, so be nice Bruce. And Bruce was nice to the little twerp, because Bruce
was always his mother's perfect little gentleman, unlike some people, and his
mother told him to be nice, so of course he was nice to the kid.
Thing was, being nice to the kid, even in a totally perfunctory way was like
giving food to a stray. Lex was starved for attention and Bruce had given it to
him once, against his better judgment, and ever after that Lex followed him
around with this expectant, hungry look on his stupid freckled face.
Lex had been 4, chubby and freckled, hair so red and curly it looked like it
belonged on a clown, wandering around in what had been a pristine tiny kid
sized suit, but which was now covered in light purple frosting. Lex had stuck
his sticky fingers directly into the icing at the back of the cake in the
ballroom. The Luthor's nanny smacked his little fingers, causing fat tears to
well up in the kid's eyes and stream down his sugar-coated face. Bruce, 7-
years-old and already a strapping young lad (according to his father), scooped
Lex up into his arms, looked disdainfully at the nanny and dismissed her.
Lex had looked up into his eyes, smiled brilliantly and wrapped his arms around
Bruce's neck. Bruce tried to deposit him on the settee in the lounge to get him
cleaned up, but the kid would not let go. Once Bruce had wiped most of the
frosting off Lex (the little freak had rubbed it in), Bruce negotiated the
release of his person. Lex was heavier than he looked after a while. The best
compromise he could come up with was this: Lex unwrapped his legs from Bruce's
middle, his arms from Bruce's neck and walked on his own, with the provision
that Bruce hold Lex's hand the rest of the night. Which was better, but gross,
because try as he might, he'd been unable to wash away the stickiness from
Lex's hands.
 
===============================================================================
When Bruce was fourteen, Lex's fingers were still sticky. Lex stole Bruce's
monogrammed handkerchief and held it tight in his fist, pressed, white corner
just sticking out above Lex's thumb at the graveside service. Bruce thought Lex
very brave standing there alone, helplessly naked not just because he was bald,
with his horrible father while they lowered Lex's mother into the ground.
Despite the normally overwhelming presence of Mr. Luthor, all Bruce could see
was how utterly, desolately alone Lex looked, how Lex had clung to his mother
just months ago when they lowered his little brother into the tiny plot just
feet from where they were now burying Mrs. Luthor.
At his own parents' funeral five years earlier, Bruce had been sick with shock,
with rage, with a sharp, gnawing hurt biting his chest, but he hadn't cried.
He'd been his mother's perfect gentleman, his father's sharp young man,
Alfred's stoic little soldier. He had tensed up whenever the adults tried to
hug him, offered a firm handshake and a grim smile in exchange. He allowed
Alfred a hand on his shoulder for the few moments the old man offered it, more
for his own sake than Bruce's, Bruce's solid shoulder a touchstone to remind
him that there was something left of the family he'd served his entire life.
Lex hadn't put up with any of that crap. Even at six, Lex had been bossy and
filled with bravado, just shoved past Bruce's fragile defenses and climbed
right into Bruce's lap, wrapped his arms around Bruce's neck and pressed his
hot little face into the hollow of Bruce's throat. Lex's curls tickled his
nose. Bruce sneezed, but Lex just burrowed closer into him and cried so Bruce
wouldn't have to.
Bruce wanted to hold Lex's hand, wanted to pull him away and shield him from
all this hurt. At the wake Bruce yanked Lex into the coat closet, hid them away
behind a forest of furs and pulled Lex back into his lap. Lex resisted for
nearly half a second, eleven-years-old and trying to be a man, before giving
in, collapsing onto Bruce, breaking down and crying. Lex shivered in his arms
and all Bruce could do was hold onto him, stroke the naked curve of his head
missing the riot of red curls, and think how thin Lex was.
 
===============================================================================
When Bruce was seventeen, Alfred, no doubt fearing that Bruce would never have
a normal life if he continued to fail to socialize, arranged for Lex to stay
with them for the summer while Mr. Luthor toured his Asian holdings. Bruce had,
possibly, needed it. Possibly. Socializing with his peers ranked somewhere
around keeping up with popular culture for Bruce, below personal hygiene,
homework, and gym class, but above talking about his feelings, which Alfred
threatened to arrange for him to do if Bruce should fail to make some friends.
The thought of being locked in a room with a “therapist” intent on delving into
his psyche sent cold shudders down Bruce's spine.
Lex was different than Bruce remembered. Or maybe just more. Bolder. Wilder.
Almost recklessly social. Fourteen-years-old and ready to take the world by
storm. It only took an afternoon for Bruce to adjust, though, to see the shy,
cautious, needy boy underneath.
The first night Lex spent at Wayne Manor he crawled into Bruce's bed, drunk and
determined, wearing nothing but a pair of silk pajama pants. Bruce yelped when
Lex's cold hands touched the skin at his side, but he failed utterly to push
Lex away as he should have. Bruce kissed Lex primly at first, then sloppily,
drunk on the feel of Lex's skin beneath his fingers and the overwhelmingly
alcoholic taste of Lex's mouth. Lex grabbed Bruce's hands, balled into fists at
his sides, and pulled them to his body. Lex trembled so much Bruce almost
stopped, almost, but he couldn't make himself take his hands away. Instead,
Bruce ran his palms soothingly down Lex's flanks like he might do with a
skittish colt, petted the pale skin of Lex's naked chest glowing in the near-
dark room, caressed the expanse of his back down to the curve at the bottom of
Lex's spine.
Lex whimpered helplessly into Bruce's mouth, moved into Bruce's touch and
rubbed his silk-covered groin frantically against Bruce's thigh. Bruce kept
kissing Lex, and kissing him, and kissing him until Lex jerked his mouth away
with a gasp, turned his flushed face down and away, tucking it into Bruce's
throat and whispered, “Touch me. Please, Bruce, please,” and Bruce groaned.
He'd no more than cupped his hand over the silk-covered bulge of Lex's erection
when the kid came messily, practically sobbing relief into Bruce's throat,
soaking Bruce's hand through the slippery, purple fabric. Bruce brought his
hand up to his face, sniffed it, darted his tongue out to taste. Lex shuddered
in his arms, licked sweat off the skin at Bruce's throat and bit down.
Bruce made a desperate, strangled sound. Lex shimmied out of Bruce's arms, down
Bruce's body, spine loose in a way that reminded Bruce that Lex was drunk, and
Bruce almost stopped it there. Almost. He lost his resolve when he looked down
and saw Lex's face staring determinedly at Bruce's by now aching groin, right
side of Lex's lower lip bitten between Lex's teeth, freckles barely visible
across the bridge of his nose, until his eyes flickered up to meet his own,
uncertainty in them warring with hope as he reached for the tie holding Bruce's
pajama pants up. Bruce nodded once, tight, and held his breath while Lex pulled
away Bruce's pants, his boxers, his protection in one quick jerk.
And then Lex froze, hands yanked away like they'd been burned, eyes impossibly
wide, all the color in his face drained away. Bruce exhaled with a groan,
rolled away with his hands balled back into fists, and, eyes clenched shut
tight away from the terrified look on Lex's face, tried to breathe. Bruce
stiffened all over hard as a board and slapped away Lex's fingers thirty
seconds later when they wrapped themselves shakily around Bruce's still hard
erection. Lex tried it again almost immediately, so Bruce grabbed Lex's shaking
hand hard in his fist, flipped himself up from the bed and pounced, pinning Lex
to the bed by his wrists, growling, “Get your fucking hand off my dick,
Luthor.”
Lex moaned wantonly and bucked up into Bruce, bumping the soft curve of his
belly into Bruce's painfully throbbing dick, making Bruce snarl and grind down
into Lex's skinny little body. Lex flailed against him like he was having a
seizure, whipping his head back and forth on his neck and chanting please,
please, please. It took Bruce precious seconds to come back to himself, release
his hold on Lex and fling himself from the bed.
Lex whined pitifully, shoved down his messy pants with one hand and jerked
himself frantically with the other, eyes wide and glassy in Bruce's direction.
Lex's voice slurred as he said, “Sorry, sorry, so sorry, never done this
before, can't stop, so sorry, ahhhhhhhhhh,” and then cum fountained out the end
of his dick between his fingers and Lex passed out.
Bruce hated himself so viciously he could barely drag air into his lungs the
whole time he brutally yanked his cock over Lex's unconscious body. Once he was
done he walked calmly to the en suite, leaned against the marble counter,
vomited roughly into the sink like he was the one who'd drunk the contents of a
liquor cabinet and avoided looking at himself in the mirror as he rinsed out
the basin. He ran a cool washcloth over himself, exchanged it for a clean one
and walked back out into his bedroom. He wiped away the semen from Lex's belly,
from Lex's naked penis and testicles with prodigious care. He left Lex's hand
sticky.
 
===============================================================================
Bruce spent the entire night awake, keeping watch over Lex's thin, pale body,
curtains pulled closed to keep out the light, to keep out the admittedly
unlikely prying eyes of the world, to keep in the scent of Lex, thick in the
humid air. Lex slept like the dead. Bruce had limited himself very strictly to
touching only the most non-sexual of places—could not restrict himself from
touching at all—the shell of Lex's ear, the crease of Lex's elbow, sniff the
bare skin of Lex's armpit, kiss the tip of Lex's nose. When that wasn't enough
he'd gathered Lex's limp torso into his arms, repositioned him so that Lex laid
across Bruce's chest, and held him until his internal clock (by way of his
bladder) told him it was time to get up. Bruce kissed the top of Lex's head,
eased him back onto a pillow and shut the curtains; heard Lex murmur sleepily
behind him through the thick velvet as he turned away.
Bruce ran.
He changed into running clothes first, of course, in the gym, but that was all
automatic. All Bruce wanted was to run away. So he did. Not forever, just off
the grounds and into Gotham proper. The sky pissed rain on him as he ran, but
what was new? It always rained in Gotham. As he ran past a side street, more of
an alley, really, he saw a kid maybe a year older than him swipe a purse off an
old lady. Bruce chased him down and hit him. Hard. Hit him again and again
until he stopped fighting back. Bruce left the purse, lying filthy in a puddle
feet from the kid's crumpled, groaning body, splattered with the kid's blood.
The rain washed the kid's blood from Bruce's knuckles as he ran.
Bruce ran into the seed part of the city, the rundown area of downtown where he
knew people. He bought a scrip off a dentist with perpetual gambling debts and
a thriving business in bogus prescriptions. Bruce paid $36 cash for 100 10mg
tablets of generic Valium at the Walmart pharmacy under a bogus name because he
didn't trust the shady pharmacy in the same rundown building as the dentist.
The bottle said take ½ tablet every four hours as needed for anxiety. Bruce
poured out four little pink tablets into his palm and swallowed them dry. By
the time he made it home and out of the shower, he was feeling fine.
Lex was standing there when Bruce stepped out onto the plush,white bathmat,
holding a towel. For a moment Bruce thought Lex would just stand there gaping
at him forever, but as he reached out to take the towel from Lex, Lex shook his
head, threw the towel at Bruce and flashed his eyes pleadingly. He said,
“Wait.” So Bruce did. Lex averted his eyes as Bruce wrapped the big terry bath
sheet around his waist, bit his lip and crumpled in on himself, but didn't
speak. But then, just as Bruce was about to reach out to touch him, Lex said,
“I'm sorry. For all of it. I just... fuck. I'm sorry.”
Bruce was feeling magnanimous. He said, “Why did you do it?” without rancor or
malice, without any feeling at all.
Lex flickered his eyes to Bruce's glistening wet chest guiltily, blushing
furiously. Then something snapped and Lex looked straight at him, eyes blazing,
and said, “Because I wanted you. Because I'm skinny and bald and everyone I've
ever met mocked me but you. Because I can't bear to go back to school a virgin.
Because I'm a coward and my entire life, no matter how annoying I was, you
never told me no. Because the last time anyone I'm not related to touched me at
all was three years ago when you cupped your hand at the back of my head when I
hugged you goodbye at my mother's funeral. Because when I look at you my chest
gets tight like it did when I was a kid and I want so much I feel like I might
die, but I have no idea what to do. Take your pick.”
And then Bruce kissed him. He pressed Lex back into the tile wall and kissed
him with a serenity that transcended the effects of the pills, kissed Lex with
a terrible tenderness that broke something hot and liquid in his chest and
gasped. He kissed Lex soft on his forehead, scooped Lex up into his arms like
he had when Lex was four, carried Lex to his bed, made love to him and fell
deep asleep curled up with Lex like puppies.
 
===============================================================================
At 20 Bruce had been less surprised to find Lex naked in his utilitarian twin
bed in his dorm room than he probably should have been. He hadn't seen Lex in
years, not since that summer they spent together, but he had always known
exactly where Lex could be found on any given day. Bruce knew when Lex left
prep school for Met U two years ago, though Lex never told him, knew that at 15
Lex had still been their most promising Freshman, knew Lex's GPA, his scores on
the college boards, his class ranking at graduation and just how lucky Met U
was that Lionel Luthor didn't want to let little Lex out of his sight. Of
course, last week, at 17, Lex had blown up the Met U chem lab so spectacularly
even Luthor money couldn't cover it up, so they probably weren't feeling too
lucky at the moment.
It had only been a matter of time before he showed up at Princeton, looking to
Bruce for comfort. It disgusted Bruce how much he wanted to give it. He raised
an eyebrow speculatively at Lex, asked sweetly, “Did you bring me some of
whatever you were cooking up in the lab?”
“I did, indeed,” Lex said with a lazy smile, stroking his dick idly with one
hand and tossing Bruce a little white packet with the other. “Though,
obviously, from the previous batch. The police 'confiscated' the last batch as
evidence before they realized they wouldn't be pursuing the matter, and then of
course all the evidence mysteriously disappeared so there was no getting it
back.”
Bruce poured the contents of the packet onto the skin where Lex's right hip met
his groin, dipped his head, pressed one nostril closed with the knuckle of his
index finger, and snorted the powder. Bruce pinched his nose closed while the
rush hit him, dropped to his knees and licked up the remnants of the drug from
the crease of Lex's groin before suckling Lex's cock like a baby at it's
mother's tit. Lex's moans where purple and blue and black and Bruce drank them
down with Lex's cum.
He was surprised to wake up with Lex. Bruce woke flat on his back, arms pinned
at his sides with Lex wild-eyed, hovering above him. Bruce blinked, face blank.
Lex kissed him savagely, catching his lip on Bruce's teeth and bleeding warm
salty copper into Bruce's mouth. Bruce could see the smear of blood from the
corner of Lex's mouth across Lex's cheek when Lex pulled up and away, panting.
Lex licked his lips, pressed his forehead down against Bruce's, so close their
noses bumped, breaths mingling humid and warm and sour from sleep. Lex
whispered, “Tell me you love me,” into Bruce's mouth on a sigh.
Bruce stroked his hand down the back of Lex's head, down his neck, down his
shoulder, gripped Lex tight and flipped him. Lex didn't bother to look
surprised by their sudden reversal of position, didn't bother to look Bruce in
the eye, either, just looked up and off to the ceiling above Bruce's head.
Bruce kissed Lex's throat, nuzzled Lex's neck, and whispered, “Yes,” into the
shell of Lex's ear. “I do.” Bruce sucked the little silver barbell in the flesh
of Lex's ear gently into his mouth. “I always have.” Bruce bit Lex's earlobe
sharp enough to hurt, but not enough to break the skin. “You've always known
it.” Then Bruce dropped his head, bit into the delicate skin of Lex's neck,
just below his ear, like a peach. “And you've always used me for it.”
Lex moaned, shook his head in denial, then moaned again when Bruce bit harder.
“Say it. Say you love me,” Lex begged raggedly.
Bruce looked into Lex's eyes, trying to see what the game was this time, but
not finding one. “I love you.”
“Again.” Lex's voice was urgent, breathy.
“I love you.” Certain. True.
Lex shuddered beneath him, eyes full and watery.
“I love you.” Bruce breathed it into his skin.
Lex's eyes fluttered closed, spilled tears down the sides of his face.
Bruce licked away the hot, salty little trails. “I love you. I love you. I love
you.” A litany, chanted and sacred. Lex clung to him, naked, face wet with
tears, silent and Bruce held him close and loved him.
 
===============================================================================
Lex slept with other people. Lex had his own dorm room somewhere else where he
slept with people who didn't love him, with people who didn't particularly even
like him, with people who wanted him for his money, for his drugs, even a few
for his mind, but none of them, not even the ones who slept with him for his
exotic appearance, not one of them saw Lex. It made Bruce mad with jealousy,
sick with it, but Lex crawled into Bruce's bed every night anyway, stinking of
them, drenched in their fluids, drunk and wrecked and begging for Bruce to love
him, and Bruce did. Bruce peeled him out of his crusted clothes, washed his
skin with his tongue, kissed his dick and his mouth and his asshole, never sure
which was filthier, and loved Lex.
Bruce made love to Lex, even when Lex was hurt or tired or broken, because Lex
asked him to, but it twisted something in side him to do it every time, to love
Lex who hated himself. Bruce was out of control with jealousy, started
following Lex every minute they weren't together, watching Lex fuck pretty
girls who reminded Bruce of Lilian, masturbating helplessly in the dark. Bruce
learned biochemistry and chemical engineering, eschewing his own coursework to
skulk in the back of Lex's courses. Bruce learned to become invisible in the
shadows at nightclubs, palming his dick roughly through his slacks while Lex
let perfect strangers touch his body on the dance floor. Bruce learned how to
hurt a man just enough to make up for whatever they'd done to Lex before they
threw him away.
Bruce reigned himself in enough to stay at home, caged safely in his dorm room,
for just one night. At dawn he found Lex passed out in a gutter in front of the
building, face down in a pool of vomit, some dried and crusted, some fresh,
with his clothing ripped, his wallet gone, his flaccid dick hanging out, a
purpling bruise blooming on his forehead. As Bruce heaved him up from the
sidewalk Lex belched sickeningly and putrid, faintly alcoholic brown fluid
poured from his mouth in a rush all down the front of his mangled shirt, but
Lex didn't wake. Lex didn't wake as Bruce carried him up the stairs, didn't
wake when Bruce jostled him out of his clothes, didn't wake when Bruce tucked
him into bed propped on his side with a stainless steel emesis basin under his
head.
Like a feral animal, Bruce lashed out at the first likely candidate. Some
steroidal asshole Lex had traded his own special blend of home cooked,
undetectable metabolites that set off a chain reaction of bigger, better,
stronger, faster better than anything on the market for rough trade the week
before, the asshole being rough and Lex the trade. Bruce took Lex's drugs, too,
sometimes, but it wasn't a trade for love or sex or affection. Lex had always
engaged in self-destructive levels of largess, got frustrated and hurt when it
wasn't accepted, so though Bruce didn't need them, he wanted them, because Lex
offered, because Lex made them, because Bruce had money and influence and
didn't need anything else Lex could give him, didn't need Lex to buy him
diamonds. Bruce beat steroid boy into a coma with his bare hands and it still
wasn't enough.
Lex was careening out of control, yet somehow still managing to ace his
classes. Bruce was not. Bruce had not been to class in weeks, paid attention in
months, consumed with Lex. Bruce had destroyed his entire life over his
obsession with Lex. He loved Lex, craved him, desperately needed to protect him
and it was all a sick game for Lex. Lex who was being sick in Bruce's bed,
moaning and moving and awake. Lex who had never once in all the times he'd
begged it of Bruce told Bruce he loved him.
Lex would be alright. Lex was always alright, despite Lex's best efforts. The
frenetic worry for Lex had broken the second Lex opened his eyes on his own,
completely clear despite his obvious intoxication. The bruise wasn't so purple
as it had looked in the dark, yellowing and old at the edges, no matter that
Bruce would have seen it if Lex had had it before he left the dorm.
Bruce smashed his hand through his window. It felt so good he did it again. He
smashed everything, everything, everything until there was nothing in his room
left to smash but Lex and for the first time since the first time, Lex looked
afraid. Lex who went out and traded drugs for people to hit him while they
fucked him was terrified of Bruce. Lex cowered in the corner of the alcove the
bed rested in, hands over his face while Bruce trashed his room like Lex had
trashed his life.
And then Lex looked up, defiant, and Bruce wanted to hit him with every fiber
of his being. Lex said, “Go ahead. Hit me. I know you want to,” and didn't
wince when Bruce raised his fist, bloody and sparkling with the glass shards
from the shattered window embedded in the skin, just said, “I knew it was a
lie.”
Bruce screamed and fell to the floor, covering his face with his hands,
sobbing. Lex crept up to the edge of the bed, slid down to the floor and
wrapped himself around Bruce. Bruce shook with the force of his sobs while Lex
held him, carded his fingertips through Bruce's hair, and whispered, “It's
okay, it's okay. You can stop loving me now. You can stop, and I'll be fine. I
promise. I love you. It's over.”
And it was a lie, because Lex wouldn't be fine, and they both knew it, but it
was also true. It was over. So Bruce ran away, as far away as he could get. He
needed control, so he ordered everything in his life. He needed discipline, so
that he would never lose that control again. He needed revenge, for his
parents, for the normal life the criminals who killed his parents took away
from him, took the love of the only people who ever really cared for him away
and left him vulnerable. He needed training and he found it, used it to build
himself a wall discipline to shore himself up with, to make himself strong so
he could fight.
 
===============================================================================
Bruce is aware that Lex has been running away to Gotham to hide from his father
for years. He knows the first time Lex came, just after he graduated Princeton,
Lex looked for him. He is also aware that though they had a lovely chat the day
Lex arrived in Gotham, Alfred did not invite Lex to stay at Wayne Manor in
Bruce's absence. Bruce supposes that slight hurt Lex a bit, made it that much
easier for Lionel to find Lex, but Alfred gave Bruce a gift that day. Bruce
wasn't there to protect Lex that day, and he won't let himself be Lex's
protector ever again. Not from Lionel, not from criminal, not from himself. Not
even in the dark. Not even when Lex won't know.
He suspects that Lex comes here not because he has any expectation of seeing
Bruce, who hasn't returned his calls in years, but because, despite everything,
the simple act of being near Bruce makes Lex feel safe, feel ... loved. At
least Bruce hopes that's it. It's a weakness to indulge himself with that
fantasy, but in this one thing, he is unable to exert any control over his
ruthless, devastating hope that it's true.
Lex is in town, buying real estate, buying himself a home in Bruce's home.
Bruce's hard won control threatens to choke him with iron bands around his
throat and chest and belly. Bruce hasn't indulged in carnal behavior once since
leaving Lex, hasn't needed to, hasn't even wanted to. It's been years, but
tonight, knowing Lex is here, making himself a nest, Bruce wants like liquid
fire in his veins.
He could go to Lex. He could walk right into Lex's hotel room and no one would
stop him, could pull Lex back into his arms and have him and Lex would let him.
Lex would be grateful and Lex would kiss him and though Lex would revel in
Bruce's love, in the safety of him, in the flood of affection Bruce has for
him, in the way they've always wanted each other, Lex would not love Bruce the
way Bruce has always wanted, to the exclusion of all else.
Lex has no discipline. He's messy and hedonistic and out of control and so very
dear Bruce feels sick just thinking about Lex's life. Bruce can't fix it, Bruce
has tried, and despite the desperate crush of love just behind Bruce's
judgments about how Lex lives his life, Bruce can't live with Lex the way he
is. It doesn't stop him from having Lex's room bugged whenever he's in town,
doesn't stop him following Lex around from the second he steps foot in Gotham
to the second he leaves, but it does stop him talking to Lex.
And though it stops him going to Lex, it doesn't stop him wanting. So while
Bruce is sitting in his car watching Lex walk into a club so exclusive, so
underground it has no neon sign over the door lighting up the street with it's
name, he doesn't follow Lex in. Not this time, not when he knows what he'll
find behind the doors. But it tempts him, and he's distracted enough by that
not to notice the kid till he's knocking on glass of Bruce's window.
Bruce flinches, jerks his eyes away from the dark doorway and turns his face
toward the sound and the clouds part. The kid is young, maybe fifteen,
beautiful under the trappings of the street, awkward like a colt not quite
grown into itself, for sale. Bruce presses a button to take away the barrier of
the glass and the boy treats him with a smile like sunshine. Bruce says, “Get
in,” and though the boy hesitates, only moments later Clark (“Hi! My name is
Clark, fifty bucks for a fuck, thirty-five for a BJ,” the kid tells him.)
slides into the seat next to Bruce.
Bruce drives away, taking Clark, Fifty Bucks For A Fuck, Thirty-Five for BJ,
back to Wayne Manor, leaving Lex to live his life however he sees fit. Bruce
already has big plans for this stray puppy, and he's not going to make the same
mistakes this time. He's not going to lose his discipline, not going to lose
his control, not going to lose himself. This time, he's going to save someone
from themself. He's going to save himself.
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