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“Guys,” Green Lantern intoned to the rest of the League, despite everyone having a clear view of the screen and can see the situation at hand. “I think we need to do something about that.” Despite being a recent recruit to the Justice League, Green Lantern, he sat among them around their meeting table. Also, despite being new to being a Green Lantern, Kyle Rayner could pick out “that” and see the problem at hand. “That” being Superman, Champion of the Oppressed, Defender of Truth, Justice, and the American Way, actively getting sodomized on screen by Lobo, the alien bounty hunter. The video from the distance of the cameraman made for poor resolution. However, anyone watching could make out the rhythmic gyration of Superman, braced against the handlebars, slamming his hips down onto the Czarnian’s crotch. Confirmed, and made all the more impressive, by taking place on Lobo’s hovering space-bike, or “Space-Hog” as the bounty hunter called it. Horrible PR disaster. Yet, possibly containable. Despite taking place in downtown Metropolis, the bike was set lofted high above the city’s reaching spires. The people below were safe from the scene of their protector being violated. Unless they managed to point their telescopes in the right direction in the middle of the day, they were safe from seeing their symbol of hope being sullied by a leather-bound alien that descended from the sky. Media-wise, the League was watching the only video of their comrade pleasuring himself upon the gruff, unpleasant visitor. An entirely manageable situation apart from the three little letters in the corner of the screen: GBS. Even worse, the “LIVE” under the logo. “Well, thank you, for stating the obvious,” The Flash chided. “Batman,” Martian Manhunter intoned, ignoring the brewing argument between the younger members of the League. Batman did not need the Martian to utilize his telepathy to communicate the underlying message. Explain. A fellow detective as good as J’onn is asking him about this, but unfortunately, Batman has next to nothing to go on. Less now that the resident telepath couldn’t make sense of the change in Superman’s behavior. Batman’s own investigations proved to uncover little to explain the dynamic shift. The video feed shifted onscreen. The background audio bleated with the chopping blades of a helicopter. As the camera closed in on the space-hog, the resolution increased. The unmistakable visage of Metropolis’ proud face contorted in wanton lust, his muscular body exerting itself raising itself up and down the lap of the self-described “Main Man”. Lobo the Czarnian, seemed infinitely pleased with himself, given the taunting smirk on his gruff face. His pale skin was taut, covered with dark hair, and the black leather and chains that passed for clothing showed off his macho body. The camera approaching only showed more to the league and all the potential viewers at home. The blue pants from the iconic uniform hung around the thigh, one of the legs billowing like a flag. The red trunks dangling off the tip of his boot, barely hanging on until the helicopter blades finally took them from their purchase and set them drifting down to the city below. Nothing from Batman’s previous investigations indicated that he would go this far. However, that night in Metropolis… A Metropolis miracle. Clark Kent, the last person pulled from the rubble of Doomsday’s assault on Metropolis, months after the brutal monster had crushed a swathe of destruction across the continent. Mowing down homes, cities, and families, only motivated by the animalistic urge to make ruins of everyone and everything in his path. The news circuit had a field day describing his ordeal of surviving off a broken pipe. That was the miracle the papers published. The true events remained vague. Clark may have debriefed the League on how exactly he returned to them, but the explanation of Kryptonian biology and technology mixing to bring Clark back from death failed to illuminate. Most notably, his personal life. While withheld from the rest of their comrades, Superman’s secret identity and personal details had been revealed (as well as uncovered) to Bruce. His personality and interactions with the league had remained entirely unchanged, but privately, his social life had been totally upturned. Almost uninterested in resuming his life. Instead of reuniting with his fiancée, the wedding has been put on hold indefinitely. While it appeared that Lois was still debating whether she wanted to get married anymore, Still hemming and hawing around that... cowboy? Nevertheless, Clark took it to another level. Bruce had trailed him from his apartment on a Saturday night, unsure of what to expect. Maybe finding another imposter. A parasite controlling him. A therapist with well-meaning advice. Something more than simply a trauma reaction or mid-life crisis. Surprisingly well-dressed, Batman found him in an even more surprising place: a nightclub. A gay nightclub. While the world was changing, 1994 was still too early to find someone like Clark to go on a whim. Reviewing what Oracle could retrieve from Clark’s computer at work and PDA revealed no reason for work or investigation that would require him this involved. Either Clark had decided to break from all his farm boy ways and developed a preference for not only people other than Lois Lane, but also men as well, or there was something more to the story than meets the eye. Bruce tracked him through the security array at the club, spying on him through the throngs of scantily clad gyrating men. Most of whom were more than welcoming for a Clark Kent who shed his oversized suits and clumsy loafers. Still full of bashful smiles, Clark eventually paired up with one personality, a shirtless man in jeans and a harness. William Drum*, twenty-eight, originally from London and works in construction. In Metropolis for vacation. Eventually, William pulls Clark from the crowd and pass the bar. Cycling through the camera feeds Bruce tracked them down a hallway in the back, seemingly ignoring the “backrooms,” exiting out of a door at the end. That fits with the profile. Whatever emotional tension that motivated Clark’s new explorations, he was likely to maintain some reservations. Still, a milestone for the Man of Steel, however, fully within parameters for expected behavior. Pulling another feed from a nearby convenience store, Batman located them…still in the alley. Initially, Bruce had assumed that Clark would bring the man home, or vice verse, yet… William came up for air, breaking the kiss that he had pinned Clark against the wall with. His hand fiddling with his belt and his tongue tracing Clark’s panting lips. Despite Superman having have a foot on the other man, William had him like putty in his hands. Manhandling the Man of Steel with ease. Surprising, still not outside what’s expected. What’s unexpected is Clark letting the near stranger throw him over a garbage can. Bending over without any question or resistance. The stranger took full liberty with Clark presented, wrenching down his pants and garments, exposing his ass to the camera. Soon blocked from view by Drum’s jean shorts. From the hands Bruce could see the man fiddle with his own belt and reach in his back pocket for a condom. Bruce could never expect Clark to go along with cruising in the alley with some stranger. There, Bruce thought, he’s reaching to stop this guy and probably leave. He’s obviously at his limit… Clark hand had stopped Drum’s, condom stilled before it could be opened. Clark turned his head, mouth visible to the camera. Lip-reading just served to shock Bruce. Don’t, Clark mouthed. Do it without it. The condom fell to the ground. Willaim’s hands dropped to the Man of Steel’s hips, gripping, and pulling forward. Clark’s head snapped to the front, but before he left from view, Bruce caught his face crumbling in pleasure. Bruce was just left to watch Drum’s driving hips as Clark’s legs quivered. Making a racket. They were loud enough that cameras from across the street picked up the sound of a shaking garbage can and bleating moans. The sight of his close friend shocked him, it took the body of his training to stare at the scene on his wrist-screen for the duration. Once Drum was through with Clark, he just pulled out and refastened his belt, and turned had left. Leaving Clark exposed and panting. Either sweat or semen glistening on his pale skin. The lighting of the cityscape leaving molted colors to dance across the skin. Once his breathing calmed, he too picked himself from the garbage can. His legs shaking despite his strength, his hole winking, desperately trying to close against the void of violating vigorousness. He pulled up his pants, fixed his belt, and left the alley. Clark had gone home that night like nothing happened. Bruce had not been able to make heads or tails of that night. All evidence pointed to it being a one-night event, without any behavior to indicate significant regret or desire for more. After some time, Bruce had to drop it to manage a situation in Gotham. After that, Superman acted… typical. Now, watching Clark riding a man he previously had to restrain himself from punting into the sun. Bruce knew he should have investigated more. On the screen, while the helicopter drained any sound of the exchange. Bruce could read his lips again and knew what he was saying to Lobo.
Please, inside! Please, inside of me!
Lobo grinned. Shifted them both on his bike, covering the Metropolis’ hero’s body with his own. Showing every TV set in the city his huge muscled ass, his thick cock plunging into the hero’s accepting body. Red boots framing the brutal Czarnian as his ass flexed pumping, heavy balls heaving as he pumps Clark with seed and pulling away. The League and all of Metropolis can see their hero’s hedonism on LIVE television.Bruce, no, Batman, needed to interrogate this at its source: The Fortress of Solitude.