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Half Measures

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They never did do half measures.

Full on, blasting through, pushing the limits? Yes, but half assed, half formed or spontaneous?

Not never, but certainly not enough to form a habit. At least for one of them.

So Bruce proposed a set of rules to the man who liked so much to bend them, and when Clark gave him that impish grin, like he was possessed by some naughty pixy, Bruce’s mouth went dry, because he knew right then and there that he’d signed up for trouble.

The first rule was, never in uniform. Cum stains were a bitch to get rid of, and honestly? Young master or not, there were things he’d rather not think of Alfred knowing.

Never in their respective cities. No hotel twice. They took turns or no dice.

And finally, absolutely no fucking the sidekicks.

Which, you know, is a given, but had to be said.

The first rule was broken within the same month, ironically it also led to the breaking of the fourth rule, and resulting in negotiations.

“You have super-speed, you could have changed and waited.”

“And miss being ravished so thoroughly?”

When Bruce just glared at Clark, the man winked back at him. “You’re just pissed that you broke your own rules first.”

And a glorious rule breaking it had been. Clark wasn’t sure exactly how Bruce planned on repairing his suit, or how to explain the gapping hole running from the front to the back of his lower half.

He’d have to remember not to bend so much around Bruce when suited up, unless he wanted a repeat of the spank and rimming fest. It would have been entirely fine with him - minus the part where he now needed to use a spare uniform - if Bruce hadn’t also ended up fucking him out of turn. Sure he’d hopped on top of the man himself, but he never claimed to be the voice of reason in their little arrangement. Especially since it already seemed something Bruce liked to lord over his head. Which was fine by him, as long as they could let out mutual steam.

“One rule. By all accounts, you broke the fourth all on your own.”

Clark snorted, “not unless I had my own dick up my ass I didn’t. You weren’t complaining.”

Fuck no Bruce wasn’t. It had been a lot more than a power rush, knowing he’d gotten away with it too. A sense of smugness he wasn’t sure he should be soaking in quite so much still buzzed under his skin. He knew it wouldn’t for long anyways, because the gleam was in Clark’s eyes, the one that always spelled trouble. In all caps too.

“I want to renegotiate the rules, particularly the turn taking.”

“Figures.”

Clark held up a hand, stemming any further comment, “I think it’s clear that sometimes, we want different roles, so it makes sense to get to make one request a month to switch even if it isn’t the person’s turn.”

It had sounded so logical, and made so much sense, that Bruce had agreed without comment. Maybe a bit of guilt had seeped in, about the rule breaking and all. He’d also wanted to make nice as quickly as possible and move into round two since he still had a bit of free time, which was his only excuse for falling so spectacularly into Clark’s trap.

More like hands though.

Because, fucking gargoyle-on-a-joystick, the bruises on his ass would need a week to fade. The one welt though, that would take another age and a half, the way it was placed so perfectly on his seat, that any sitting down just made it burn like the fiery depths of hell.

Vengeance was his though. The key was to inflict as much as possible, in the shortest time possible, and why not, when he had the means and technology? He just hoped Alfred wouldn’t decide to look too closely in the dungeon.

They finally called a truce. Because, uh, yeah the whole point had been to fuck out their frustrations with each other, not fuck over each other.

Which was probably why Bruce ditched Clark in the remote hotel in the middle of nowhere, when he’d tried to lock a belt around Bruce’s wrists. Feeling gleeful enough that it just meant Clark had lost a turn as the top, and his ass would be Bruce’s to wreck next time. Because hey, rules were still rules, and Clark had used up his once a month switch fuck.

Little did he know, there was another watchful set of eyes in attendance, keeping score.

***

Clark brought it up every single fucking time. Mostly to guilt Bruce into another extra turn.

“You ditched me in the frozen tundra and took the jet with you.”

Bruce just stared, irritated at Clark before pointing out, “You could have just made like a UFO, and flied.”

“Fuck you. I left the spare suit behind and couldn’t just fly back through a fucking blizzard wearing the hotel bathrobe.”

Bruce laughed, because yes, he’d stooped low enough to grab Clark’s clothes as he left. His eyes were dancing as he said, “actually, it’s my turn to fuck you.”

The look on Clark’s face was not amused.

Tough luck though, because Bruce had had the week from hell, and nothing short of a long ass session was going to loosen the tension in his shoulders, the twitch in his fingers, or the fire in his gut. It was a real shame that Clark could heal so quickly, because some part of Bruce would have really liked to see the marks of his dominance on the man. The makes of his obsession, and maybe even his possessiveness.

“I could just say no.”

“But would you? I’ve never known you to back away from a challenge.”

“Maybe I’m just not interested in this one.”

They stood there, silently watching each other, and Bruce wondered if that was the moment the fragile truce they weren’t trying so hard to nurture and protect, was about to snap.

But before he could say anything, a third voice intruded on their moment.

“Oh come on boys, I came all the way to catch the show.”

Bruce’s eyes lit on the figure lounging on the ledge of the window, hands tucked into pockets, hip jutting forward, and an insolent mouth halfway into an amused smile.

Clark looked between them, and coughed to get his attention, head inclining towards their intruder.

“This your way of telling me rule number five is going the way of the Dodo?”

“You have rules? Wicked. Don’t let me stop you, please, pretend I’m not here.”

“Jason.”

“Hi, missed me?”

Bruce’s face hardened, and in seconds, instinct took over, and he had Jason by the throat, pushed against the window. Jason just held his hands up in surrender, smiling down at Bruce. His eyes weren’t smiling though, no, not those hard, calculating, fathomless cold eyes.

“Family skinship? My favorite. Though maybe not so much around my windpipe, I’m fragile you know?”

“How did you find us? Who sent you?”

There was a flicker of something in Jason’s eyes, but it went away as quickly as it flashed, and his smirk was back in place, though he was clearly struggling to breathe.

“Bruce.”

Bruce loosened his hold, then dropped his arm. Not because Clark was requesting it, and not because the sudden but intense desire to ring the truth out of Jason once and for all, had subsided any, but because Clark had his eyes trained on Jason, and that was enough of a deterrent. Unless Jason wanted to be fried alive that was.

Jason smoothed a hand over his throat, before raising an eyebrow and saying, “Secrets of the trade, and curiosity.”

“If you think we’re going to believe anything you have to say, you’re mistaken.”

Jason just ignored them, walking further into the suite, lifting things and putting them back, but never leaving their sights. “I’d be sad and weepy if I gave a fuck about what you think of me, but that ship’s sailed pops. Besides, I’ve been following you both for months now, yet you both have your heads intact. That’s gotta count for something.”

Bruce turned around to glare at Clark. “Why do I have a feeling this is your fault.”

Clark didn’t take his eyes off of Jason to reply, and Bruce wasn’t sure that was a good or a bad thing until he noticed Clark was eyeing the younger man’s ass.

“Why do you always assume it’s my fault? Maybe he was following you all this time, and I was caught in the pursuit.”

Jason clapped his hands and held up his hands to get their attention, “now now, there’s no need to keep fighting, I just followed the hard to miss, blanket-wearing, naked-flying man, until he settled himself on top of a private jet.”

When Bruce glared at Clark again, Clark shrugged his shoulders, “It was cold, and I couldn’t yank the bed without alerting half the hotel occupants.”

If anything, Bruce finally understood why he’d been charged that extra fee and the deposit from the hotel. Though he was still inclined to blame Clark, his own role in the mess was clear.

“What are you here for then?”

“A bit of fun.”

“Blackmail.” Jason didn’t even flinch at the accusation. “Just when I think you couldn’t disgust me any more, I’m left surprised.”

“Good to know I’m still full of surprises. You can call it blackmail, an insurance policy, call it the biggest scandal hitting tomorrow’s newsstands, I’ll call it bonding time with estranged family.”

“Get out.”

But Clark who’d been silent up to that point, interjected. Because while Bruce could afford to pay off the media and change the whole encounter around, and afford to continue this feud with his ex-Robin, he couldn’t, and didn’t want to. “Let’s hear it then.”

Bruce’s glare was back full force, this time directed at him and not the little intruder and while Clark had stepped in between the two, he wasn’t exactly sure what his role in this was supposed to be. He just knew that one of them fueled the other and they’d keep snapping at each other like a pair of dogs and he’d probably end up having to take an emergency call for help while having the world’s worst case of blue balls.

“A performance, just for me, and I’ll drop the whole idea.”

Before Bruce could growl another rejection, Clark held him back, this time, countering Jason’s smirk with one of his own. Because suddenly, he could see how this entire thing could play out in his favor, and it was all he could do not let Jason see his wicked amusement at the thought. “As you could tell, we’re having a bit of a problem deciding who’s in charge at the moment.”

Jason snorted, “flip a coin, I don’t give a fuck.”

“We also have no guarantee you’re not just going to leave this room with actual evidence, and carry out your threat regardless. So I have a proposition.”

He looked back at Bruce with his smirk still in place, ignoring Jason, as he said, “join us.”

***

It might have been seconds. But it had felt like hours waiting for Bruce and Jason to say something.

Jason was sitting on one of two armchairs in the hotel room, Bruce in the other, and Clark on the massive bed.

At first, the comment had gone over a lot better than expected. Jason had grinned, but the moment he’d said “deal” Bruce had said “no”.

Now they were waiting for what Clark thought of as Bruce’s counter offer. While Jason tried to slide further down the armchair and show off his package, thighs slowly easing apart, giving Clark a show.

“Don’t slouch. It makes for a bad form.”

Jason rolled his eyes, but surprisingly complied, straightened his back and deprived Clark of his entertainment. Though Jason’s eagerness, or so it seemed, to please Bruce sparked a heat low in his belly.

Bruce went silent again.

Predictably, Jason’s good behavior started to slip in the wake of further silence.

First it started with his fingers tapping the armrest, drumming a beat known only to himself. Then he started cracking his knuckles, not in a threatening way, but in a practiced popping sequence, before he resumed the drumming. When neither provoked a reaction, Jason finally progressed to feet tapping, which was less dramatic and annoying when the plush carpeting was absorbing much of the sound. Jason’s production of the one-man orchestra lasted a fair bit, but it wasn’t until he’d turned his head to stretch his neck, that the unthinkable happened.

Bruce was on Jason in a flash, grabbing his chin and turning it around to face Bruce, who had a menacing look on his face, the likes of which Clark had only seen in a scene before.

“Rule number one, I’m in charge.”

“Ah, but since you’re a control freak, that’s more of fact, don’t you think?”

Bruce barely stopped from lashing out, distracted because Clark had traitorously snorted at the comment and added an, “I can just imagine how disciplining this one went.”

“Rule two, no attitude from the peanut gallery, or I’m whipping two boys today.”

Clark outright laughed that one time, and even winked at Jason as he said, “Rule one point five, in case you didn’t know, whipping boy one is you.”

“As long as you don’t whip me to death, sure, what’s the harm?”

Bruce’s flinch was so instantaneous that Clark actually regretted inviting Jason along for the ride. But there was something there for both of them, he could feel it in the charged atmosphere between them. One looking for approval and one looking for forgiveness, and at times it wasn’t clear who was looking for which exactly, except that it was clear Clark would be enjoying the evening either way.

Thankfully, Bruce recovered enough to straighten his arms by his sides and not clench them into tight fists. “That was in poor taste.”

Jason chuckled, but it wasn’t clear if it was genuine or forced. “Just a little inside-joke, jeez Batman where’s your sense of humor?”

“Do you see anyone laughing?”

“Lighten up. Fucking old-timers.”

Clark grinned from his position on the bed, “little bird, I’m afraid the old timers are the ones fucking you instead.”

Jason scowled, all trace of humor gone, “what the hell did you just call me?”

“Something more appropriate than what you’ve been calling either of us. Which part pisses you off more, the robin or the diminutive reference?”

“Fucker. I’ll show you diminutive!” Which admittedly would have been alarming, if Jason hadn’t been holding his junk while waving his middle finger around.

“Break it up kids.”

“Fuck off orphan b-”

The smack across the face must have surprised Jason, because the instinct to lash back was forgotten in favor of placing a hand on his cheek while staring up at Bruce.

Bruce grabbed his hair and shoved him lower, until Jason was sort of on his knees, half leaning down, half locked into the surprise of it all.

“He’s an independent agent in this, and I don’t give a shit if he calls you ‘little bird’, ‘little hole’ or ‘cum stain’, you say thank you Sir, and mind not to drag me into it. Because any more disrespectful lip from you, and I’ll rip your heart right out of your asshole.”

But it was Bruce and Clark’s turn to be surprised, when Jason pulled right from under Bruce, getting to his feet and messing with his hair to get it back into place. “I’m not thanking him for it.”

That seemed to be the end of that, because Bruce turned to Clark and said, “don’t push it.”

Clark decided not to mention the fact he’d been saving ‘crow’ for another rebellious-Jason moment. He ‘yes boss’ed instead and cut his losses.

“Rule three, once anyone gives out their safeword, everything stops.”

Clark nodded. “Steel”

“Cave,” replied Bruce.

Jason was smiling, rather lopsided, looking at both of them and rolling his eyes at the simplicity of their safewords. Or something. He didn’t offer up his, so Bruce sighed, moved closer until his fingers were holding Jason's chin, lifting his face up so they were eye-level. "I'll need your safeword." The sardonic smile was still there, but something flickered in Jason's eyes, seconds before he said "crowbar.”

Bruce's fingers tightened on Jason's chin, his own face pinched with emotion. "Why do you always make things harder for yourself?"

"Isn't that the point?"

"He's right Bruce, stop coddling the little bird."

Jason snorted, shaking off Bruce’s fingers, “that’s the one thing you could never accuse him of.”

It wasn’t an insult per say, so Bruce didn’t follow up on his threat, but he was steadily keeping tally for later. “Anything you want to say before we get started?”

“Nope.”

When both still looked at him expectantly, Jason shrugged, and started taking off his jacket.

Clark tutted, wagging a finger in the air as well. “No manners, little bird.”

Jason just let the jacket fall from his fingers, and slowly eased the material off his shoulders down his arms, until it flopped around his waist, held securely by his belt. That didn’t stop him from then sliding the tips of his fingers into the space between skin, uniform and belt.

Bruce snorted, “and a tease to boot.”

Jason grinned, thrusting his pelvis into the air, “or just sexy and I know it?”

He got another blank stare and Jason stared back unimpressed at the two of them. “Really? I know this one lives in a cave, but do you live under rock too? Do I have to pull out some crusty Wizard of Oz reference?”

“Less talking yourself into trouble, and more undressing for our pleasure, kid.”

“Tough crowd tonight,” Jason muttered, but then he spun around, unbuckled his belt, and let the rest of the outfit bunch under his ass, “but I can fix that.”

Clark whistled, and by the time Jason turned around to show them the real prize he had packing, there wasn’t a stich of clothing on him either.

Bruce watched them from his position in front of the second armchair, calculating eyes tracking their every movement.

“Do I pass, pops?”

Bruce gave him a look, one eyebrow raised before he said, “I suppose you’re not so little after all. Come closer, let’s see how much you’ve grown.”

Jason started to saunter towards Bruce when Bruce snapped his fingers, “knees first.”

And there it was, the first sign of resistance, because as eager as Jason was playing at being, he was also playing his submissiveness, pretending rather than giving in, and Bruce could see it, plain as day, hidden behind sarcasm and vulgarity.

So Bruce hardened his face, his stare intense and menacing, “on your knees or out the door, but don’t keep me waiting.”

Jason jolted into action, walking towards Bruce, but dropping to his knees in front of him. “You didn’t say crawl, so you don’t get to complain.”

Bruce just sifted his fingers through Jason’s hair, messing it up, curling the lone lock of white around his fingers, pulling it back almost gently.

The tension in Jason’s body was almost invisible, unless you’d trained him. Bruce tsked, “keep still.”

Jason pulled his head to the side, disengaging Bruce’s fingers from his hair, looking at Clark, who was sitting on the bed, elbows to knees, observing them. He looked back to Bruce and smirked, some of the tension gone, “just wondering why he’s not on his knees too, when it’s a threesome.”

The smile that split Bruce’s face, ratcheted Jason’s tension back, because it was the last thing he’d expected, and the sense of danger that had washed through him right before he’d made that comment about Bruce, was back again full force.

Clark raised his eyebrows, catching Bruce’s look. “Damn, 25 already?”

Jason barely called out, “what” when Bruce yanked his head back, pulling the hair at the base of his skull.

“That’s ‘what, Sir?’ to you punk. Clark, it’s finally show time.”

Clark left his perch on the bed to sit in the chair across from them, placing one leg on the armrest, and beckoning Jason with his finger.

The air changed, charged and crackled, and Jason understood just then, how much he’d underestimated Bruce, and just why Clark wasn’t willing to bend over for the man today.

Bruce’s grin got even wider if possible, and his other hand was now on Jason’s face, thumb moving back and forth across plump lips. His voice was soft as he said, “show Clark how much you want to be here with us.”

The tone sizzled down Jason’s spine, and for a moment, the act dropped, and his focus was fuzzy, until he felt a different heavy hand raking through his hair.

“That’s it, little bird, come closer.”

Clark was slouching in a mimicry of Jason’s early stance, the difference being he was naked, and slowly dragging Jason closer, so that his face was laying on Clark’s muscular thigh, while Clark continued to pet him.

His cock was half hard, and the more Jason continued to stare at it, to breathe those little puffs of air as he inhaled the musky scent of the man, the more it rose, until soon enough it curved towards Clark’s stomach.

Bruce broke the silence, grounding the moment back into his intended scene, “hold it in your mouth, feel it.”

It seemed he was a little too slow for Clark, because the man pushed his face towards the throbbing cock, the hand no longer in his hair, now trying to coax his jaw open.

“Open up, baby.”

He must have shaken his head at the nickname, because Clark had to pull Jason’s face back to where he most wanted him, again.

“Don’t keep me hanging little bird.”

His head was muddled, and it was almost like he’d time-skipped because all too soon, he had Clark in his mouth, precariously close to his throat and he wasn’t sure he was supposed to pull him that deep in just yet.

Clark’s hands were gone, and a glance up showed why, as he watched Bruce and Clark lock lips, Bruce leaning down to push insistently inside Clark’s mouth, tongue sweeping across his lips, and Clark obliging only quickly enough to bite on Bruce’s lower lip, pull it with his teeth before letting go.

He was getting a crick in his neck from watching, while holding Clark still in his mouth. He guessed that was one way to test his stillness.

He closed his eyes, but the sounds above him just got louder and filthier and he felt Clark’s body quivering around him, the salty drops on his tongue causing his throat to flex and swallow.

Clark groaned, and Bruce’s hand landed on his head the very next moment, urging Jason to move, pushing his head downward and forward, until Clark’s cock hit the back of his throat. Before Jason could panic about losing access to his airway, he was pulled back again, Bruce utilizing his head to crank out movements. He breathed through his nose, pulling as much air before he was slammed forward again, Clark’s moans like an echo in his head.

Jason used his hands to keep from choking on Clark’s length, fingers circling the base, stopping his mouth from forcing the rest of the thick hard flesh inside, and his nose from being shoved into Clark’s pubes.

He started to bob his head, slowly pushing back against Bruce’s hand, until just the head of Clark’s cock was in his mouth, and he could concentrate on the actual brief of getting the man off. He sucked on the head, tongued the slit, and when Clark’s hips started moving, bobbed his head up and down, taking him in further, with leisurely licks, while easing his fingers away, one at a time.

Bruce patted his head, and the fingers loosened a little, so Jason must have been doing a good job, and when he managed to get Clark back into his throat, he hummed around him, before pulling back so Clark’s tip tickled the roof of his mouth.

“Fuck, you’ve got a sinful mouth on you.”

Jason grinned, pulling all the way back, and rewarding Clark with nibbles under the head of his cock, threatening with teeth but never carrying through, flattening his tongue on the slit, dragging Clark’s flavor out, before enveloping him in the wet warmth of his mouth and holding him longer in his throat.

Clark’s hand joined Bruce’s on his head, and Bruce moved his fingers under Jason’s chin, grabbing Clark’s balls. He could almost rest on the man’s forearm and feel the hair there. He could feel that Clark was close, so he relaxed his throat and swallowed until all he could feel was the tightness in his throat, the burn in his eye, the tickling of hair around his nose.

He squeezed a hand around Clark’s thigh and then Clark was sliding lower in the chair, fist in Jason’s hair and he started to ram his cock inside, faster and faster and brutal, throat fucking Jason, pulling almost off the chair as he reached for more of Bruce, barely pulling out before slamming back in, until his thighs tensed, and Jason swallowed around Clark, giving him a tighter passage just before he roared, pulling out to shoot all over Jason’s face, on his tongue and down his throat.

Jason wheezed, trying to suck air into his deprived lungs, mouth hanging open, cum dripping down his body.

He felt dazed, and all he knew was that he was aching for release too.

Bruce crouched lower so he was closer to him, thumb back to tracing Jason’s lips painting them with cum right before slipping them in, and feeding Jason the last traces of it. Before Jason could say anything though, Bruce slipped a hand to his length, stroked it lightly, once, twice, and then worked something around the base.

Jason only realized what it was when Bruce started working another band around his balls. He moaned in frustration and tried to pull his face away from Bruce’s finger, which he realized he’d been rhythmically sucking on as it delved in and out of his puffy lips.

“Clark?”

“On it.”

Clark was on the bed in seconds, just before he basically levitated Jason to the bed, laying him strategically on top of himself. He waited for Jason to sit up, slightly clumsy, before he yanked Jason’s knees forward, causing the man to quickly place his hands on either side of Clark’s head, trying to keep upright so he wouldn’t faceplant into Clark’s chest.

“Hope your knees aren’t too tired, because it’s time to address the small matter of your discipline.”

Jason’s voice was still hoarse, and it took several tries and gulps of air before he could croak out, “what the hell for? I did what you asked!”

Clark grinned up at him, tracing a finger from Jason’s lips, down to his throat, to the middle of his chest, stopping just above his bush. “For your lip, if nothing else.”

The whistle of a belt being pulled off was all the sound that existed for a single chilling moment.

“20 by hand for every show of disrespect since you climbed through that window.”

Jason turned his head as much as he dared, butterflies swarming inside his gut at the hard, cold face staring down at him, and if Jason was sensing any sort of warmth in Bruce’s voice before, it was completely dead and gone when he said, “And 5 by belt for the sheer fucking nerve you had, when you thought you’d get away with that comment.”

Bruce folded the piece of leather in his hand, keeping the buckled end inside his fist, showing it to Jason first, before walking closer and placing it in front of his face.

He could smell the polished leather, probably not Alfred’s doing, and see the almost offensive wrinkles where the belt had bent several times as it lashed some poor ass before him. Jealously, slid like a hot poker through his chest at the thought, and he fought it down as he stared some more at the belt.

“Kiss it, show me how you’ll submit.”

Jason’s eyes didn’t stray from the shine of the belt, the faint creak of sides meeting. He opened his jaw and bit down viciously, imbedding his teeth, leaving his own mark on the belt.

Bruce pulled his head back in one eye watering yank, that had Jason questioning his own sanity. But as the jealousy took a back seat and its ache was barely felt, he couldn’t help but be satisfied with the outcome. “You sure love to talk, Sir. Why don’t you show me.”

“You’re something else little bird. Hope he doesn’t revise it to a 100, because I still plan on having that ass wrapped around my cock at some point.”

But Bruce didn’t say anything, not until he moved back behind the pair on the bed, his grip on Jason’s head never loosening, pulling him so his toes had to dig in to keep him in place. His fucking knees ached but he didn’t care, he’d make the bastard work for it.

Clark laughed at the scowl on his face, and suddenly being bent over the guy wasn’t looking like a good idea at all. He tried to sit up, but the hand in his hair, and Clark’s which was now around his nape, stopped him.

His voice was barely a whisper when Clark asked, “would you prefer to be over daddy’s lap instead?”

Jason sucked in a breath, eyes going wide.

Clark could almost see the panic that was coming over him. He signaled to Bruce, who let go of Jason’s hair, but not before one last tug. Clark eased Jason’s head lower, and because of the angle he could reach Jason’s throat. He kissed around it, prompting Jason to take a deep breath and another right as Clark kissed his Adam’s apple, trailing soft kisses that moved across on shoulder, only to come back and leave a mark on the side of Jason’s neck. “Relax.”

When Jason seemed to ease back into the trance state he’d been in and out of since the hot blowjob, Clark gave Bruce the go ahead. They were probably stopping at 30, and the faster Bruce started, the more likely they’d keep Jason in his current headspace, pliant and breathtaking to watch.

“Counting’s not required; appreciation is expected. Any sign of disobedience and I’ll sear the reminder of the transgression into your skin boy. Nod if you understand.”

Out of fear or deeply ingrained discipline, Clark wasn’t sure, but Jason nodded without comment this time.

There were no other words, and he watched Bruce’s hand lift and come down hard.

The yelp that escaped Jason was loud enough to shake walls, and Clark had to pull Jason’s arms back down, before he got himself another strike for moving out of place, or trying to cover what was likely a stinging fire that had been lit on his ass.

He felt, more than saw Bruce’s hand trailing from Jason’s back to his fiery ass.

“I’m waiting boy, and I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Th-th-thank you s-sir.”

Jason’s eyes were open wide, looking down at Clark in disbelief, and Clark felt a little sorry for him, because he’d well and truly stepped in it, and Bruce was going to take his pound of flesh whether Jason submitted or not. He was just glad it hadn’t been him. He stole a kiss off of Jason’s chin, feeling the scratch of rough stubble as he did so, and barely managed to save his nose from breaking when Jason’s head sank down after what seemed to be another brutal spank.

Jason’s jaw worked around the dryness in his mouth, but he was quicker with his gratitude that time, so Clark didn’t worry about holding him up and in place for the rest of the punishment.

It was amazing to watch as Jason slowly broke down, his thank yous where harsh yells, his muscles quivering as Bruce delivered body rocking slaps, and Jason fought not to be bested, though there was no opponent to fight against.

Clark wondered if Jason knew he was just fighting himself, and the ideas he'd formed in his mind about Bruce’s thoughts regarding him. He wasn’t going to meddle though, because knowing their thoughts, and actually doing something about them weren’t up to him. He’d let the bat family fight it out by themselves.

He watched Jason’s face contort in pain, watched as his cock left traces on Clark’s belly, just as the tip changed to a dusky color from repressed release.

Jason’s next thank you was almost whispered, and Clark knew they’d burned through the twenty brutal smacks. The way Jason was now shaking, barely able to hold himself up, he’d probably been counting and had reached the same conclusion.

When he saw Bruce’s hand coming down, Clark was shocked, and even more so when he watched it settle on Jason’s lower back instead. He started moving his own hand up and down, his hot palms a different sensation on Jason’s sweaty back, but soothing and almost even tender.

The timbre of Bruce’s voice was melodic and soft as he said, “it’s my belt next. 6 strokes, and after that all will be forgiven Jason, everything will be forgiven and let go of, we won’t dwell on it anymore.”

He could see Bruce close his eyes tight at the end of the declaration, and wondered if his vagueness was supposed to let Jason decide what exactly was being let go and forgiven. He wondered if Bruce realized his attitude towards Jason, in not holding him accountable due to guilt, or taking him in hand and bringing him back into the fold was the reason Jason was still so insecure, and why Jason couldn’t fully let go.

Jason swallowed, eyes clouded, and then nodded so Bruce would proceed. There in the midst of murky headspace, was agony.

“what’s your safeword?”

“Crowbar.”

“Use it if you need to.”

Bruce pushed Jason down so he was now chest to chest with Clark, arms sliding back near Clark’s head.

Jason didn’t whimper, didn’t make a sound, but he pushed his head under Clark’s almost hiding.

Then and there, Clark thought, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to give Jason a leg up. He brought his hands around the young man’s back, holding him securely into place. Against his better judgment he lowered his voice, spoke into Jason’s ear, “he’s waiting to hear it from you. Nothing will happen if you don’t let go.”

The sound of the belt cutting through air wasn’t as deafening as Jason’s scream when it hit its target dead center.

“What are you boy?”

“Sorry! Sorry please!”

And when the second lash came, slashing through, Clark could feel the air shift, whipping over the hair on his body beneath Jason’s.

Jason burst into tears, one leg shaking uncontrollably, body trying to move away but held back by Clark’s arms.

“S-so-sorry.”

Bruce brushed a hand over Jason’s ass and Jason hissed and jerked, rubbing his stiff cock in the valley between Clark’s thighs, probably without even realizing it.

When the third hit came, Jason’s legs buckled under him, and Clark rubbed the back of Jason’s thighs, trying to still the tremors.

On the fourth, and just when Clark was giving up on the stubborn man, Jason’s broken voice sobbed out, “I’m sorry daddy.”

Though Jason was lost in his own wave of emotion, he wasn’t too far gone to feel the kiss Bruce left on the nape of his neck.

“I’ve got you boy, two more. Just two more.”

Jason nodded, though Clark didn’t know if Bruce saw.

The belt whistled down onto Jason’s ass, and he burst out in a fresh round of tears that streaked down almost purple dark cheeks. “Daddy I can’t….please…..I’m so sorry…. please no more.”

“One boy, just one more and then you never have to worry about disappointing daddy, one more and we can move on. Ready?”

“Please.”

“That’s my good boy.”

The belt waved into the air like a flash and though Clark knew this last hit was nowhere near the strength of any of the previous ones, and that Bruce had held back, Jason howled, and dissolved into a sobbing, shaking mess.

He babbled, snatches of actual words, and a chorus of daddy, daddy followed by apologies and pleas that were gut wrenching, if not for the fact that Bruce was holding Jason to his chest, away from Clark, and whispering his own litany, right into the skin of Jason’s neck.

The spanking left Jason pliant, soft and sensitive and he barely registered the finger circling around his rim before Clark had it in deep, slickened by lube. His breath escaped in a sigh as he quieted down, coming down from a high he wasn’t anticipating. His knees were fucking useless at that point, ass and tops of his thighs on fire, and the welts sizzled as they came in contact with the starchy material of Bruce’s shirt.

Clark’s other finger just rested there, a clear indicator that more was to come, until it wasn’t, and the emptiness was startling. Jason was shifted suddenly, as Bruce climbed onto the bed, body angled in such a way that Jason was sitting in his lap, but raised on Bruce’s thighs as he sat on his knees.

He'd barely stretched when Clark was back, mirroring Bruce, and pulling Jason’s legs around his waist so he was resting sandwiched between them. Clark slipped his finger back in, the digit grazing his insides, inflaming him as his position had him squeezing against any intrusion. Not that it deterred Clark, as he slipped another finger alongside the first one, circling around, probing and searching.

And holy hell when Clark hit the jackpot, sparks blasted in his eyelids, as keeping his eyes open had becomes a chore. He’d never been that sensitized before, and the impact of even a little pleasure had him squirming, remembering his imminent case of blue balls and the bands keeping him from cuming.

Bruce’s hand was there too, tracing around Clark’s fingers and Jason couldn’t believe it was actually happening, the moment just so surreal that he whimpered and pushed into their hands, craving more.

One minute Clark was scissoring his fingers inside, that next there was a pillow placed under him, raising his ass off the bed as he was laid down, with Clark grinning down at him, winking before he said, “brace against the headboard little bird, because I’m taking you for that promised ride.”

Right as he grabbed the nearest hard surface to hold on to, he heard Clark groan and slip inside, back arching and fingers unsteady.

When Bruce’s face came up from behind Clark's, everything started to make sense.

Clark pushed in, motion not his, rocked forward by Bruce’s pace, and it was such a rush to have the tables turned, to watch Clark struggle to fuck while being rammed full force by Bruce.

He almost wanted to make a comment about Clark being the filling in a bat sandwich, but the stinging pain in his ass was a brutal reminder to stay docile.

Everything disappeared anyway, once Clark figured out the rhythm and moved his hips in less of a jabbing motion, and more of circular one, rubbing against his prostate again and again and again, until he was quivering because he was sure he wasn’t supposed to go limp just because the dragging motion was sending tingles up his spine.

But then it was all over, because Bruce reached for him, snapping the rings away, jacking his already pulsing cock and telling him to, “cum for daddy, boy.”

Clark was still moving, still punching in, pulled in by the tight squeeze of Jason’s clamping body, until finally he exploded as well, bursting inside of Jason, squelching as he pounded a few more times into Jason’s wet, dripping insides, giving into a full body shudder above him.

And then Jason was floating, nearly blacking out, gasping for breath and groaning when Clark slipped out, the rest of his cum dribbling out, as Jason’s ass clenched after him, gapping now that the mammoth was no longer lodged in.

He sighed, smiling at the fact being at the bottom of the fucking totem pole just meant he didn’t have to get up and clean himself.

A finger swiped through the mess on his belly, slid down to rub his surely sore, puffy hole, and it was the last sensation he felt as someone mumbled, “sleepy boy.”

***

When Jason opens his eyes, the room is still dark, but there’s a definite shift in temperature at his back. It was the smallest of movements that woke him up, because hotel bed or not, the slight mattress righting itself from the depression of a body, was disorienting for someone like him. Guarded, cautious, and light of sleep.

He watched Bruce carefully as he got dressed, not once looking at the direction of the bed, not once pausing in his practiced and methodical ritual of transforming back into Bruce Wayne. So Jason closed his eyes to help the illusion along, evened out his breathing and let his muscles relax.

The door closed.

He was about to get up and shadow Bruce, when Clark’s octopus like hands slid up to his shoulders from their previous position around his waist.

“Sleep.”

“Do you think I made it worse?”

“The fact you’re still circling around these ludicrous thoughts is proof that you need sleep.”

“He just left.”

“He’ll be back.”

“While your cocky confidence makes for wild fucking, how do you figure that one?”

Clark laughed, the rumbling of his chest rolling right through Jason, “it’s not over little bird, because there’s still two more rules to break, and I for one, haven’t gotten to fuck anybody in uniform yet.”

He could feel Clark’s grin against his neck, and he grinned in turn. He was definitely up for more rule breaking.