Batman's Hot Cousin--Part 5: Letting Go

Did you all have a good weekend? Mine was quiet--but productive. I'm ALMOST through an edit that may end my life--but the point is, I'm almost through it.

Anyway-- the edit is non-fiction and I'm dying to write fiction and my solution? Fanfic on the blog. Are we ready for the finale of Batman's Hot Cousin? I don't know--it's been unexpectedly heartbreaking.

Let's go!

*  *  *

Letting Go

"Tim!" Bruce sat up in bed shouting, his face and body contorting as he fought to transition from female to male as the original DNA-altering toxins sweated out of his body. "Jason! Clark, where's Jason! Dammit, Clark, we can't lose him!"

Clark sat by his bed, where he'd been for most of the transition, and stroked his hand. "Baby, Jason's dead. Tim's in another city--"

"No..." Bruce's voice broke, and for the thousandth time, so did Clark Kent's heart. "No. He was ours. Where's our baby? Where'd he go?"

"He's a dream, Bruce," Clark said patiently, hating himself. "Honey, you've got to let him go."

"I could see him," Bruce whimpered, falling back in bed and curling on his side. "He looked like you. He was so kind--"  Another cramp of muscle and mass and bone assimilation hit him, and he didn't finish the thought, howling with pain.

"Here," Diana said, sounding cool and calm and collected. "Alfred, hand me the syringe."

"Yes ma'am." Clark looked sharply at Alfred and gasped. So impervious, so practical, pragmatic, and efficient. Alfred's face was streaked with tears.

Diana injected something into Bruce's arm quickly and then backed away. Clark didn't. Bruce had been thrashing for hours--he'd clocked Clark in the jaw, the stomach, and once, uncomfortably, in the gonads. The fact remained Bruce Wayne was a man, albeit a powerful one, and Superman was an alien, and it just didn't hurt that much.

Unlike, say, watching Bruce in pain, calling for the children that had died or been scattered to the four winds.

"Damien?" Bruce begged, voice falling pitifully.

"In the desert with Talia," Clark said, hating Talia Al'Ghul all over again. Stealing his DNA and presenting him with a son fait accompli was bad enough--but taking him back just as Bruce had made some peace with the boy... well, it had been five years before Clark and Bruce had gotten together or Clark might have killed her and just not told anyone. Two years after that, Jason had died. Clark had watched his heart break again and again--why was the fact that it was still in pieces such a surprise?

"Everybody leaves," Bruce murmured. "Everybody leaves."

"I won't." Two years of promises. Two years by Bruce Wayne's side. Prickly, argumentative, bullheaded, beloved man.

"You'll leave," Bruce sighed, eyes closing. "Why would you want to stay? I let our son slip away."

He fell asleep then, the sedative apparently working. Great. Fucking finally. For a moment there was silence in the infirmary and they all watched as Bruce's body trembled and contorted. He was asleep, but pain was going to be his ever-present companion for the next few hours.

"If you'll excuse me," Alfred said, his voice barely under control. Then Diana set the syringe down and wrapped her arms around the old man's neck and sobbed.

Clark watched them, glad they had each other. It was his job to sit by this fucking bed and hold Bruce Wayne's fucking hand until this was over.

He'd promised. He'd stay until their atoms reformed to quantum dust. He still remembered the vow. It wasn't just poetry to him. He was the only one who knew what he'd planned when Bruce Wayne died, and right now the idea gave him comfort.

*  *  *

Bruce groaned, feeling as though every atom of his being had been pounded by a sledgehammer. "Clark?" he mumbled, wondering why he thought Clark would be there.

"Here."

Oh God. Bruce felt weak tears trickle onto the sheets under his cheek. The bedsheets felt clean, and so did his body, although he could clearly remember sweating until everything around him had been sopping and salt-stinging.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I'm sure you've got someplace to go."

"No place but here. Diana is taking care of another lava monster. We'll have to put a capper on whatever's doing that, you know."

Bruce grunted. "On my to-do list for tomorrow."

Clark let out a weak laugh and Bruce felt trembling fingertips running through his hair.

"What happened?" he asked weakly.

"You sweated out the last of whatever made you a girl. You didn't notice dangly bits?"

Bruce closed his eyes, literally too weak to move. He tried to take inventory but couldn't. Something, though. Something felt lighter. As though the universe had clicked into place and he was who he was supposed to be.

"I have no idea. I lived?"

"Mostly. You don't remember any of it?" Something in Clark's voice throbbed, like this would hurt him.

"I had... a dream," he murmured. "A child. Our child. And every time you touched me, it felt like he was getting further away."

Clark let out a shuddering breath. "You never told me you wanted children."

Bruce managed to look at him, saw he was unshaven, his eyes red-rimmed and shiny, his hair unkempt. Bruce may have been freshly washed on clean sheets, but Clark hadn't showered in days. "I have already shown myself to be a shitty fucking parent," he rasped. But then, because he was apparently too tired not to tell the truth. "But your son would be beautiful."

"You're not a bad parent," Clark protested, surprising him. They'd always been honest with each other. "You made mistakes. But you took in orphans like yourself, and raised them the only way you knew how. The way you'd raised yourself. You did the best all parents can do, Bruce."

"Jason..." So weak. The thought of Jason Todd gutted him on the best of occasions.

"Even good parents suffer loss." Clark threaded his fingers through Bruce's hair. "Or have their kids grow up to be dicks like... well, Dick. I didn't mention children because... well, because we're..."

"A little busy," Bruce rasped. He was falling asleep. "I didn't even know it was a dream until..."

"Until you got a built-in womb. I get it."

"You sound awful," Bruce said. "Crawl into bed and hold me."

"I smell worse."

"Don't care."

"Good. Because..." And Clark broke a little. "I really do need to hold you."

Good.

It wasn't until Clark wrapped his arms around Bruce's chest that he realized his muscle mass hadn't come back, that his frame was still heavy but his chest, his arms, his stomach were soft and thin.

"Cup my balls, will you?" he asked, not even being facetious. "I need to know that hasn't shrunk too."

Clark's hand was big and all-encompassing and familiar. Oh yes. Yes. All his parts were back. It wasn't just the euphoria of being himself again. There were dangly bits where dangly bits should be.

"Thanks."

"My pleasure. I hope to do that when you're feeling better, yeah?"

"Yeah. Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"Whatever made you stay here, that whole time. Thank you."

"Love, jackass. You're welcome."

"I love you too. Not having children with you--that could be the only thing I'll ever regret about the two of us."

"Nothing," Clark said, voice breaking. "I regret nothing. Not a goddamned thing." His arms tightened to the point of pain, and he was weeping softly into Bruce's hair.

Batman's Hot Cousin--Part 4 --The Dream

Some fanfic tonight because I am DESPERATELY tired of editing.

* * *

Bruce--known as Bryson--Wayne surveyed his employees in the R&D division with exasperation. Joy Connors was a sharp woman, in her fifties, personable and kind--she was in charge of the beauty and hygiene departments and oversaw nearly a hundred employees. Carla Li--barely thirty with a Doctorate in chemical engineering-- ran the specialty pharmaceutical department underneath her, with nearly twenty people reporting.

Both women were looking at Ms. Wayne as though the poor dear just needed to go lay down for a little while.

"Mr. Wayne wants us to what?" Joy asked, surprised.

"Women's health, Ms. Connors. Mr. Wayne feels that there are not nearly enough painkillers and anti-inflammatory drugs made particularly for women. There is so much we don't know about the menstrual process. You do realize that a woman's cramps can be more painful than a heart attack, don't you? And that the protocol for addressing a woman with painful menstruation hasn't changed since the thirties, right?"

"Oh!" Carla said, excited. "I saw that on Samantha Bee! That's true!"

Bryson Wayne nodded. "Yes. Yes it is."

"But it seems to me that it's a big fuss about nothing," Connors snapped. "Women's products don't sell. Everyone knows that!"

"Well I understand that those pot blueberries for hot flashes do pretty good," Li confessed. "I mean, my mom, menopause? Now there's a thing we should research and develop. How come we've got five kinds of boner pills out there, but something to kill a specific kind of pain or discomfort in women is completely ignored."

"Right!" Bruce cried, because finally somebody was getting it. "This is the gap in our research that Mr. Wayne wants to address!"

"Why?" Li asked, arching a perfectly groomed black eyebrow. "Seriously. Who put him up to it? Is he seeing someone?"

Bruce fought a sob. "I did," he said, hating the irony. "It was one of the caveats of me taking over while he went to explore the water possibilities in the Sahara."

"So how would you like us to address this?" Connors asked, her eyebrows up in doubt.

"I would like you to hire a ten person team to look into the science, and one person to specialize in marketing," Bruce said. And then, feeling foolish because it needed to be said. "Please make the team 80% women. I mean, don't discourage any male geniuses invested in the project, but I don't care what his credentials look like, if you so much as see one of those assholes roll their eyes, they get blackballed from Wayne Industries for life!"

God, his lady parts hurt. He needed his own motrin and a nice warm cup of coffee. And some chocolate. And to curl up in a ball and die.

But he was going to settle for doing his part to make things right, dammit! He really was.

* **

The cramps had settled down a little by the time he got home, taking the recently repaired specialty elevator instead of the car so he could shower and put on sweats before he even walked through the front door.

Things had been "leaking" all day. He'd walked through his day fighting the urge to push his pad in from the back and fidget with the tampon that was currently scrubbing his vaginal walls raw.

He was pretty sure that there should have been more female mass murderers at this point in history. He wanted to become one.

But after his shower--and some cookies and a heating pad--he took some Motrin and went back down to work out in the gym, doing everything he'd do as a man just using smaller weights. He didn't think the bulkier muscles would work on his lighter frame--right now speed and agility were his strengths and he would play to them.

He was in the middle of giving the sand bag a workout when Clark flew in, standing behind the bag to hold it.

"Good day?" he asked, then grunted as Bruce leveled a roundhouse kick at it. "So, no."

"Cramps are better," he muttered, hitting the bag with some fast and furious jabs.

"That's good."

"We're working on a better cramp relief in R&D."  And hook and hook and jab and jab.

"Well done."

"The women acted like I was crazy just asking." Jab jab jab jab.

"They had to be tougher than the guys to get there," Clarke reminded him. "That's some damage to overcome."

"I still want to kill someone." Wham! Wham! Wham!  "In fact--" Kick!  "If I didn't know any better--" Hit! Pound! Pummel!  "I'd say I was horny!"

Full stop.

Oh my God.

"Really?"  He asked himself.

"Really?" Clarke asked him.

Bruce was so relieved to pinpoint the source of his moodiness he almost cried.

"YES!  Oh my God, I could fuck a tree right now!" He stopped and--swear to God--blushed. "I mean, you know.  A tree."  Still not any better. He leaned his head against the bag. "God, Clark. I just... you know..."

Clark--still in his uniform--leaned around the bag.

And whispered a suggestion in his ear.

Bruce straightened up. "That's true," he said.

Clark blushed. "I mean, if you don't want to. Your lady parts are sore and--"

Bruce shook his head. "No--no. I want to. I so want to. I'm just... you know. Surprised I didn't think about it. I mean, it's not like you haven't been there before." Although Bruce went there more often, with Clark. "There's nothing going on in that, uhm, department right now. I mean, for one thing, I eat like a flea. No food to process. But seriously--you, uh...wanna?"

Clark was nodding furiously. "Oh my God, do I wanna."

Bruce wiped his sweaty forehead on his shoulder. "Let me shower and, uhm, prepare." Finally, a reason not to throw all of the tampons into a giant incinerator for the sake of women everywhere.

"I'll be upstairs, also showered," Clark said, smiling prettily. "It's, an, erm, date."

And it was. It was a bare skin to bare skin, thrillingly invasive date with Clark's cock in Bruce's ass. Lovely orgasm after orgasm washed over Bruce, and he pounded the bed as Clark fucked him from behind. Oh, damn. This was the most amazing plan ever. Sex! Sex that gave him endorphins and worked out frustrations! Wonderful, amazing, healing sex!

His final orgasm rocked him and he collapsed, mindful of his sore breasts, grateful that Clark rolled off immediately, careful not to squash him on the bed.

"Good?" Clark asked, panting with his own climax.

"Dreamy," Bruce mumbled. "Here--let me get dressed. Then we can cuddle."

Normally, he'd cuddle naked. But... well. Leaking.

God. So inconvenient.

Clark grunted as Bruce threw his pajama clad body on top, then ran his hand down the contour of Bruce's much curvier behind.

"How was it for you?" he asked curiously. "I personally missed my prostate, but, you know. Everything else was pretty sensitive, so that was good."

Clark looked at him candidly. "I... I miss the shape of you in my hands," he said, shrugging. "I don't know how to put it. It's a small price to pay for having you warm and safe in my bed, but..."

Bruce sighed. "It's not normal."

"No."

"And it will never feel normal."

Clark kissed his temple. "Not for you."

Bruce's sigh seemed to tarnish their afterglow, and Clark, in an effort to get him to smile, said, "Hey--at least your not pregnant."

Bruce laughed a little, and then curled up against his great lover's side and fell asleep.

But something about what Clark said must have stuck with him.

Because he dreamed about their child. Clark's blue eyes, Bruce's nose, Clark's irrepressible smile. God. Bruce had failed as a father so many times--but with Clark, maybe, he could manage. Maybe with their son or daughter, he could not bury the poor child under expectations, under worry, under the weight of his other life.

There was a sort of hope with that, even in the dream, until a jagged flash of pain ripped through Bruce's abdomen, and the dream changed. He dreamt that he was invaded by an alien, consumed, destroyed from within by something that didn't belong there and was ripping its way out.

He woke up screaming, thrashing on the bed in the throes of an agony that seemed to be devouring him whole.

"Clark!" he cried out, afraid and disoriented. "Clark, what's happening!"

"Sh!" Clark pushed him back into the bed and wiped the hair off his forehead. "You're burning up. And your face is... is changing." His fingers rasped against stubble on Bruce's jaw. "Baby," he said, sounding afraid, "I think you're changing back."

"Oh." Bruce was rocked by another terrible pain, and suddenly that dream, that painful, sweet, forbidden dream was ripped out of him by force. "I'll never have your baby," he said, letting go of a thing he'd never known he'd wanted.

Clark grimaced and kissed his forehead again. Bruce saw his eyes, red-rimmed, and his worry line etched deep in his forehead. "Oh Bruce. You couldn't have survived like this, not even for our child. Diana's on her way, love. We'll bring you back on the other side."

Bruce couldn't help the tears, not from pain, but from the dream. "I"m sorry," he said. "I"m sorry I"m like this. I'm sorry I'm not strong enough to hold on for that. I'm so sorry."

Clark rocked him, his arms the haven Bruce had never known he'd needed. "No sorry," he rasped. "No room for sorry. Live through this. Live through this, beloved. Never be sorry you did what you had to do to live."

Another pain slammed through him, ripping him in two.

Bruce screamed again, and concentrated on living.

SuperBat-- Batman's Hot Cousin, Part 3

Hi all!

I'd say it was a quiet weekend, but I finished Bunny and the Money Man--book one of a Dreamspun Desire series called Search and Rescue--and I made it under deadline. I mean, yes, Squish had indoor soccer, and we went out for burgers, but most of my weekend was finishing that book!

Now that it's done, for the next one to two weeks, I'm going to be editing the Shitty Craft Book-- a book on writing craft that is done but needs a buttload of screen doors and some new paint. In other terms, a hefty edit with lots of research and some tweaking--because I'm online to present this in a couple of places this year, and I want it to be published and perfect before it goes out.

So, Amy, what's it like submitting classes on a book you're self-pubbing that isn't quite done?

Why, stressful as fuck, so glad that you asked!

So, in celebration of the next year of a violent bout of imposter syndrome, I say we have another round of fanfic! And please, my beloveds, don't tell me I'm not an imposter, I know people mean well but at this point it's just better to pretend everything is fine, fine, just fine than to try to overcome self-esteem that was starved of its bone structure when I was a kid.

So, in order to appease my escapist tendencies-- let's escape, shall we?

* * *

Batman's Hot Cousin, Part 3: Through the Air Like Smoke

"Clark! Get your head in the game! Barry needs help!"

Superman shook his head and blew a big blast of freezing breath at the offshoot lava gollum that was racing the Flash as a snake of boiling rock.

The whole monster shuddered and that part froze and shattered, sending people-sized rock fragments down on the heads of the frightened onlookers.

"Hal!" Superman called, and Green Lantern disappeared to keep people from getting smashed, and HawkMan and HawkWoman swooped down to save anyone who might be in the way.

Which left Clark to continue to freeze the monster's tendrils and off and try not to freak out about his lithe, catlike boyfriend sliding through the air like smoke. Smoke shaped like a brick shithouse but smoke just the same.

Watching Batman fight in this form was a major mindfuck.

The women Clark Kent had always been attracted to were strong. Diana, Lois, Lana-- strong, independent, graceful. Warrior women, who would match his wits if not his strength.

Bruce Wayne Female was everything that turned Clark Kent's key--but with a Goth, risk-taking edge that stopped his heart in battle.

Bruce Wayne Female didn't let Clark save him. Not that the others had, but they knew their physical limits and were not afraid to ask for help. Bruce Wayne Female had no awareness of the lighter bone structure and more supple muscles that gave him speed and grace and stamina, but that didn't weigh as much as his heavy tumbler's muscles. He could land a helluva punch in this form--there was no doubt--but he had not yet learned to compensate for the lack of body mass that he'd had before.

He'd spent the last month getting the shit beat out of him is what he'd done.  The backhand from the Joker that had sent him spinning into a cement truck mid-leap had been particularly humiliating.

Or it would have been if he'd remembered it. He'd been concussed for two days. When he'd woken up, he'd had to remember why he had tits all over again.

Clark would hold Bruce Wayne any time he needed it, and tears had never bothered him. But Bruce's sobs as he'd coped with a body that wasn't his were leaving big bloody tracks in Clark Kent's soul.

And watching him fight was terrifying.

"Bruce, get out of there!" Diana yelled. "Your heat armor has gaps in it and that thing's going to cook you alive!"

That was another thing. None of his armor fit this form. Fighting the lava monster was hard enough--but Batman, in his special heat-resistant armor, could open up a hole in the thing's core that Superman could freeze out.

But not if the armor had big air pockets in it that would cook Bruce alive.

"Fuck!" Bruce yelled back-- a sure sign that he was getting frustrated. "Who can get in there and open up a hole!"

"I'm on it!" Hal flew up from rescuing civilians and Bruce bailed, letting Green Lantern send a wedge of power through the thing's center so Superman could freeze it out. Oh, thank God. Thank fucking God, that thing was down, every lava branch on the skyscraper it was trying to take out had turned to stone.

Hal and Clark were on cleanup then, making sure that whatever wasn't melded with the surface of the building had been disintegrated or deposited elsewhere. Diana could have lassoed stuff, Clark supposed, and Barry's speed might have come in handy, but really, Hal and Clark were best suited for the job.

But that meant jack to the pissed off brooding Clark was getting from Bruce's silent com.

They finished cleanup, aware that the rest of the Justice League had gone up to Eye in the Skye to figure out who kept setting lava monsters on them.  When they were done, Clark called to Bruce first, to see if he would respond like a grownup.

When he didn't, he sighed.

"Diana--"

"He doesn't want to see you."

"The fuck?"

"Wow--do you realize you've started swearing a lot since you two got together?"

"Please, Diana? What in the--"

"It's not just the fight. Or the armor. Or the two to six weeks left on his sentence."

"What is it?"

She grunted, and the sound was unfamiliar.

"Diana, is there something wrong--?:

"No! There is nothing wrong with her--him! Fuck! It's something that's completely normal but he'd never dealt with it before and it's uncomfortable and painful and messy and he was off his game is all.  Give him a chance to figure it out and he'll be one-hundred percent, you understand?"

Clark was an alien--but he wasn't an idiot.

"Seriously?"

She sighed. "He didn't want you to know."

"He has a women's body. Women menstruate. It brings about physical changes. Why is he ashamed of that?"

"I don't know, Clark--because of a hundred years of, 'Oh, I wonder if she's on her period?' jokes!"

"But I never told those jokes!"

"But he doesn't want you to think he's not capable because something took him off his game. Women get a couple of years to learn how to deal. This caught him while he was in battle. It was a surprise."

Clark took a deep breath and tried to remind himself that he wasn't the one in the wrong form. Except it felt like he was, because while he loved Bruce in any shape he assumed, he was more and more starting to see the female form as an ill fitting uniform that they somehow had to unzip. It was strangling the man Clark loved.

"Of course it was," he said. "Does he think I couldn't understand that?" But then, Bruce wasn't great at asking for help before he'd had this form. "You know what? Don't answer that. I get it. But I'm not leaving him alone. Because yes, I am that asshole."

And with that he went off coms while he flew into the Batcave.

Bruce wasn't there, and he wasn't in the infirmary. Clark tried his third guess and found him, sitting with Diana in his bedroom, shotgunning Anne With an E on Netflix. He had the remains of what looked like steak on a tray next to him, and he and Diana were eating chocolate mousse.

"No mousse for me?" he asked, keeping the irritation from his voice.

Bruce eyed him sourly. "I'll ask Alfred--"

Clark kissed him on the cheek. "No, no. I'll take the trays and ask Alfred myself. Diana, when I come back I'm going to change, which means you'll see my bare ass. However you want to handle that."

Wasn't something she hadn't seen before, so when he got back-- two more helpings of chocolate mousse and another steak, just for him--on his tray, he was surprised to see she'd gone.

"She's going to change into pajamas," Bruce said, half-laughing. "She says it's the only time I'll get to do this, I should do it right, it's one of the joys of being a woman."

"Is she right?"

"The steak was great," Bruce said grimly. "The rest of it is a giant coping mechanism so women don't rise up and cut off all our penises because we haven't made fixing this system a fucking priority."

Clark raised his eyebrows. "I'm sorry?"

"Pajamas or you have to leave," Bruce said, wrapping his robe tighter around him. Underneath he was wearing Clark's pajama bottoms and his T-shirt, when he had plenty of his own. Clark took heart from that. It meant he was a source of comfort.

"Fine, changing. Don't eat my steak."

Bruce looked him dead in the eye. "Hurry."

He did, and when he was done, he picked up the tray and scooted into the giant king sized bed they'd shared since, well, since Bruce had almost been killed by the mad bomber and they'd decided they wanted tone together.

"Now tell me why women are going to rise up against us?"

"Because this? This thing I'm doing? It's awful. It hurts. Like hurts. You know i know pain, and I'm not afraid of it, but this, constantly, as just something I'm supposed to deal with? This is wrong. And the fact that doctors don't think we should put any time into figuring out why it happens and stopping it? Is wrong. I have an entire research and development department, and you know what? The head of that department is a woman and the person under her is a woman, and you know what neither of them has even proposed to me?"

"How to soothe menstrual cramps?"

"Fucking bingo! And do you know why?"

"Because women are told they need to suck it up?"  Clark had never thought of it before. Lana, Lois, Diana--they hadn't so much as let the pain or the inconvenience touch him. The thought made his heart hurt. All the trouble he'd gone to, to get Bruce Wayne to admit something hurt, and women had been masking pain like this for eternity.

"They do." Bruce sighed and leaned against him. "I hate feeling like this."

"Cramps and swelling and--"

"And like I"m borrowing this form. It's not mine. I could make it mine, but right now, I'm some guy bitching because I get a little taste of reality. I hate that it's reality and I can't change it for all the women I know."

"You can help." Clark kissed his temple. "Maybe have a conversation with your R and D department tomorrow."

Bruce nodded, and Clark saw the classic Bruce-Wayne-swallowing-pain maneuver. "Can I hold you?"

"I wish you would," Bruce sighed. "I"m sorry I said to stay away."

"I"m sorry I'm a man."

Bruce let out a laugh and Diana chose that moment to come back in, sliding on Bruce's other side.

"This is not something we'd ever do when I'm a man," Bruce said. After a moment of acknowledging silence, he added, "That's too damned bad."

Clark kissed his temple again, noting that he'd had his hair cut short the day before, just like he did every week. Still Bruce. But Bruce with a little more understanding than he'd had before.

"That is," Clark said. He winked at Diana. "I'm sure Diana would be willing to do this once a month if we asked her nicely."

Diana stole his chocolate mousse. "Only if Alfred caters. And I get to pick the TV."

They settled in then--chips and chocolate and moody television and being warm and snuggly with friends.

Clark hoped they'd do it after Bruce changed his form. He thought that it was false to say it was a perk of being a woman. It should have been a perk of being human--even if you were an alien and a goddess, it still seemed to be a perk.

SuperBat--Batman's Hot Cousin Part 2

So, it's the lazy part of winter break, where the kids play all the games and chill all they want, and I go out of my mind because there is SOMEBODY THERE all the time.

Mate and I are going on a date tomorrow night--that's exciting.

Anyway-- it's time for some SuperBat--and I feel dumb because I have written some SUPERHOT sex in my fanfic before on this blog, but there's going to be girl parts here.

Most of my readers will deal, I know, but... *rolls eyes*  Here's your warning. Imminent vagina.

Anyway-- enjoy the hot girl sex and some angst.


*

Batman's Hot Cousin, Part 2

If Bruce had ever thought about it, he would have assumed there would be something different while kissing someone as a woman instead of a man. There was certainly something different about kissing a man or kissing a woman--but Clark's mouth felt the same as it always had.

Hard, demanding, tender, responsive.

Bruce pushed the kiss like he ordinarily would and twined his arms around Clark's neck, only a little frustrated because he felt so... so delicate.

He was still strong, still muscular, but the manhandling he usually indulged in because Clark could take it didn't feel appropriate. And then Clark reached gently for his breast and massaged, thumb on the nipple in the classic "boobs are good" maneuver.

Bruce's nether-parts gave a tremendous throb and he let out an audible gasp.

"What's wrong? Did I hurt?"

Clark pulled his hand away and Bruce grabbed it back. "That was great. Don't stop." It came out as a command, in his flinty Batman voice, but about two octave's higher and sort of whiskey soaked.

Clark's eyes all but rolled back in his head and he lowered his mouth to the edge of Bruce's tightly-clenched towel.

"Wha?"

"You thought that felt good..." Clark said, lips quirking like he was battling a smile.

Bruce moaned and gave up the towel, and there they were, boobs, and a slender waist and lush hips and plump, muscular thighs.

"Damn," Clark said, pulling back and smiling slightly. "Bruce, my beloved, my man, you are built like a brick shithouse!"

"I'm a horny brick shithouse!" Bruce complained. "Now do that thing... that  thing with your mouth you just promised! I need to not feel like this so I can think!"

Clark laughed throatily, and Bruce's uterus practically caught fire. "You can think fine when you're horny," he said before licking a circle around Bruce's aureola. "You do it all the time. You once ordered an op when I was balls-deep in your ass!"

Bruce moaned, the thought turning him on far more than it should--and damn Diana for making an off-coms override for emergencies.

"But I know how those parts feel!" he panted. Clark closed his mouth over the whole pink-tipped sugar mountain and it was all he could do not to squeal. "Right now everything is a surprise--flick your tongue! God yes, like that! No, don't stop--yes!"

An earthquake went off in his lower parts. That was the only way he could think of it--everything below his navel clenched and quivered and practically pranced with joy.

Without thinking about it, Bruce leaned back and pulled his feet up to the edge of the infirmary bed, opening up the whole area to exploration.

Clark chuckled. "God, this is fun."

"My... my... oh my God I don't even know what to call it anymore! It's on fire!"

Clark laughed some more and Bruce could swear his uterus exploded.

"Jesus--lick that or something!" he begged.

"You know, it is your pudendum. You can call it anything you want!"

Except he couldn't, could he? He was still a man underneath that glistening labia. He still didn't have the right to claim that naughty word, even for erotic use, did he?"

Confusion swirled around his brain and then Clark very carefully swiped his tiny erotic button with a rough tongue and confusion went to fuck itself because Bruce was in need.

"OH dear God fuck that thing!"

But Clark just licked again, this time the aching area between his spread lips, and he must like doing this for women as much as he loved doing it for Bruce because he buried his face in there and really went to town.

Bruce lost time.

He was wandering in a sexual havoc, Clark's tongue, his fingers, his surprising expertise sending him into the stratosphere, so high, so intensely, that he barely noticed the two fingers of intrusion until the faint twinge of pain.

"Hello..."

Clark gave him a heated glance over his new playground body. "Sorry sweetheart--it appears you have a hymen."

Bruce wiggled his hips, impaled on Clark's fingers, and pushed down. Another twinge of pain, but he didn't care. He wiggled some more and Clark spread them and stretched him a little and the pain bit a little bit deeper, and then faded.

"Not anymore," Bruce panted. "Fuck me."

"One more minute."

Clark's tongue on his clitoris was no joke and Bruce didn't even have a brain cell to question it. The two fingers inside him were wonderful--but not enough, not when Bruce knew what would fit perfectly in there, and then, oh God, one gentle, tentative finger, slick with juices he didn't ordinarily have, knocked on his back door.

This time the orgasm was enough to make him scream.

Clark lunged up over his body, driving inside of him and claiming his mouth at the same time.

For a moment, Bruce was caught up in sharing girl juices with his male lover--his taste on Clark's mouth, different, sweeter, ear-to-ear--and then he realized oh my God where is his penis and oh wow it really fuckin' fits there doesn't it!

He wrapped his legs around Clark's hips and screamed. "Don't! Stop! Don't! Stop! Don't! Ever! Fucking! Stop!"

Clark drove into him so hard Bruce could swear he tasted cum in the back of his throat, and then, oh dear lord, the big one, the 10 on the  Richter scale, the orgasm that split the foundations of the world, washed over him, clenching around Clark and taking them both over.

The infirmary table gave out underneath them and collapsed in a puddle of useless chrome with a mercilessly uncomfortable mattress.

And Clark was still buried inside him, hot and pulsing and amazing.

"Can you," Clark panted, collapsed on top of him, "think any better now?"

Bruce chuckled, and then chilled. Clark inside him felt right--but everything else felt... empty. He closed his eyes and ran his hands along Clark's familiar muscles, along his back, down his spine, at the same time feeling his breasts squashed under Clark's chest, his vagina parted and welcoming--when usually it would be a penis, thrusting and deflating. The aftermath to sex felt much the same--except for the loneliness that swamped him.

And, oh fuck, fucking estrogen levels, rising.

His eyes burned.

"It was wonderful," he whispered. "You were exactly right. You feel exactly right. I wouldn't have you any other way."

"Sh." Clark kissed his temple, where the first tear slid. "I may feel right. But you don't."

"That was amazing," Bruce said, trying to make it clear. He'd wanted it--wanted everything they'd done. Would want it again, and again--although hopefully now that he knew how it felt, it wouldn't consume his brain. Diana and Barbara and the other women functioned perfectly well with bodies like this--he was pretty sure it was just the newness that had overwhelmed him.

"But it wasn't you," Clark clarified.

And the tears wouldn't stop. "I want my body back," he said, feeling foolish. "I...you feel great, and the sex was awesome but it wasn't me."

"Or not the you you're happy with," Clark said, kissing his temple. "Believe me, Bruce. I knew exactly who I was fucking. It wouldn't matter what the parts were--I'd know who you were in the dark. But it's not my body we're talking about. It's yours. Now that we're both thinking again, tell me about the rest of it."

Clark rolled off him and grabbed a blanket from the bottom of the broken bed. He pulled it up over both of them and Bruce rested his head on Clark's chest, bitterly aware that they often traded back and forth, who spooned whom.

And then he told Clark about the virus that infected his chromosome, and how he could stay a woman forever, probably, and be fine, or he could not re-infect himself and maybe die and maybe go back to being the person he'd worked so hard to be.

"So," Clark said, and now his eyes were red-rimmed and his voice was raw. "You'd really rather die?"

Bruce was pretty sure the tears now weren't just a matter of estrogen. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. But yes. Oh God. I want myself back. I want you to hold me as I am."

Clark nodded without words and held him tighter, and Bruce sobbed into his chest.

SuperBat--Batman's Hot Cousin

I hope you all had a Happy New Year!

Ours was simple-- ZoomBoy went to a friends and Squish stayed with Mate and I, watched comforting television, drank sparkling cider, and watched the ball drop. Happy New Year!

But sometimes, having an uneventful holiday is the best thing in the world--and in this case, I had enough time to look at Pinterest, and saw a fan-art picture for this stunning plot bunny.

The picture was Superman, holding a female Batman. What if Bruce Wayne was female?

Well, I could either do this AU--but I sort of like my Batman with a penis--or I could do it IU, and figure out what he'd do if he were, temporarily, without one.

Warning-- this is gonna be hella sexual and there's girl parts. Hide your eyes now if that's a problem, cause I'm goin' in!

Batman's Hot Cousin

The change was in the DNA-- they figured that out--and it was degrading, which was a relief. This mishegas, no matter how upsetting, really was only temporary. A couple of weeks, a month at the most, and a night of sweating, fever, some complications, and then everything would be normal.

Oh how Clark prayed for normal.

He hadn't even been there when it happened--he'd been handling a Luthor-corp reactor meltdown when he got the call from Diana.

"Clark? What's your status?"

"70% contained. I can't leave yet."

"Roger that. Let us know if you need help, and let us know when things are 100%."

Superman didn't stop this heat-gaze arc-welding, but he did detect a slight uncertainty in Diana's voice. "Diana? Is there something I should know?"

A slight hesitation. "Yes, but it is nothing--believe me--nothing that won't wait until you're done."

Uh-oh. "Bruce? Bruce, are you on com?" Arc-weld, arc-weld, arc-weld--oh! Hey! There was Metallo, Luthor's poor deluded machine, jumping in to help. Apparently nuclear detonation was bad for everybody, right?

"He's fine, Master Clark," Alfred said, and only years of discipline kept Clark from widening his eyes and searing a hole through a melting down nuclear reactor.

"Alfred, where are you?"

"Back at the mansion, with Master Bruce. Please don't concern yourself. It just needs a bit of explaining, that's--"

"I'm fine." It was a woman's voice.

Superman took two deep breaths and didn't stop arc-welding. "Who the fuck are--"

"Everybody off coms," said the woman, and there was a decided chorus of moans as the buzzing in his ear shut down.

"Who are you--"

"Clark are you going to die if we surprise you?"

Clark took a look at the reactor. 80% done. "No, but I'm still needed on site." Whoever this is, she knew her priorities.

"Then we will solve the mystery as soon as you're done. Fly to the mansion, ignore Diana, and you and Bruce can talk."

"Yes ma'am--how should I address--"

"Over and out."

Who in the fuck was on the com?

* * *

Bruce grunted and activated everybody else on his com. "You had to do that while he was working?" he demanded, and for once Diana sounded sheepish.

"Bruce, you have to admit, it's imp--"

"Am I dead?"

And now she sounded ashamed. "No."

"Am I mortally wounded, with only moments to live?"

"No."

"Am I in any sort of situation in which seeing me right now can fix anything?"

"No, Bruce. You're right. We're sorry."

"I know this is hysterical--"  In the background he heard Hal and Barry snicker. "Yes, guys. It's hilarious and fuck off. But it's not... life threatening. Please remember that when you want to dick with him, okay?"

"Yes, Bruce," she said, unusually humble. "It... it felt like an emergency."

Bruce looked down at himself as he sat on the exam table, a bath towel pulled tightly around his chest. "It's not an emergency. It's not a bomb. It's not the end of the world. Jesus, Diana--they're tits. You've got a pair and we're all fine with that." He accidentally brushed a nipple and a major sexual shockwave coursed through his body. "It's just going to take some getting used to," he muttered. "How long did you say I have again?"

"Probably a month. Can you handle things at Wayne Industries?"

Bruce pulled out his palm unit and scanned his fingerprints, palm prints, and eyeball, just to make sure. "Yes. I've got breasts and a vagina, but my identity is intact. I'm just..." He studied his profile in the mirror in the infirmary, noting the thinner chin, the slender neck, the gamine features underneath his standard short haircut. "Darned fetching," he said grimly. Female Bruce looked to be in her late thirties--elegant, and probably stunning in evening wear, not that she'd ever be out in public.

Male Bruce was not particularly attracted to her--but then, he didn't like his masculine features either.  Clark's wide-eyed farm boy looks were more his style.

Diana's laughter on the other end of the com was actually a relief. "If you don't send me a picture I'm doing to die of curiosity," she confessed, and Bruce was not immune to humor.

He sent her a selfie. "If I see that anywhere but your com, I'm sabotaging your jet," he promised direly, but it was too late.

"Hello, pretty lady!" Hal whistled. "What do you think, Bar?"

"She's a little old for me, but very nice."

"You think you can outrun me but you can't," Bruce threatened, and Diana laughed.

"And he definitely can't outrun me. Be respectful, youngster."

"Fine, fine. I'm going to go look at my girlfriend who is my age." The other voices faded and it was just Diana again.

"He's almost done with his assignment," she said quietly. "Look-- I get what you said. Not life threatening. But your relationship has had tremendous ripples to the Justice League in the past. Many of them good, but not all. This--this isn't going to be easy on you two."

"He's a big boy," Bruce said, not wanting her to worry. "I mean... a month. I'll have my own body in a month, right?"

Her hesitation was not promising. "This thing the Joker did--it looks like you inhaled a virus that altered your chromosomal DNA. Bruce, if you recover from this--when you recover from this--it's going to work like you're withdrawing from a drug that's been keeping you alive. You might die in recovery, do you understand that?"

Bruce grunted. "I have better than even chances of not," he told her. "And we'll cross that bridge when--"

"I can replicate the virus," she told him bluntly. "I'm not so sure about a cure."

"So... you can keep me a woman--and healthy--for the rest of my life but you can't change me back?"

She let out a breath. "That might be the shape of things."

Unbidden, Bruce raised a hand to cup his breast, rubbing his thumb experimentally across the nipple again. Wowza. "Well, not that it's not a nice shape," he said, "but I'm pretty sure I want my old one back."

"I'll look into it. We've got some time before the virus degrades so much that you have no choice. In the meantime--"

"Shit!" They both said together.

"He's on his way!" she told him frantically.

"He's here," Bruce said, grimacing under Clark's exasperated glare. "Batman out."

"What in the actual hell?" Clark was jus staring at him as he hovered, his farm-boy blue eyes bigger than should be legal.

"I'm sorry she panicked you." Bruce clenched the towel around his breasts tighter. "I... I went running through a chemical plant--there was a blue cloud, I made the mistake and breathed in. When I came to..."  Well, Nightwing and Batgirl had been standing over him, breathers in place, asking him what the hell he'd been thinking.

And he'd been down with cramps and nausea for the rest of the morning, which was a good thing, because listening to Dick's bitching in peak condition might have prompted him to fratricide.

Finally, after a final bout of vomiting, he'd awakened with only Barbara in attendance, and she was drawing blood and having a freaked out conversation with Diana and Bruce was in one of her old nightgowns from back in the day when they'd shared a bed.

God.

He'd come down to the control center for more tests and then Diana had tried that ill-advised contact. Looking at Clark now, he was guiltily glad that the poor man had gotten some warning.

"This... this... what are we supposed to do with this?" His arms were flailing and Bruce smiled a little.

"I... I mean, you like women, right?"

"But you're not one!"

"Well I'm still me!" Bruce felt absurdly hurt. "What--you're suddenly going to move out now and move back in when I've got my own dick?"

"Were you fucking me with someone else's?"

Augh! "No! I was just... you don't have to look at me like I have the plague! It's just... breasts! Tits! Vagina! It's not a bomb!"

Clark's lips quirked, and Bruce glared at him. "I don't know. I, uh, haven't been there yet. Maybe it will make me explode?"

Bruce buried his face in his hands and laughed and cried at the same time. What in the hell-- what in the actual hell were they supposed to do with this? Jesus, he wasn't even him--

Clark's hands on his pulled him from the brink of hysteria. "Bruce?"

"What?"

"You're a very pretty girl."

"Fuck off."

"Well, maybe we should get to know each other first."

"We do know each other! We've been living together for two years and flirting for ten years and--"

Clark's mouth on his took his breath away--and pulled his brain out of the death spiral of gender and confusion and all of the freaking out he'd been trying not to do because--as he firmly believed--having tits was not the end of the  fucking world!

Clark pulled away and Bruce realized that his.... his nether-regions ached. The ache was familiar--the location was... not.

"What?" Clark asked.

"My... uh..." Bruce wiggled his bottom. "I'm wet," he said baldly. "That's... that's unusual and now I'm confused. And horny. And you're wearing your uniform and... I mean, not that I haven't noticed it before, but... you look really good in your uniform and--"

"And you'd like to know how I look out of it?" Clark said, a gentle smile on his face.

"This is not the time!" Bruce wailed, and then covered his face again.

"Why--what else do we do at the end of the day?"

"Well, usually I top," Bruce said bitterly.

Clark's smile went wicked. "Maybe not this time."

Bruce let out a sigh. "Diana," he said, tapping his ear. "I do believe we need to go off-coms."

"Try not to let your vagina blow up the Justice League," Diana said dryly.

"I make no promises."  Because his unfamiliar nether-regions were... were hot and achy and needy, and Clark Kent was stripping off his uniform while still in mid-air, and...

And just like when he had a penis, his mouth was dry and his brain was toast and the world was screaming madly to a halt.

"Good boy," Diana said softly, and the com in his ear went dead.

Clark glided over to where he was sitting, six-feet-plus of naked floating alien, looking at Bruce with such compassion, Bruce's exploding lady parts turned to melted wax.

"This," he said, his breath and heartbeat unsteady, "is going to be very interesting."

"God, I hope so," Clark said. "For however long it lasts."

* * *

Okay-- full on sexy times tomorrow. I hope you enjoy!