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The building groaned against him, the low rumble of straining brick filling Superboy’s ears. Distant screams and explosions threatened to catch his attention, only overshadowed by the terror of the people he was currently keeping alive, their heartbeats too loud and the smell of their sweat almost nauseating as it invaded his nose. He grit his teeth and locked his legs further, even as the building threatened to grind him down into the cement.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been out here, grabbing civilians from rubble and moving wrecked cars out of the road while the newest villain of the week went on a rampage, monologuing about something Superboy hadn’t paid any attention to. He wanted to be over there, chasing her down, but this wasn’t his fight. He had been relegated to the backlines. It stung.
While he cannot sweat, the longer Superboy stands there, without enough strength to push the building up while people are still trapped under just enough to hurt, the more it feels like he can. But he was not tired. Not physically. It takes more than a few hours running around saving people to tire him out. But something inside him was exhausted, down to the bone, wanting to get this over with and make sure everyone was safe and then be able to go back to Mount Justice, to be done with this, to see M’gann. Superboy scowled as he thought that Superman wouldn’t want to go back to base already. Superman wouldn’t even have the thought cross his mind. After all, Superman was perfect, except for when it came to acknowledging his failure of a clone.
That was when Superman showed up.
The only warning Superboy had before the weight was lifted from his shoulders was the low snap of a cape and wind being displaced, before Superman was next to him, easily lifting the building Superboy had been struggling to hold. He turned, unsure of if his expression was glaring or awed, taking in the ridged lines of Superman’s body, the contours of his muscles as, with a flex and not a hint of difficulty, he heaved the building back in place. And Superboy ached as his eyes went up and roamed across Superman’s face, words he wasn’t aware he wanted to say being stopped before they leave could his lips at the practically volatile look in stormy blue eyes.
He felt, abruptly, like he was back in Cadmus. Superman looked at him like he was nothing more than a bug. Superman looked at him, the look of a predator staring at prey, and it not only goes against everything Cadmus had implanted in his head about Superman, but it is also such a shocking expression, one Superboy has never seen on Superman’s face, that he quickly snaps out of his memories, desperately wanting to say something to his original, to the one he was meant to replace, yet finding himself grasping at words that refused to leave his throat as that look kept being directed at him. Superman’s piercing stare tore through him as he looked Superboy up and down, and there was a glint of emotion in his eyes that Superboy had never seen on anyone else before, and especially not at him. He felt like a bug being studied under a microscope, pinned in place and unable to move through the metal stabbing him to the table, with the one who was supposed to save him instead taking out the knife to cut him with.
And then Superman was gone, wind bursting from where he had been floating and forcing him to tense to not be thrown back, leaving Superboy alone with his thoughts. Because he did not enjoy that feeling, not at all…But it was Superman’s attention, and that, by itself, overshadowed any other feelings he had about it. He had done something wrong, sure, but if it meant Superman would keep looking at him instead of refusing to be in the same room as him…
He went over to another pile of rubble. Someone was under it, calling out for help. Superboy cast his thoughts from his mind and focused on the mission.
———
From then on, whenever he and Superman
managed to be in the same room together, the few times it happened, Superboy was always given that predatory look.
And every time he felt that he was being stared through, like he didn’t exist and Superman was seeing something else in his place. It pissed him off.
When he had brought it up during a conversation they were having, Rob had said some particularly brash things and said he would talk to Batman about it. Superboy wasn’t sure why he felt the need to do that. While the continuous staring and the intent Superboy felt behind it would have been concerning in anyone else, it was Superman doing it. Superman wouldn’t harm anyone who was innocent, even if he didn’t like them, and he had yet to actually try attacking Superboy. He didn’t see why Robin thought it was such a big deal. He could deal with a bit of weird staring.
(It also gave him Superman’s undivided attention for those few terrifying, exhilarating moments. Superboy, selfishly, didn’t want them to be taken from him.)
Robin, of course, told Batman anyway despite Superboy saying he could handle it, because the glaring stopped just days later, and Superman went back to refusing to look at him and fleeing the room whenever he entered. Superboy had, with much disappointment, thought that was the end of that, that the little attention he used to be given was now gone because Batman didn’t like it.
Of course, being grabbed by Superman in the middle of a mission that just so happened to be in Metropolis, flown over the ocean to the Arctic, brought inside the Fortress of Solitude and slammed onto the ground while Superman kind of just stared at him was so far off the course from any possibility Superboy thought would come from the weird looks he kept having thrown at him that he didn’t even think to fight back until Superman let him lay there for a few seconds and he processed what, exactly, had just happened.
“Superman?“ he flinched back when his original settled down on him with his full weight, straddling him. He wasn’t particularly heavy, but there was nothing Superboy could do to get Superman off of him. He didn’t particularly want to, even if this entire situation was confusing. And while he normally would get angry, the contact was nice. “What are you-“
Superboy stopped as Superman leaned down, his face hovering just inches away from Superboy’s own. Superman’s hand was resting on his chest, now, and his attention was divided between it and Superman’s eyes. Electric blue, brighter than lightning itself, and yet for some reason they felt more right than human eyes. He didn’t know why he relaxed, when the closest equivalent he could bring to those eyes were that of wild, raging storms, more appropriate on a wild animal than on Superman’s face. But he did, resting his head on the ground as Superman moved his face even closer, taking in a breath through his nose-
What was that smell?
It wasn’t…Bad. Actually, Superboy thought it was the opposite of bad- it was pleasant. Almost overwhelmingly so. He felt drawn to it, feeling like those characters in some of the old cartoons M’gann had shown him, the ones that floated towards freshly baked goods by following the smell. He shifted slightly, turning his head, expecting the smell to get stronger when he wasn’t staring at Superman because people certainly didn’t smell like that, but nothing happened. Which meant Superboy had either developed abrupt phantosmia, or the pleasant smell was coming from Superman. Superman, who, for some reason, had made a low, rumbling sound that seemed to shoot straight to Superboy’s brain like some sort of stun-gun because there was absolutely no reason for him to feel so stupidified by it otherwise, before taking advantage of this dazed state to begin rubbing his head on Superboy’s neck and the side of his face.
Alright, he thought, relaxing entirely. He had been drugged.
Maybe not drugged. But this entire scenario certainly wasn’t real. One, because it was too absurd to actually happen, even for a superhero. Two, if it was real, Superboy wouldn’t be feeling more like he was floating by the second, as if none of this really mattered, and would instead be getting mad and fighting back, because something from his Cadmus education was saying this wasn’t right.
Superman was letting out a low, continuous noise from deep in his chest. Superboy knew it was a noise no human could hear, and that it felt the exact opposite of the quieter noises Superman usually made in his presence. He tried moving his head, because Superman had stopped scenting him- scenting? How did he know that so instinctively? Why did it feel right? Another point for this being a dream- only to have a hand grasp at his chin and force him to tilt his head up, exposing his neck. His pulse quickened. Superboy didn’t know why. Superman had stopped rubbing himself on his exposed skin to instead stare at Superboy’s throat. This must be the part where he died. Hopefully he didn’t remember this when he woke up- the thought of waking up and having to remember Superman doing this, giving him the attention he craved only to have it ripped away from it come morning…
Four rows of teeth bit into his skin, hard enough to bruise, before gently needling through his skin and leaving bleeding pinpricks worsened by the pulsing in his jugular. Superman lapped at the blood, tongue warm, and Superboy didn’t know why he let out a low keen at the feeling, or why his body jerked like it had been shocked, but he did know it felt nice and something inside him surged forward, suddenly desperate for more.
More of that. More of something else similar to that. It was all kind of blurry in his mind, but trying to focus on it failed because Superman had started to suck on the bruise and he couldn’t think beyond it, beyond the low rumble that promised he could relax and should give in, beyond the sudden pleasure coursing through him that made him writhe. And he didn’t really try, admittedly, because this was all just a dream, and dreams don’t have real consequences.
Superman tore off his shirt.
Teeth continued to break through his skin, trailing down to his collar, then his chest, and eventually his stomach, each given special attention, as if every bruise he was given was just as meaningful as the last. It was addicting. Superboy lost track of time like that. He didn’t know when he started letting out whines or moans or simply noises he didn’t know how to categorize, but each one just seemed to spur Superman on. And he kept going lower, and lower, and Superboy wasn’t sure when he opened up his lower mandibles.
He also wasn’t quite sure why he had done that. His biology differed greatly from humans, he knew that all too well, but he had never had the urge to try and explore himself like he knew teenagers were supposed to. It was just another part of him, and a boring one at that. But now he regretted it deeply, unsure of what to do with the feeling pooling between his legs. It was hot and energetic and begged to be released, but Superboy didn’t know what to do with it.
Superman had more than enough enthusiasm for both of them, though, easily tearing off Superboy’s pants, then his boxers, in less time than it took Superboy to blink. Even if he couldn’t really feel it, he shivered at the cold air. Something between the hazy cloud in his mind tried poking through, something about consent and how he was underage and-
Long mandibles stretched out and closed around his thighs, locking him in place. Superboy squirmed at the feeling. A robot passed by and paused.
“Kal-El,” it began. Superman- Kal-El? Superboy will think about it later- turns to look at it, blinking slowly. “Would it not be more comfortable to mate in a bed?”
Mate. Mating. Yes, that's what Superman wanted to do. Pinpricks of pleasure shot up his spine at the realization, making him shiver. He thinks he would do anything to have Superman mate him right now, with anticipation pulsing hungrily between his legs.
Superman seemed to be contemplating the robots words. A sort of clarity returnef to his eyes, and he looked down. He opened his mouth to say something. Superboy whined with need, a full noise he didn’t normally make because vocal layering doesn’t mean anything to humans even though they all sound so flat. The clarity evaporated and was replaced by hunger.
He had never felt as wanted as he was in that single moment.
Lips met his own for the first time, rough and needy, and Superboy can barely even think. He wanted to know why. He wanted Superman to- to mate with him, he wanted the fire burning in his veins to be quenched, he wanted Superman inside him- but his lower lip was being bitten and sucked and he moaned into it, had a hand suddenly grabbing his hair and pulling him forward and Superman had moved back at some point but he was so distracted, so hot, so-
Something warm teased at his entrance and he gasped into ravenous lips as it slid inside him like it belonged there.
He thrusted his hips upwards as Superman’s tongue explored his mouth. Glowing blue eyes, like a sky blocked by mist, became heavy-lidded as Superman groaned against him, the hand in his hair tightening as he sank deeper inside him, but his eyes were still on Superboy’s face even as he pulled back, and he was surely flushing like those girls in the shows M’gann liked to have him watch with her, but that thought just made him even redder, breath coming in short, uneven gasps.
The- he didn’t know kryptonian biology enough to know the proper name for their genitals, and didn’t that hurt, that he wasn’t even worthy of being taught about his own body by the only one who could teach him- Superman, inside him, slowly sank deeper. And Superboy was fairly certain humans didn’t have penises that happened to actually be a bunch of tentacles all bundled together, but it seemed kryptonians did because then Superman was expanding inside him, and if Superboy felt full before it was nothing compared to the mind-numbing fullness going further into him at that moment. And then Superman was grinding against him and all he could see was white.
Coming back to himself after a few moments of nothing but bliss, now properly dripping around Superman’s length, only then to yelp and try to squirm back even when he knew he couldn’t because of the mandibles keeping him in place at the continued movement inside him. His…tentatively labeled vagina was sensitive, so sensitive, and yet Superman wasn’t pulling out, and that was understandable, because both partners are supposed to orgasm with each other before stopping if Superboy remembered correctly, but it almost hurt as Superman finally locked into place. His tendrils slotted into Superboy’s own, deep inside him, and he instinctively felt his own equivalent unravel from one unified tentacle into dozens of tendrils before surging forward, wrapping around Superman’s length and locking him in place even more, and Superboy realized suddenly his own mandibles had locked around Superman’s thighs at some point. He was well and truly stuck.
That was around the time Superman started thrusting.
“Ah-!” Head thrown back, he grasped for something, anything to hold. The fortress floor under him offered no leverage and left him there, feeling lost, and oh, oh, God, it felt so good, too good, Superboy was going to explode- “Superman- I don’t- please-“
Stop? Keep going? It felt like his head was all messed up, wires crossed that never should have touched in the first place. He didn’t know what he wanted. All he knew was he didn’t want Superman to go back to treating him like he didn’t exist, like he was less than nothing, but this almost hurt, almost, but it also felt so good, but it was too much, too much, too much-
And then Superman was making another noise, a low rumble that Superboy felt in his chest, making him lightheaded, and Superman, mercifully, slowed down the slightest bit, if only because he was lowering his head against Superboy’s neck and nuzzling against him again and that sweet, pleasant, addicting smell from earlier was back, assaulting his nose, and he needed Superman to speed up now or he would die.
But it seemed Superman was determined to do the opposite of anything Superboy wanted because he went right back to biting and suckling on his neck, but Superboy found he didn’t mind because it felt so good.
…Well, no. He did mind. It felt like his body was too hot and too cold, which he had never felt before, which should have been a terrifying experience if not for the need that demanded all of his attention and Superman was still going too slow and the demanding click tore from hid throat, unbidden. Superman froze for just a moment, teeth still on his neck. Then he groaned, and the thrusting sped up, finally, finally, frantic and desperate as Superman chased his own climax, and Superboy practically sobbed with relief when Superman shuddered against him and he was finally full as Superman came inside him. Following with his own release was the only possible conclusion, and it left him seeing stars.
It was almost better than seeing the sun for the first time.
There was a deep, primal sense of satisfaction that filled him as his tubes were pumped with fluid, making him feel lightheaded and dizzy and like he could actually fly. He wanted more, needed more- but Superboy was also tired and pleasantly warm and felt the tug of sleep gnawing at him persistently and so he thought, surely Superman feels the same.
Opening his eyes a few moments later, unsure of when they had closed, he wondered why Superman hadn’t pulled out yet. Or- maybe he had misunderstood something fundamental about sex and mating? Another way Superboy was inferior to Superman, he didn’t even know when it was supposed to stop.
But the thought wasn’t frustrating him as much as it should have. A glance up revealed Superman still on top of him, letting out a strange hum from his chest, expression serene, and Superboy abruptly realized he was answering with his own. The sound cut off and he flushed. Was he really going to ruin everything, just like that? Wait, was he supposed to be answering the sound? Was he allowed to? The way Superman startled once the sound cut off certainly said he had done something wrong, but that movement brought with it the length inside him brushing against sensitive nerves and cutting off any coherent train of thought as he bucked his hips, suddenly desperate for more as if he hadn’t just came twice in a short period.
The large kryptonian on top of him looked, all of a sudden, ravenous. It was starting to become a familiar expression.
This was also around the time Superboy remembered the robots walking around, watching one as they strode past them while Superman began to bite at his collar bone. There were a multitude of robots, actually, all treating this like it was a normal day, and shame so strong it felt like kryptonite shot down his spine. Defensive anger prickled at the base of his neck, rising with heat to his face as he scowled, and he tried shoving Superman away, having forgotten that it was Superman he was trying to shove away. “I don’t-“
A reprimanding growl fixed that quickly. It was like his limbs simply froze in place, and with it his mind. Something close to terror filled him alongside a desire embedded deep in his bones to obey. Superboy went slack, allowing Superman to manhandle him as his fog-filled mind went practically numb with fear for reasons he couldn’t possibly explain if asked beyond the fearfearOBEY echoing in his chest. It overrode any ounce of shame or embarrassment he had been feeling because he knew, with ice-cold clarity, that disobedience would result in death.
The wave of pure and utter relief that crashed over him when, after a moment, Superman stopped growling and let out a pleased purr, was so powerful that it almost knocked him out. High on the fact he was going to live, Superboy more than happily purred back, hooking a leg behind Superman’s back as he thrust his hips forward, and oh, whatever that hit felt delicious, so he did it again, and then Superman was knocked from his stupor and began responding in kind, and he didn’t know when he started drooling, or when his eyes rolled back into his head as Superman kept hitting that spot over and over and over and Superboy just couldn’t think, but his third orgasm came at the same time as Superman’s own release.
And then his fourth. And his fifth.
By the sixth he felt like little more than a doll with its strings cut loose. His thighs quivered with each thrust inside him, eyes closed because it was too much effort to open them, and he was splayed out like some sort of princess. His back was sore. Superboy hadn’t been aware he could get sore. At some point cum had started leaking out of him because there was just too much, and he felt like he was full to the point of bursting. It was downright euphoric. The only thing better was the way Superman kept pausing on occasion to continue ravishing his upper body with his mouth.
Some time later- because he had stopped keeping track of it, mind too hazy to try, too warm and full and comfortable- Superman stopped. It was such a shocking turn of events that Superboy was terrified he had done something wrong, quickly opening his eyes, not wanting to face the terrible growling that made him feel like death itself was watching him again. Seeing Superman not seem mad at all, though, made him relax. He watched, almost lazy, as Superman left him with a wet squelch and a pop. Cum dripped from both of them, even if it was only on Superman because there was so much of it that it had stuck to his member.
Lower mandibles cautiously detached from thighs. He didn’t try moving his legs, feeling far too floaty and exhausted to make an attempt. Superboy closed his eyes and contemplated sleep. He felt filthy and cold now that it was done, but he couldn’t exactly ask where the shower was- not to Superman.
That was when large, strong arms picked him up off the floor.
Superboy questioned it for a few moments before doing a mental shrug and deciding to make the best of a temporary situation, leaning forward and resting his head against Superman’s chest. A warm hand cupped his bare ass and gave it a squeeze, to which he let out an involuntary whine. He didn’t have to look up to see hunger on Superman’s face- he could smell it.
Luckily, Superman seemed to have gained some form of restraint back, because rather than taking him again in the middle of the hallway he instead walked hurriedly up a staircase that Superboy hadn’t noticed before. At the top, they walked into another hallway, stopping at one of the many doors inside it and entering into an absolutely luxurious bedroom.
Gentle sunlight filtered through crystal-stained glass, and Superboy should have felt refreshed, but instead the warmth seemed to soak into his bare skin like a blanket, coaxing him to sleep. But he still felt filthy. As if hearing his thoughts, Superman led him over to another door, and Superboy could recognize a shower when he saw one.
Five minutes later, a new change of clothes and the discovery that the Fortress of Solitude had an automatic dryer and that Superman apparently liked to stare very intently while he got dressed, Superman brought them over to the absolutely massive bed pressed against a wall in the middle of the room before laying Superboy down in it. He stared for a moment, Superboy struggling to stare back and not fall asleep like an idiot, before going over to a closet and pulling out pillows and blankets.
After much fussing and moving Superboy around, he finally seemed satisfied, getting into the bed and curling around him. A sense of peace washed over him. This was right.
And with that, he finally succumbed to sleep, content and warm and, maybe, loved.