To Kiss a God

Chapter One: The Bond

Three Weeks Later...

Clark rests on his knees before him, slowly licking his way up to his mouth. A wet tongue traces over his steel abdominal muscles, pectorals, and eventually claims his mouth. Clark's zealous tongue pries into his and wandering hands start to slide over Bruce's body. "Let me do something for you, Bruce," Clark whispers in his ear, warm breath fans across the back of his neck.  He feel goosebumps breaking out all over his body. Clark ever so slowly, ever so tenderly--- for someone who had so much power, kisses down his scarred body. Bruce hisses through his teeth as Clark begins to suck on the tender flesh of his inner thigh. One of Clark's hands reaches behind Bruce to pull him closer while the other one starts to pull down Bruce's briefs-.

Bruce Wayne, singular heir to the Wayne fortune and savior to the damned city of Gotham is pulled awake on a cold Monday morning by a wet dream.
A vigorous arpeggio pounds from his alarm clock, a headache in the making as he slams his fist over the sleep button. He feels unhinged, out of control and most of all, aroused. Sweat coats his muscular chest, defining his tight abs, and covering the body he has spent so many years crafting for battle, chiseling to perfection as if a weapon. He doesn't feel like a weapon though, he feels like a boy.
Scared and helpless, his face reflected in his parents scarlet blood running down a grotesque alleyway.

Bruce inhales deeply, troubled grey eyes flashing to the ceiling above him, pain splintering in his chest from both old and new wounds.

He could almost feel the way Clark's sensuous lips had kissed down his body. He closed his eyes, picturing Clark above him, making him moan and writhe as he...

The alarm clock blares, pulling him back into reality.

Attempting to ignore everything, he slides from the bed. Pulling back the luxurious silk covers and stalking his way into the expensive bathroom he had installed a year ago. Bruce slowly brushes his teeth, savoring the routine in it; trying to force the normalcy of the act into himself. The veined marble tile feels cool against his naked feet and it distracts him from the feelings that haunt him. Phantoms and passions that plague him night to night.

Weeks ago, he had sustained a fatal injury. He frowns at his reflection, there wasn't a flicker of physical evidence from his death. Nothing to suggest his body had been burned to a crisp and his heart had ceased to beat, no longer able to be apart of him but something dead.
It feels wrong to be alive. He had never truly felt like he belonged but now, he was the resurrected. The living death, Lazarus in the flesh and that made Clark what, a God?
Clark was the one who had dragged him back. Ornery in his refusal to let him die, a blessing or curse, he had yet to decide.
He could recall perfectly the first intake of breath in his rejuvenated lungs, the first image greeting him in his new life being Clark's angelic face. The God's blue eyes bright with fallen tears and his face flushed with emotion. He remembered the sharp crack of pain he had felt when Clark withdrew his hands from his face. Like losing his parents, the emptiness filling his chest once more.

While Clark was stubborn, all of this was truly due to the Martian Manhunter. The shapeshifter had led Clark to undergo a 'nkekọ' with him. He had bound them together through and through. By flesh and blood and some type of science or sorcery - had brought him back to life.
The 'nkekọ,' from what the Martian had explained, was meant to increase telepathic communication and form 'a nexus of life forces' on Mars. He had peppered the alien with question after question but the phrase still remained unclear to him.
This was a fact that infuriated Bruce, considering he had spent hours drilling J'onn on every aspect of the bond. Hissing at the shapeshifter until he had finally lost his temper with J'onn's evasive answers, storming out of the room and preceding to brood in the solitude of his cave. That had been two weeks ago.

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"Hello J'onn," Bruce said, a painted smile lining his lips as a unnervingly human looking J'onn J'onzz entered his ostentatious office.
It was always mildly disconcerting to see the Martian playing human, his intrinsically green skin now black and his beady red eyes a subtle brown.

Even with the looks of a human, there was something in his composure that still felt out of place about him, other about him. It was an otherness that Clark lacked with his occasional farm boy slang and Boy Scout smile. The same went for Diana, though she was from Earth. They made it easy to forget they were something other.
"But perhaps," Bruce mused, "that was something J'onn intentionally allowed when with people he knew. Maybe J'onn knew he would be more disturbed by a perfect facade?"
J'onn said nothing in the silence, only making eye contact after Bruce had finished his last thought.

Wayne Enterprises had experienced a litany of meetings with shareholders to discuss the future of the company that had left him exasperated,  in addition to short on time, thus prompting him to invite J'onn here. After the nkekọ had first formed, J'onn had politely informed him that he would be willing to answer any questions. Bruce wasn't sure if that offer still stood after how he had acted.
Now J'onn tilted his head up slightly, cool brown eyes staring him down,
"Hello Bruce."
The silence lapsed but he stubbornly refused to break it. J'onn could read his every thought and emotion, he knew what had happened.

"It is not uncommon for those who share the nkekọ to experience one another's dreams."

He blinked, not the answer he had anticipated. Clark had been acting strangely around him for the past few weeks...

"Are you suggesting that the dream I experienced was not a direct result of the bond but from... Clark?" The Martian looked unerringly at him and nodded.
Bruce leaned back in his chair, feelings rushing through him faster then he could identify.
He took a deep breath, reasoning with himself.
First of all, Bruce, it was just a dream. It didn't mean anything. A dream was a dream. Logical, rationale, and realism were all things that were optional in the land ruled by the subconscious and suppressed.
Clark probably didn't even like men, he had certainly never dated one (he had checked).
He was the one with the unchecked emotions. J'onn was still staring at him, probably marveling at how one person could be so fucked up.

"If I may offer some advice, Bruce-"
Both of their phones went off simultaneously. Justice was calling, or more specifically for him, Hal, the Green Lantern. He answered, eyes drawn to the city skyline. It was crystal clear in Gotham, the sky a vivid blue, unburdened by clouds or smoke. Too clear.

"We need backup here." There was a frantic waver in Hal's normally cocky voice.
"What's going on?" He demanded, the leader in him taking over. Whatever personal problems he might have, Justice and the team came first.

"It's the Injustice League, they're back. I'll send you the coordinates now."

He stood from the chair, confidence building, this was what he knew. His phone made a soft singing noise as the coordinates appeared on the screen: Metropolis.

"I'll be there soon."