Pairings/Characters: Clark/Bruce, Dick
Summary: The World’s Finest loves competition. Purely for competition’s sake, of course! ;)
Date Of Completion: August 26, 2008
Dates Of Posting: September 6, 2008/October 4, 2008
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 2559
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Note: Written for the World’s Finest Summer Games.
Clark woke to the sound of grunting. He found himself alone in bed, and the sound was coming from…
He leaned over the side of the bed. “Bruce, what are you doing?”
Bruce was enthusiastically doing his morning sit-ups.
“What’s it look like?”
“Like you’ve lost your mind.”
Bruce smirked, muscles rippling as he worked. He finished his sit-ups and went to push-ups.
Clark winced. “Isn’t that…painful?”
Bruce glanced over at him. “No pain, no gain, as the Olympians say.”
“I take it you don’t mean Diana’s crowd.” Bruce grunted. “What are you doing, trying to medal in naked sit-ups and push-ups?”
Bruce puffed, “Maybe.” His buttocks clenched and unclenched as he pumped.
Bruce looked up, losing his rhythm. “Cheater!”
It was Clark’s turn to smirk as he floated high above the bed he shared with Bruce here in the Manor. He did his sit-ups with ease, giving Bruce a great view, and then just as easily turned over to do push-ups.
A glint appeared in Bruce’s eye and he climbed up onto the bed, kneeling as Clark pushed up and down airily. Clark’s smug expression turned startled as Bruce swallowed his cock, Clark’s body shivering, then he matched his rhythm with Bruce’s, the floating sensation almost dreamy, wet mouth doing delightful things to his body until he came into Bruce’s mouth, his lover’s head tilted back, eyes closed.
Bruce was smirking again as he released Clark.
“Look like I’m still ahead,” Clark gasped.
Bruce frowned. “How so?”
“I win at naked sit-ups and push-ups, you win at naked suck-off.”
Mischief danced in Bruce’s blue eyes and he grabbed Clark’s hand. “That’s not the only naked thing I’m good at!”
Bruce led Clark into the shower and pushed him face-first against the wall as he started the water. His cock still needing release, Bruce pulled Clark’s ass cheeks apart and rammed himself home, both men groaning as lust wildly traveled along nerves, Clark restraining himself from pushing his fingers through the tiled wall as Bruce pounded him over and over. With a cry he came, Bruce right after, hot semen running down his thighs as the water washed them clean.
Clark braced himself against the wall as his body shook with release. Strong arms snaked around his waist and pulled him close, warm lips caressing his shoulder.
“Looks like I win at fucking-in-the-shower,” Bruce whispered.
Bruce entered the kitchen. “What’s this? Dick said he would cook while Alfred was away in England.”
“I volunteered for this morning.” Clark turned back to the stove with a smile.
Dick entered the kitchen. “Good morning, Clark!”
“Good morning, Sunshine.”
Bruce groaned and sat down while his cheerful boys laughed. Dick winked at Clark, who smiled back. Stopping at Dick’s room on his way downstairs, it has been easy to whisper his plan. Dick was always up for fun.
By the time Clark sat down, a repast of eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausages, fruit and toast had been laid out on the table. Bruce sampled a little of each dish and grudgingly admitted, “You’re a good cook, Clark.”
“I judge you the winner,” Dick said.
Clark and Dick high-fived. “Yep, I win the cooking event.” Clark’s smile was incandescent.
“No fair.” Bruce slid down in his seat. “I don’t have a shot in hell of winning this one!”
“Tough,” Clark smirked.
Bruce’s eyes narrowed but he ate another sausage.
Clark looked around a trifle nervously. “Why did Bruce want to meet for lunch here?”
Dick shrugged. “Maybe he was feeling princely.”
Clark laughed and the maitre d’ shot him a disapproving look. He clammed up immediately, aware of the man sniffing at his rumpled suit.
“It’s okay, Clark.” Dick squeezed his hand. “I’m not really dressed for this place, either.”
Clark looked at Dick’s jeans and T-shirt. “Yeah, but you’re the Crown Prince. You can get away with it.”
“Well, they can’t kick you out. The Prince wouldn’t like it.”
“That’s right.” Bruce was smiling his princely smile as he suddenly appeared. “Edward, my table, please.”
“Certainly, Mr. Wayne.”
The three of them settled at the best table in the house by the window, affording a magnificent view of the city.
“So, how was class this morning, Dick?” asked Bruce.
The conversation concerned school and work, Clark relaxing more as he talked about his latest assignment.
The lunch was excellent, of course: crisp salad with special dressing, tender beef, roast chicken with special spices, julienned carrots, baby red potatoes, broccoli spears…the litany of food was impressive, though the portions were far smaller than a farmboy was accustomed to, and the richness of his surroundings made him yearn for the Kent kitchen, or the Wayne Manor domain of Alfred.
The bill came and Bruce held out his platinum card. “I win.”
“Win what?” Clark, asked, confused.
“The ability to invite you to a five-star lunch.”
And to pay for it, Clark thought.
He scowled at Bruce’s smirk. Dick rolled his eyes.
“Clark, come by the Manor after work. I’ve got some events for you two worthy of the Summer Olympics. I’ll be the judge.”
Clark and Bruce exchanged challenging stares. “Love to,” Clark said.
Dick was waiting for them in the gym. He was dressed in gymnast clothing, tape around his wrists. “So, you gentlemen ready to go through a gymnastics routine?”
“Absolutely,” Clark said. “And to make it fair, I won’t use my powers.”
“Let’s do this,” Bruce said.
They changed into gymnast outfits, Clark using his own. He worked out often here at the Manor and while he could borrow Bruce’s clothes, he had decided to keep his own things here.
“I’ll go through a routine and you match it. The floor exercise will be your own routine.”
Clark and Bruce watched Dick vault, then somersault over the pommel horse, going into a routine of strength and grace, scissoring his legs around the horse.
Next was balance beam, Dick performing several backflips on the narrow beam, then headed to the rings. His strength allowed him to perform an aerial handstand, muscles barely quivering with the strain. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder, Clark and Bruce exchanged proud looks at Dick’s skill.
He did a quick routine on the parallel bars, then the uneven bars, surging with power. He flipped over and landed on the mat perfectly.
“He’s barely broken a sweat,” Clark muttered.
“Try training with him every day.”
“Now, here’s some moves I want you to make for floor exercise, but you’ll have to put your own creative routine together.”
Dick quickly went through a series of exercises, adding as much dash and flair as he could without music or practice.
“We’ll have Bruce go first the first three events, then Clark, and flip for the final,” Dick said as he walked off the mat. “And let’s start with the vault to get you two warmed up after some stretching exercises. Three tries.”
Dick led the stretching exercises, then sat on the floor cross-legged, back against the wall and pencil and clipboard in hand.
“Let the games begin,” he said cheerfully.
Bruce felt confident as he did his vaults. He would win this competition. He trusted Dick to be fair in scoring. He and Clark were tied in events. This seven-event gymnastic series would count as one major event. All he had to do was win four of them.
He stuck every landing. He had an advantage over Clark, who worked out but didn’t need pinpoint precision as he and Dick did.
Bruce watched Clark, who was very good, but Dick awarded Bruce the win.
Next was the pommel horse. Bruce did a technically-perfect routine, enjoying the precise balance of swings and kicks and strength.
Bruce finished the routine and watched Clark, impressed despite himself. Strong muscles rippled as he pushed himself into a routine that was, frankly, dazzling.
“Clark for the win,” Dick announced.
Bruce was confident of winning balance beam. He and Dick often practiced it, Bruce needing to keep his balance sharp, and Dick for pure enjoyment. His younger partner had been born with a perfect sense of balance.
Clark started his routine but misjudged a flip and slipped off. Shaking his head, he gamely climbed back on and finished, but Bruce easily won.
The next event was rings. Dick suggested a five-minute break.
“So,” Bruce smirked. “Looks like I’m ahead.”
“For now,” Clark smiled.
“You can’t use levitation on the rings.”
Clark seemed completely unruffled. So be it!
“Okay, let’s go,” Dick said.
Clark went first, rolling back his super-strength but enjoying the sensation of power needed to perform. He felt right at home and finished with confidence.
Clark was impressed by Bruce’s strength and concentration. He was nearly perfect in his execution, legs stretched out front and back, upside-down and straight-up.
After the routines were finished, Dick said, “It was very close, but you edged out Bruce, Clark. Even without powers, your form was better.”
Bruce huffed, Clark’s eyes sparkling. The man hated to lose!
“Parallel bars next,” Dick announced.
Clark conceded defeat at Bruce’s polished routine. He did his best, but Dick awarded Bruce the event.
“Uneven bars,” Dick said.
Clark enjoyed the flips and turns performed on the bars, perfectly at home in the air. He was really feeling it, twisting and turning as he performed his routine.
As he landed Dick said, “Excellent, Clark. You’ve won.”
Clark grinned at a disgruntled Bruce.
“Floor exercise will be the tie-breaker. Winner takes all,” Dick said cheerfully. “Five-minute break.”
“Taskmaster,” Bruce grumbled.
Dick laughed as he went to the bathroom, tossing “I learned from the best” over his shoulder.
Clark and Bruce drank water, Clark running over his routine in his head.
“Think you’ll win, Smallville?”
Clark grinned. “Bet on it.”
When Dick came back, he flipped a coin. “You first, Bruce.”
Clark had to admit that Bruce had cooked up a good routine. Backflips, handstands, somersaults, twists and turns…all well-played.
Dick made notes, and when Bruce was finished, Clark took a deep breath and started.
He kept his mind on the technical aspects of the competition, but let his joy soar. Movement of body and soul buoyed him, letting his creativity flow. He spun, twisted, somersaulted, and ended with a series of backflips that excited him.
He and Bruce awaited the verdict.
Dick looked down at his clipboard, tallying his points.
“Bruce, you were outstanding.”
Clark sighed. Oh, well…
“Technically flawless, but so was Clark, but his creativity was freer and joyous. Sorry, he had the edge there.
“Clark, you win the gymnastics competition.”
Surprised and delighted, Clark grinned as Bruce rolled his eyes.
“How about another Olympic competition?” Bruce asked.
“What have you got in mind?” Dick put his pencil behind his ear.
Clark nodded. “You’re on.”
They decided on butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke, and freestyle.
“Four laps of the pool,” Dick said.
The trio went out to the backyard pool after changing into swimsuits. Dick jumped in, swimming up and down the pool, then climbed out and dried off with a towel.
Summer sunlight shimmered on the nearby ocean and pool, a cool breeze coming in off the sea.
Clark and Bruce warmed up, then were ready to go.
Dick perched on the edge of the pool. No judging required except to declare who was the winner.
They were off, Clark not using super-speed but keeping up with Bruce.
Dick grinned as he watched. Clark might be more laidback about it, but he was just as competitive as Bruce.
The second lap started with the backstroke, Bruce slightly ahead. As they changed to breaststroke, Clark inched out in front, and then for the final lap, both cleaved through the water with firm strokes, splashing furiously.
Dick kept his eye on them as they drew closer and closer, and the first hand to touch the wall was…
Grinning, Bruce popped up, Clark laughing.
As they embraced, Dick said, “You guys are still tied. What’s going to be the tie-breaker?”
“We’ll think of something,” Bruce said as he floated on his back.
Dick jumped into the pool, laughing as Bruce chased him.
Suddenly he was pulled under the water, coming up sputtering.
“No fair! You cheated!”
Clark surfaced, smiling as he winked at Bruce.
The three of them splashed, having fun.
Dick cooked dinner, Clark declaring, “Outstanding meal,” and Bruce seconding his words.
“Those cooking lessons with Alfred are paying off.” Dick took a last bite of cherry pie. “So, what’s the next competition?”
“Patrol might offer something.” Bruce put his fork down with a glint in his eye.
Patrol was as Dick expected: one-upmanship as criminals were rounded up. He happily played judge, declaring Bruce the winner when he swooped down to knock a mugger’s knife out of his hand, and Clark the victor when he nabbed a gang of jewel thieves. The tally seesawed during the course of the night, until Dick declared, “It’s a tie.”
Bruce looked disgruntled while Clark smiled.
Back at the Manor, Dick asked, “So, do we call it a tie?” He ate a chocolate chip cookie as he sat at the kitchen table. Alfred had left a good supply.
Bruce looked dissatisfied, then a slow smile spread across his face. “We’ll figure out something for a tie-breaker. Coming to bed, Clark?”
“Be right there.”
Bruce ate his last cookie and headed for the grand staircase. Clark winked at Dick and then floated up the stairs, easily reaching the top before Bruce, who gritted his teeth and brushed by Clark.
Dick grinned as laughter floated down the stairs.
The next morning Dick was whipping up breakfast when Clark appeared, smiling brightly. Dick answered with an equally-brilliant smile.
“Good morning!” Clark chirped, looking very relaxed in his cobalt-blue silk robe.
“What’s your pleasure?”
“Eggs sunny-side-up, please. Got any bacon?”
“I can open a new package.”
“Great.” Clark set the table.
“Bruce coming down?”
“I’m sure he will, just not sure when.”
Dick grinned. He broke two eggs and poured the yolks into the frying pan. “Mmm, these smell good. I think I’ll have some, too.” He cracked another egg and started the bacon.
When breakfast was ready, Dick put the plates on the table. “So, did you come up with the tie-breaker?”
Clark and Dick looked at the kitchen entrance. Bruce was clad in a midnight-blue silk robe, dark hair rumpled as her rubbed his eyes.
“Oh?” Dick set a plate of bacon and eggs at Bruce’s place and sat down, Clark pouring orange juice.
Bruce shuffled to the table. He sat down and looked mutely at Clark, who went to the counter, poured a cup of coffee, and placed it in Bruce’s hands.
Bruce drank deeply, a blissful expression coming over his face.
“How so?” Dick asked as he sprinkled pepper over his eggs.
Bruce’s expression grew very satisfied as he looked at Clark, who blushed.
“We’re still tied, actually.” His sipped his coffee. “Let’s just say we both had gold medal performances last night.”
Bruce winked while Dick laughed and Clark blushed even more.