The Glitter Jungle:
Fiction:
How You Remind Me
Dirty little secrets. Batman, Lex Luthor
A lot of people have bizarre fetishes. A club like this, discreet and for the extremely rich, catered to all sorts. No one looked at you funny for having, just as a hypothetical example, a superhero fetish. Like Luthor over there who'd sneak in a few times a month and have his partner[s] dress in various outrageous outfits. Not a word of this would leak to anyone on the outside.
Bruce Wayne nodded curtly in Luthor's direction as he passed him on the way to a private room. Hey, if red underwear were your thing? Have fun. Just don't take it out on the innocent public.
Of course, he wasn't one to talk.
"There you go, Mr. Wayne." The woman showed him to a room and closed the door quietly behind him. A perfect little Robin outfit was laid out on the bed. A large mirror adorned the wall. Other than that it seemed like the normal room... of a teenager, a college boy at best.
Bruce took off his suit and hung it in the closet, and then put on the - shorts. They were shorts. Not... not what Dick had called them. Then the rest of the outfit, not an exact replica of course, because it wasn't safe, can't have people know where everything is on the highly sophisticated original Robin outfit, but it looked almost alike. If you didn't know any better.
He looked at himself in the mirror. Most days that's all he'd do here; just stare at himself in the mirror for an hour or two. On rare occasions he'd jerk off in the suit and avoid looking into the eyes of the woman who walked him back into the club's main room.
The door opened and he spun around, eyes wide under Robin's mask. That never happened here before. No one would interrupt him until he rang the bell or left the room.
It was Luthor. Standing in the doorway with a serious look on his face and all the memories of past years and his evil deeds wiped away, all that was left in Bruce's mind was their youth. Years he never told Superman about. Years of desiring Luthor, of a need to feel the burn of him inside, of wild, hurried fucks in the nights and long leisurely weekends. Of Lex's smooth shaft driving inside him, driving him into new places, new heights. Of the beauty beneath that cold, hard exterior Lex now wore; one eerily similar to the one Bruce himself had to don.
And still, neither of them said a word. They just looked each other over, and remembered. The same need still burned in their veins.
"I'm sorry," Luthor whispered and closed the door behind him.
Info:
Dedication and credit for Bruce-in-Robin's-suit, The Jack
I need
to feel the burn
of you inside me
your smooth shaft
driving me