Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bruce melted into the bed with a pleased hum, his cheek smushed pleasantly against his luxurious mattress and silk sheets. His salt and pepper hair was still slightly damp from his shower earlier, revealing the soft waves he usually wore waxed down neatly. 

Scarred pale muscles flexed under warm candle light as the warmth of another body spread across his back, firm wet kisses ghosting over his skin. Icy blue eyes half-lidded, his eyelashes fluttered at the tender sensation.

He’s always so careful with touch.

He turned his head a bit, catching Clark’s inky black curls in his peripheral, Clark’s strong, tan figure looming over him but never imposing, much as Bruce might wish it at times. Clark’s glasses had been discarded at some point during Bruce’s desperate kisses set upon him as soon as he’d landed on the balcony of Bruce’s room, not even bothering to come through the front door after receiving a rather direct text that read:

“I need you. Now.”

It was uncharacterisitic of Bruce- to Clark anyway. He hadn’t rebuffed him, opting instead to lean into the onslaught of Bruce’s lips and tongue dancing with his own, deep groans of appreciation filling the air between them.

Their relationship was still so fresh. Clark knew Batman, the Caped Crusader, the Dark Knight. He knew Bruce Wayne, the friend and businessman. He knew B, the father of several children as dysfunctional as Bruce himself.

He did not know Brucie, the lover.

Clark had never been privy to that side of Bruce, not even after a rather messy post-mission confession and tentative entry into this… romance, as Bruce referred to it.

Needless to say, Clark was caught off guard at the open invitation and display of pure want from his normally reserved partner. Clark had even taken to limiting how affectionate he could be until Bruce felt comfortable. He hoped their current circumstance was a result of his patience.

What he did not know was that once Bruce’s guard was down, he was a total loverboy.

And Bruce… had tried.

He really had.

He had tried not to smother Clark the way he knew he could, the way some of his previous lovers had found overwhelming, even the ones who most seemed invigorated by his attentions at first.

He would have loved to shower Clark with gifts, trips, fantastic dates, pet names, public displays of affection, the fucking works.

God knew that Clark, of all people, deserved it the most.

But Clark… was Clark.

Bruce knew he wouldn’t be mean about it, but he wouldn’t accept it all. He’d think it was too much and that would mean that Bruce was too much and then-

Bruce cursed himself, unable to stop the distressed hitch in his breath, the resulting feel of Clark pulling away leaving him cold inside and out.

“B?”

“I’m fine,” Bruce muttered, squirming and scooting back, his bare ass giving a tempting wiggle to try to regain contact, his back arching where Clark pressed a warm hand soothingly.

“You know there’s no rush, right? I’m not going anywhere unless you change your mind about taking the night off.”

Bruce absolutely was not changing his mind after he had miraculously gotten his sons on board to help him skip patrol and have a euphemistic “date night” with Clark. Even Alfred took the weekend off so they could have privacy. This had all taken him two weeks of coordination and bribery. 

Try as he might to hide his mushy ooey gooey habits from Clark, there was one thing Brucie Wayne was known for- which Clark would not be likely to question-  and it was being an absolute whore.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

So he was going to get fucked tonight.

Unless…

That wasn’t what Clark wanted.

Perhaps he had been a tad presumptuous.

Doubt started to creep into his mind and at the slightest, microscopic hint of discomfort, Clark was on alert. It was one thing to hide behind the cowl and layers of lead-lined kevlar. It was another thing to be naked and exposed while something like love got the very best of the man underneath the immovable object that was Batman.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Clark was Superman, the unstoppable force that balanced him out so beautifully.

Bruce found himself being gently turned over onto his back, Clark floating for mere seconds before settling between his parted legs. He forced himself to maintain eye contact, Clark’s deep ocean blue eyes shining with concern, the Man of Steel gently crawling over him to kiss his nose gently.

Bruce gulped down the treacherous knot that had swelled in his throat and couldn’t help but smile as Clark tilted his head adorably. Everything Clark did, even the things that made Bruce want to throttle him, inspired the desire to kiss him stupid.

“B?”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said, so quietly anyone who wasn’t Superman would have a hard time hearing him.

Clark leaned forward on his elbows, chest to chest with Bruce without crushing him. 

Bruce instantly relaxed into the safety of being physically sheltered. None of this escaped Clark’s notice as he attuned all of his senses to Bruce’s every reaction.

“Sorry for what?”

Bruce did avert his eyes then, cheeks flushing with shame.

“I didn't even ask if you wanted to have sex-”

Clark cut him off with a quick but firm kiss.

“I know there is kryptonite in your bedside drawer. If I ever say no to sex with you, I want you to use it on me.”

Bruce grimaced, “That would be more than extremely dubious consent.”

Clark nuzzled Bruce’s nose with his own.

“I know you wouldn’t actually do that and I appreciate that genuinely. I just meant that I am absolutely not against having sex with you right now and I doubt you could’ve or even would’ve pressured me. I am exactly where I want to be.”

“Between my legs?” Bruce joked, an open smile on his face that took all the air out of Clark’s lungs.

“Yeah,” Clark choked.

Bruce took the opportunity to snake his arms around Clark’s neck and pull him down for a kiss.

Clark went down easily- because he wanted to.

He wanted Bruce.

Bruce savored the push and pull of their breath mingling in between wet kisses, pulling away to look at Clark who’s eyes shone with adoration.

“I want you so bad,” Bruce rasped, eyes suspiciously wet.

Clark dropped his head into the crook of Bruce’s neck with a groan, breathing in his scent. His sensitive nose picked up notes of Bruce’s body wash- something he could only describe as amber and something spiced that absolutely was not cinnamon, a soft woodsy cologne Bruce tended to spray on after every shower, as well as a heady musk that was distinctly Bruce. It always made Clark’s head spin whenever Bruce walked by- at the manor, at galas and during missions as it was the one thing Bruce couldn’t hide about himself under the suit.

“Feels like you wanna eat me alive right now,” Bruce muttered.

Clark lifted his head, eyes dark and hungry.

“You have no idea what I’ve dreamt of doing to you.”

Bruce’s cock twitched against his stomach, reminding them both of their condition.

Clark adjusted and made certain that his own erection would grind against Bruce’s. He gave a pleased groan at Bruce’s sharp gasp, leaning down to kiss along the Bat’s chiseled jawline, down the arch of his neck, sucking marks along his collarbone and down his chest.

Pale fingers tangled into dark curls, dull nails scratching into an invulnerable scalp. Clark shivered. It almost tickled. He smirked into Bruce’s skin.

“Clark. ClarkClarkClark-” Bruce whined, Clark’s name like a mantra pouring from his lips.

“You’re so desperate for it and I’m not even inside you yet,” Clark said, swirling his tongue around a dusky nipple and sucking hard.

“Eungh- Cla- mmm-”

Clark had wrapped his large hand around both their lengths, making sure to stroke them in time with his hips moving languidly against Bruce.

He chanced a look at Bruce. 

The other man’s head was thrown back in ecstasy, eyes barely open and lips parted as choked little moans and whines escaped him.

Fucking beautiful.

Clark wished he could have him like this all the time.

It would be no problem for him at all if Bruce was his to please out of his mind for the rest of time.

“I think about taking you apart all the time. When I want, how I want,” he told Bruce, lifting himself up, one hand still jerking them together with one of Bruce’s legs hooked onto his arm. 

He was able to see all of Bruce like this and it had him pumping their erections together with a little more force than he intended. He almost stopped until he saw the way Bruce’s eyes rolled back.

“That’s it… isn’t it?” he breathed, releasing their cocks to hook his other arm under Bruce’s free leg and drag him down the bed, “You want that, huh? You want me to fuck you silly, lose control, hold you down and take. You want me to break you and put you back together after, don't you, sugar?”

He watched Bruce bite his lip and fist his hands into the sheets, his body rolling, hips jutting into the air desperately.

“Don't you?” Clark asked again.

Bruce nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Clark’s gaze sharpened and cooled, hands coming down to rub the sides of the thighs trembling in his lap.

“Say it.”

Bruce sucked in a breath, throwing a hand over his eyes as if that would shield him from Clark’s discovery of his weakness.

“Bruce.”

His hand was pulled away from his face, held down by the wrist and Clark’s breath was ghosting his face.

“Look at me.”

Bruce did, he looked and couldn’t help the tear that ran down his cheek.

“Clark, please,” he begged, without saying what he was begging for.

Clark eyed him with a small sympathetic sound.

“Please, what?”

“Fuck me,” Bruce groaned.

Clark arched a brow, feigning confusion.

“Fuck you how?”

God, he was killing Bruce.

“I- Clark-”

“Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me how to take care of you,” Clark cooed, that ridiculous Kansas accent bleeding through and making Bruce melt, pride be damned.

“W-Want you to take me apart, make me shake and scream and cry, want to feel how strong you are, want you to carve yourself into my body and ruin me for anyone else. I want you to fuck me and use me until you’re satisfied. I want to still feel how good you fucked me for days after- OH!”

Clark had pulled his hips into the air, Bruce’s legs falling over his shoulders.

“Fuck baby,” he gasped, sucking bruises into Bruce’s inner thighs. He bent him in half easily until he was met with the vigilante’s puckered hole.

Bruce felt a wet tongue circle the rim, toes curling at the strength of Clark’s tongue as it bullied its way inside of him in slick teasing thrusts, choked cries ripping out of him.

Clark delighted in the noises Bruce made, the reserved mask nonexistent under his touch, making him feel more invincible than any superpower in his repertoire.

He gave Bruce a hard suck and felt his tight hole clench around his tongue,

“Clark!”

He pulled back, letting Bruce’s legs down gently. He picked up the bottle of lube he saw peaking out from under a pillow because Bruce hadn’t even tried to be sneaky about tonight, lubing up his fingers and pressing two of them to Bruce’s twitching opening.

Bruce was still barely catching his breath when he felt the burning stretch of two thick fingers entering him.

“Shit, Cla-”

Clark kissed him again, Bruce whining into his mouth as he tasted himself on that sinful tongue.

He felt filthy for it and he loved it.

Clark pulled back with a cocky grin.

“You gonna take what I give you, honey?”

Bruce nodded, going limp in invitation for Clark to play with him as he pleased.

His lover gave him a hum of approval and rewarded him by pressing his fingers to that sweet spot inside of him and making his fingers vibrate without warning.

Bruce wailed.

Clark watched in awe as Bruce convulsed, unable to get away from Clark’s strong grip holding him in place so he wouldn’t fly off the bed. He was sobbing, babbling incoherently, forehead sweaty and skin flushed from his cheeks down to his chest, legs trembling and abs spasming as his cock spurted come, making a mess of his belly and chest.

Bruce’s eyes crossed at some point from the overstimulation and Clark savored every second it took Bruce to become coherent again once he showed mercy and removed his fingers.

“Fuck,” he croaked at last, looking and sounding absolutely wrecked.

“That’s the idea,” Clark teased, earning a half-hearted slap on the shoulder from the man panting beneath him.

He turned off the persona he had adopted since the moment he realized Bruce’s angle and decided to check in with his person for just a moment.

“You alright, B?” he asked, scanning Bruce inside and out- just in case- and gently smoothing his hair. Bruce nodded with a tender smile tugging at his lips. 

“I’m fine. More concerned with the fact that you haven’t come yet, actually.”

Clark huffed a laugh, fingers tracing the curve of his chest reverently.

“I can wait. I’m honestly just happy to be here with you.”

It was such a Clark thing to say- particularly because he meant every word of it and that alone made Bruce want to be a slut for him even more.

“I love that for you. Can you please come inside me before I die of old age?” Bruce deadpanned.

Clark bit his shoulder in retaliation, making Bruce yelp as he was then flipped back onto his belly and pulled back so he was once again resting on his elbows with his ass in the air and cheek smooshed into the mattress.

A strong hand struck his ass, making him cry out. Clark growled in pleasure at the sight of a shapely ass cheek jiggling and turning red from the impact, opting to give the other the same attention. He repeated the action. alternating and watching with rapt fascination, ears drinking in every shrill gasp Bruce couldn’t help but let out.

He paused, reaching for the bottle of lube again and slickening his aching dick, one warm hand resting on the small of Bruce’s back.

He pressed the head of his cock to the winking entrance of Bruce’s ass. He hadn’t prepped him as much as he would have liked, but he knew now that Bruce wanted to feel the burn of the stretch. He pushed inside, hissing at the tight wet heat sucking him in until he bottomed out, hips flush with the muscular yet plush ass he had fantasized about for years- weeks. 

He meant weeks.

“Fuck, Bruce… you feel so good. You're taking me so well, doll.”

He didn’t know if it was the praise itself or the endearment- or perhaps both that had Bruce moaning wantonly and clenching tighter on his cock, but he would make sure to do both until the end of time if it made them both feel this good.

“Clark,” Bruce gasped, wiggling his hips impatiently, “Clark, move, please- CLARK!”

Clark stopped wasting time, pistoning his hips without a word and setting a brutal pace that left Bruce scrambling for something to hold onto, not that he could go anywhere with Clark pulling Bruce onto his cock like a fuck toy, little shrieking moans muffled by the sheets where Bruce tried to bury his face into the mattress. Perhaps some part of him wished Clark would hold him down by the neck as he took him.

Clark had no such intention. 

Instead, he reached down, indeed wrapping his hand around Bruce’s throat, only to pull him up so his back was pressed against Clark’s chest, which he miraculously found could sweat.

The change in angle made him feel like he could taste Clark’s dick in his throat and Clark relished the pressure of how Bruce’s inside’s tightened at every display of strength.

Clark didn’t let up the pace and he could see through the back of Bruce’s head that the other man was biting his lip to contain his moans. The hand around Bruce’s throat slid up to squeeze his jaw.

He leaned close to Bruce’s ear. 

“Open your mouth, angel.”

Bruce whined.

“Do it,” he ordered, giving a particularly punishing thrust as he wrapped his free hand around Bruce's newly hard cock and pumped in time with his own hardness pounding into him.

Finally those perfect lips parted, high keening moans continuously flowing as if in song.

Clark grinned victoriously, each slap of skin on skin punctuating Bruce’s pleasure.

Because of Clark.

Clark released Bruce’s throat, abruptly pulling out, an act which left Bruce sobbing at the sudden emptiness. He was flipped onto his back, Clark’s hands spreading his legs wide as Clark surveyed him yet again. There were finger shaped bruises blooming on Bruce's neck in addition to the marks on his chest. He had those same Clark shaped finger marks on his thighs.

His face was red and wet with tears and his chest heaved from hiccuping sobs.

He was destroyed.

And they weren't even done yet.

But Clark wanted to see Bruce come on his cock. Wanted to see Bruce’s face when Clark finally came inside him.

Bruce refocused his eyes, staring up at Clark.

It had been a brief thought instantly wiped from his mind earlier but he really was surprised the man could sweat. Perhaps Kryptonian biology allowed for it during sex, his brain suggested, as he eyed the damp curls framing his partner's temples. Did Clark’s body temperature increase significantly during intercourse?

He registered a wry smirk on Clark’s face, years of knowing and studying Batman coloring his tone. 

“Clearly I'm not fucking you well enough if you can still look at me like that.”

Bruce blinked owlishly at him. “Look at you like what?”

Clark chuckled, leaning down to peck his lips affectionately.

“I literally have you spread eagle right now and I can see your brain doing the science thing-”

“You sweat” Bruce blurted, snapping his mouth shut instantly in regret. 

Clark bit his lip to contain a laugh, making Bruce glare at him.

“I've never seen it outside of a reaction to Kryptonite or red sunlight. I didn't know if your biology requires you to regulate your body temperature during sex. I just thought it was interesting was all and I don't apprecia- mmph! Mmm…”

He'd been kissed quiet, Clark’s joyous laughter undisturbed by the act.

He pulled back only to see Bruce’s affronted pout.

“It's not that funny.”

“It's hilarious actually.”

“I like it, though,” Bruce admitted.

“Yeah?” Clark asked, ducking his head in that ridiculous ‘aw shucks' way of his that Bruce so adored, suddenly shy about Bruce’s revelation:

Superman sweats.

Bruce nodded, raising a hand to brush back sweaty curls.

“I like that you can be messy, too. That you're as affected as I am,” he replied honestly.

Warmth spread through Clark’s chest and he released Bruce’s legs to cup his face and kiss him long and slow, tongues gliding together lazily. He felt Bruce's freed legs wrap around his waist, hooking together at the ankles to anchor them together. 

As if Clark would rather be anywhere than glued bodily up against Bruce until they were both spent.

Clark pulled away first, pressing his forehead to Bruce's for his self-indulgent dose of mushy eye contact.

“I'm always affected by you,” he assured, eyes soft.

Bruce gulped, unsure how to properly enjoy that admission and gave Clark a wan smile.

“That can't be good for your health.”

Clark shook his head, exasperated.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” Bruce grunted.

“Act like you don't deserve this- Us?”

Bruce froze, caught.

“I…”

“Do you know how honored I am to be with you?” Clark asked.

Bruce didn't have the opportunity  to respond before Clark was sliding back into him with a soft moan of appreciation at being welcomed back into Bruce’s  body. 

It was, after all, where he belonged. A place Bruce wished Clark would make himself at home like Clark had in every other facet of Bruce's life from superheroing, to public identity and even his home and family.

This was their final frontier and they were boldly going.

Bruce keened, the feeling of being filled again erasing any argument he had about why he could be Clark’s best-worst mistake.

It wasn't like he wanted to be. That's just how most of his relationships had panned out. 

Then again, none of his previous  lovers had been Clark Kent. Clark who didn't need to make himself big because he was Superman. Clark, who in fact made every effort to make himself smaller so that he could be Superman.

Which was why Bruce wanted Clark to let go- be uninhibited, free to feel and take all the pleasure he could from Bruce. Even if Bruce had to train himself to withstand it like he had everything else in life.

Because Clark deserved it.

Leave it to Clark to still make sure Bruce felt worthy of the same. 

Except Clark wasn't fucking him hard and fast like he had earlier.

No, he was torturing Bruce with drawn out thrusts so The Bat could feel every inch of the in-and-out drag of his cock carving its imprint inside of him, his entire body shaking with each sigh of pleasure, each whisper of Clark’s name, each murmured endearment of praise into Bruce’s skin.

He had to admit the face to face missionary had never been this fucking good.

Bruce still didn't know if he deserved it. He knew Clark believed he did. Clark wouldn't lie to him about that. 

He could work his way up to believing it later. For now, the best he could do was simply enjoy it while he had it.

“You make me feel so good,” he told Clark, voice breathless from the growing pleasure pooling in his gut.

Clark couldn't help but grind a little harder, a little deeper, at his lover's words. Of course he wanted him to feel as good as he was making Clark feel.

“You d-don't have to be gentle with me, you -ah fuck- you know I- I can take it,” Bruce panted, locking eyes with Clark.

“I know.”

Bruce gripped his shoulders, brows furrowing. “Then why are you being so-”

“Maybe I want to savor you. Ever think of that? Maybe my idea of satisfaction is drawing this out as long as possible. Unless-”

Let it be known that Bruce absolutely did not use his position to fuck himself the slightest bit faster onto Clark’s dick. Not for lack of trying, but simply because Clark’s  hands had moved at some point to keep Bruce hips still and Bruce wasn't going to get his way unless he made a compelling case.

“What’s your refractory period?” Bruce gritted, earning a startled laugh from Clark.

“I can't believe you went there,” Clark muttered, feigning as if he was going to fuck Bruce faster, enjoying the punched out sounds Bruce made before slowing down once again, almost laughing at Bruce’s confused growl of frustration.

“You have all night to savor me as much as you want. I just really want to watch you come,” Bruce said, not bothering to rid his voice  of desperation. “Wanna feel you dripping out of me, Clark.”

Clark groaned.

“God, Bruce…”

“Please, Clark.”

How could Clark tell him no?

He leaned back up again so he could look down at Bruce and an idea came to him.

“You want to see me come?”

Bruce nodded. “Yeah, so bad.”

“Make me.”

“What?”

Clark leaned down to draw Bruce into his arms without  slipping out and floated them so that Bruce was now seated in Clark’s lap, impaled on his girth.

“Ride me,” Clark told him. “Make me come.”

Bruce braced his hands on Clark’s chest, feeling the soft chest hair that dusted across his pecs and torso, a happy trail leading to the prize currently hidden within Bruce.

Bruce himself hated how his own body hair felt on him especially under his suit, keeping himself as smooth and hairless as possible.

But he loved how hairy Clark was. It tickled his skin.

Clark let him explore his chest, relaxing under Bruce’s open admiration. He brought his own hands to rest on Bruce’s ass, giving him an appreciative squeeze that made him clench around Clark once again. Clark decided he'd never get tired  of that feeling.

“Bruce,” he murmured, tracing a raised scar on Bruce’s skin reverently with his thumb.

Bruce sighed, giving a tentative grind of his hips, hissing when Clark gripped his hips just shy of too tight.

“Sorry,” Clark said.

Bruce smirked.

“Don't be.”

He raised himself up slowly and dropped down.

“Ah!” “Mmmm.”

Bruce repeated the motion, this time with a titillating roll of his hips.

Years of experience and being told as much dictated that Bruce knew exactly how good he looked riding dick and Brucie Wayne was nothing if not an expert showman to Batman’s excellent multitasking, meaning he could rock Clark’s world while keeping a perfect view of his face.

He set a steady pace for himself, keeping eye contact with Clark who watched him move with an awed expression. Bruce so enjoyed watching beads of sweat roll down his partner's gold-kissed skin.

This time, it was Clark who had tears gathering in his eyes, pleasured groans pouring rhythmically from his lips in time with the rise and fall of Bruce on his throbbing cock. It was a moment being permanently etched into his memory.

“Bruce… Bruce…B…”

Bruce moaned helplessly in response, touching himself where he could, one hand slowly stroking his own erection and the other pinching and pulling at his nipple, tongue darting out to wet his lips and scarred moon pale skin glistening with sweat. Clark admired how black and silver hair swooped over his forehead. 

He was so beautiful. Clark ached to touch him everywhere yet feared disturbing the perfect picture Bruce had so lovingly painted for him.

He couldn't help that his own hips thrust up of their own accord, eager to meet Bruce, the sound of flesh meeting flesh nearly drowned out by the rising volume of their combined  moans of pleasure.

“C-Claaark- Close- I-”

“Me, too, B-”

“Want- Want you-”

“You have me.”

“Want you h-hard and fast. Pleeeease, baby. Want you… to make me feel it- ah!”

Clark grabbed his hips, slamming him down hard, Bruce crying out at the force of it.

Clark shot up in a fluid motion and flipped them again so that  Bruce was once again on his back.

Bruce let out a breathless laugh, mouthing off at him immediately.

“You're gonna give me whiplash if you keep doing that. I thought you wanted me to ride you. What happened to ‘Make me’- Ah!”

Clark spread his legs, momentarily appreciating Bruce’s flexibility before fucking into him with abandon. Whatever Bruce had been saying was forgotten as strong hands pulled him on and off by the waist like a cocksleeve, his arms falling uselessly around his head.

Clark could feel Bruce clenching tighter around him and knew he was close, his mouth was open in a litany of moans and Clark’s  name. There were no more requests as Clark was finally giving him what he wanted. New tears had sprung from Bruce’s  eyes and Clark had a clear view of those lovely marks around his neck.

What were a few more? He thought, eyes briefly glancing down to his lover's  leaking cock and even lower to where he could see himself re-entering his sweet hole with brutal thrusts.

He wrapped a hand around Bruce’s throat, making sure to apply just the right amount of pressure that would leave Bruce lightheaded and defenseless without injuring him.

“Mine,” he said lowly.

Bruce came with a choked, silent scream, painting their stomachs white, his back arching off the bed as Clark released his neck and a final sob escaped him.

Clark didn't stop. He wouldn't until he was satisfied.

Just like Bruce had so sweetly asked of him.

Bruce's hole convulsed around his heavy throbbing cock and Clark allowed the final image of a dazed, overstimulated Bruce, whining and pliant all for him, to be that special thing that sent him flying over the edge.

His speed and strength increased, some of that superhuman quality slipping through his control.

Bruce's eyes rolled back, his frame trembling in Clark’s impenetrable hold and then he was being filled.

“B- AhAhAh- Fuuu- BRUCE!”

Clark’s hips stuttered, cock twitching hard within Bruce, filling him so full of come it leaked through and splashed the sheets beneath with the force of his final plunges into soft wet warmth. Bruce forced his eyes back open and just barely caught sight of his climax before his mind went blank.

Finally, Clark stilled, breathing heavily and torn between pulling out and staying in Bruce until the  sun came up- or even just until he got hard enough to fuck him again…

He was pulled from his thoughts by soft incoherent babbling, looking down at Bruce who was staring at him with glassy faraway eyes.

Clark’s eyes softened.

“B?”

He could see Bruce try to respond, only managing soft little whimpers and barely formed half words. His human kept twitching, muscles jerking and relaxing again. 

Clark’s cock stirred in renewed interest, making Bruce hum absently.

Fuck me until you're satisfied.

Could he?

He gave an experimental thrust.

Bruce didn't protest as his body was jostled with the motion. His hole wasn't clenching as it had earlier but a dreamy smile had taken residence on his face, wet lashes fluttering.

How many times could he come inside Bruce?

Or rather, how many times should he?

He rolled his hips lazily, sighing in pleasure at the friction. Even loose and docile, Bruce just felt so good- was being so good for Clark, who watched Bruce for any sign of discomfort.

He found none.

Instead, he took in the euphoric trance-like expression, drank in the muted moans he couldn't contain. Bruce still wasn't coherent and Clark vaguely remembered reading about something like this before. Some kind of sexually induced altered state of consciousness.

Subspace, his mind supplied. He paused, concerned. Could that be unsafe for Bruce?

Fuck me until you're satisfied.

Could he trust Bruce to know what he wanted and that his earlier words were still true?

He didn't think Bruce would put either of them in a position where consent was called into question. And Clark certainly didn't want to hurt Bruce like that.

Should he give Bruce what he asked for?

He gave himself and Bruce a few moments.

Bruce eventually blinked at him slowly, eyes slowly refocusing and brows furrowing in a way that told Clark nothing.

“Clark,” he whispered.

“Hey, B. You okay?” Clark asked, hand rubbing soothingly along Bruce’s outer thigh.

Icy blue eyes narrowed, filling Clark with nerves.

He should pull out-

“Why did you stop?”

Huh?

“Uh…”

Bruce wiggled a bit, making Clark groan involuntarily.

“You're still hard, Kal,” he grumbled. 

Clark couldn't help but smile. Bruce only ever called him Kal when he was annoyed but not so angry that Clark should worry.

“You seemed out of it and I wasn't sure if I was allowed to keep going. Sure was tempted to, though.”

“So do it,” Bruce said simply.

Clark was silent for a moment, watching Bruce.

“Why?”

Bruce froze.

“Why, what?”

Clark’s head tilted.

“Why do you want to be fucked even when you can't tell me to stop?”

Bruce exhaled shakily. “I- I like it, giving pleasure to someone I care deeply for and… I trust you. You would never hurt me like that, Clark.”

Clark closed his eyes, willing away the stinging sensation. It was easier than one would think, Clark knew, to be loved by the Bat. He might not say it outright. Truth be told, Clark didn’t think Bruce had to. It was felt. It simply was. The absence of love was never the issue with those Bruce held dear. No, the issue was that Bruce- Batman, didn't trust anyone. He didn't even trust himself. That was the barrier between B and his family until very recently, members of the League to this day, and everyone else for all time. To have his trust was near impossible.

“I trust you.”

From Bruce, it was worth a thousand “I love you"s.

Clark had no words, the spell cast on him by Bruce prompting him forward. He lifted Bruce up by the arms, hugging his body to his own and weaving a strong hand into his hair, tugging gently and tilting his head back to devour him with a kiss, his free arm wrapping around Bruce’s waist to hold him in place and thrust up into him with a low moan. Bruce gasped sharply into his mouth and let himself be bounced in Clark's lap like a ragdoll.

“So fucking perfect,” Clark whispered as he pulled out of another soul-sucking kiss.

Bruce didn't reply, gasping for air with tears in his eyes and letting himself fall back into that in-between state. This time Clark didn't stop. He came inside Bruce with a breathless laugh, his smile a touch sharper as he came down. He didn't want to overdo it, but he knew he could go all night and Bruce would probably not complain. He didn't exactly feel okay with the level of disregard Bruce had for his own limits, and decided perhaps one more would be alright.

Clark pulled out with a hiss, laying Bruce on the bed, looking down at the mess he'd made as thick come poured out of a now gaping hole. Clark nearly purred at the sight, the mental image of putting a plug there tempting.

He gently flipped Bruce onto his belly, making sure to adjust him comfortably and that his face was turned so he could breathe without issue. He was working quickly so Bruce could stay in his loopy state a bit longer this time around for what Clark had planned.

Never say Superman wasn't capable of a little evil. But it was for the greater good- or rather Bruce’s good and therefore Clark's.

Bruce was laid out on his front as if he might be sleeping peacefully, save for his open eyes glistening and distant.

Clark hovered over him, dropping hot kisses to the scars littering Bruce's back as he sunk back into him, legs straddling him and hands pressing down on his shoulders not too hard but enough that Bruce could feel the pressure and not move.

It was an odd thing for Clark. He knew, objectively that he was powerful, that he could exert his power if only he wished to. But to have someone like Bruce, who was powerful in his own right, give it up to Clark even for just a night… to have Bruce surrender willingly to Clark…

It was exhilarating.

He rocked into Bruce, deep, slow and with enough force to push little throaty moans out of him.

He knew Bruce was coming back to awareness when he felt his ass coming up to meet his hips, balls slapping heavily against his ass.

Clark grinned.

“You feel me, sweetheart?”

“Mmm…”

“Good.”

Clark let his body vibrate, Bruce feeling it from the hands on his back and the powerful legs bracketing his own to the long, thick cock inside of him.

The effected was immediate.

Bruce spasmed, jerking to full awareness with a sharp cry and finding no escape. He couldn't get away and he didn't want to.

“Cla- Ahh! OhOhOhOh-”

Bruce clamped down on Clark impossibly tight, eyes rolling back and drool pooling onto the sheets from how his tongue lolled out of his mouth. He barely felt himself come where his dick was pressed into the mattress, his own body vibrating from Clark’s handling of him.

Clark didn't stop, vibrating through the rough, desperate push and pull of his cock dragging in and out of Bruce, chasing his next orgasm.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

The sounds were obscene and filthy and Clark reveled in it. His lips spread into a wolfish grin as he panted through the mounting pleasure coiling tight in his gut.

“Gonna come, baby-”

Bruce's knuckles turned white gripping the sheets so tightly, lips parted in a continuous wail. He was almost too overstimulated to respond.

Almost.

“Yeeees….yesyesyesyes- come… want your come. Pleasepleaseplease- Nnnnnhg!”

Bruce's body seized as he came dry with a choked scream, sending Clark over the edge.

Clark roared through his orgasm, his final thrusts turning Bruce's jiggling cheeks bright red, riding out the pleasant aftershocks until his hips slowed. It took a moment to stop his body from vibrating. He did so gradually as they both came down, breathing hard and dripping sweat.

Clark pulled out slowly, leaning back and admiring how his spend flowed out of Bruce’s ruined hole. He gave his ass an appreciative slap, humming in approval when Bruce jerked with a low whine.

He leaned back over and turned Bruce over as gently as he could.

“Goodness, look at you,” Clark murmured.

Bruce’s hair was a sweaty mess, skin still flushed and marked up from Clark’s treatment of him. His expression was blissed out and borderline delirious, head lolling and eyes unfocused as he shook and twitched from residual pleasure.

Clark leaned over him, scanning through him once again, a possessive feeling curling in his chest at the liquid white he could see inside of Bruce. 

He lifted his eyes back to Bruce’s face, noting that his lover was looking right at him through a half-lidded stare, awareness creeping back into his gaze.

“You okay, B?”

Bruce gave him a weak nod and a reassuring smile.

“I'm perfect.”

Clark paused, taking in every detail of Bruce’s face.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “you really are.”

Bruce raised a hand to brush his fingers along Clark's cheek, Clark leaning into his touch with a soft hum.

“I love you,” Bruce whispered.

Clark's eyes widened with a soft gasp.

He cradled Bruce’s face in his hands, with a shaky breath.

“Bruce…”

Bruce eyed him earnestly. “You don't have to say it back, Cla-”

Clark shushed him with a kiss, pulling back with a beaming smile.

“I do, though. Love you, I mean,” he replied, sheepish at his own delivery, “I love you so much, B. I’m so in love with you it aches. I ache for you all the time.”

Bruce flushed, unable to hide his face from Clark’s unabashed adoration.

“Geez, Kansas.”

Clark laughed, peppering his face with butterfly kisses.

Bruce allowed it- basked in it, really.

“Say it again.”

Clark gave him a dopey, lopsided grin.

“I love you, Bruce.”

Bruce leaned up to capture him in another kiss, whispering against his lips.

“I love you, Clark.”

He let himself fall back onto the bed, staring up at Clark with a painfully fond expression. 

“I wanna do things for you,” he admitted softly.

“Oh yeah?” Clark asked, arching a curious brow playfully. “Like what?”

Bruce shrugged, “Dates, trips, gifts. I wish you'd let me spoil you.”

Clark frowned, suddenly tense, “Did I ever tell you not to?”

Bruce shook his head, exasperation darkening his face. 

“No, but I don't want to be too much. I know we are… different. And our romantic relationship is still new.”

Clark relaxed his body with a sigh. He couldn't say he didn't understand where Bruce was coming from. Blunt and abrasive though many people found Bruce to be- even the people closest to him, Bruce was careful to the point of paranoia. That was what it meant to be loved by the Batman.

“I didn't know you felt like you couldn't,” he said honestly. He'd honestly wondered why he hadn't done those things yet and he was slightly ashamed that he had, in fact, been prepared to reject most of it, realizing Bruce had accurately determined it would have been a rejection of Bruce's attempts to express his love- a rejection of Bruce himself.

And Bruce had held back in order to not demand Clark change who he was in order to love Bruce.

Clark was struck with such intense admiration for the other man it almost hurt.

“You could spoil me sometimes,” he muttered, ducking his head with a pretty flush that had Bruce smirking up at him.

“Noted. We can talk about how much is too much later. Hopefully over dinner?” He suggested, trying to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice.

Clark sighed, nosing at Bruce’s cheek.

“I'd like that, you know. It's okay to ask me first if you really feel uncertain.”

“Oh. I didn't think of that,” Bruce said.

Clark gasped, feigning shock. 

“The Batman didn't think of something? Call a doctor!”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “You're being mean.”

Clark sobered instantly, eyes apologetic. 

“I-” he cut himself off, the gears in his mind turning, before something clicked, the realization devastating him.

Had Bruce planned this entire night, given his body over to Clark so completely because it was the only way he knew he wouldn't be rejected?

Clark didn't want to believe that. He ran every second of their time together over in his mind from the beginning.

“I didn't even ask if you wanted to have sex.”

B had checked in with Clark. But sex, he knew, was something that was expected and welcomed from Bruce Wayne by others in ways other things about him decidedly weren't. 

“What are you thinking about?” Bruce asked, eyes searching Clark’s face, clearly on guard at the kicked puppy expression that had overcome him- very out of place for the expected postcoital bliss.

Clark, the longtime journalist, struggled to find the words.

“I- I just…”

“Clark?”

“I… am going to run you a bath,” Clark said, deflecting.

Bruce didn't push it.

“Okay,” he said slowly.

Clark vanished, the gust of air taking all of his warmth with him and leaving Bruce cold as he started to regret bringing up his ridiculous desires to Clark. He'd obviously made the other man uncomfortable and ruined the mood. He should've just left it.

He kept his body still as the faint sound of running water registered and couldn't help the single tear that escaped him. 

It had been a perfectly good night and, had he performed the usual cost-benefit analysis that seemed to flee from his usual set of cognitive functions during the afterglow of sex, it could've stayed that way. He always did this- ruin a perfectly good thing the moment he felt a little too comfortable- got a little too selfish with it. Clark was already more than he deserved and-

He grunted as he found himself lifted and wrapped by warm arms in a bridal carry that in any other setting would've had him barking at Clark to put him down immediately. This time, he let himself melt into the contact. 

Leave it to Clark to have to fix Bruce’s mess.

In a blur he was placed gently, yet swiftly into warm soothing water that smelled of lavender.

His back was pressed to Clark’s, the other man running his hands soothingly down Bruce’s muscled thighs. Clark had them reclined against the edge of the large tub, a petty little voice in Bruce’s head wondering if Clark at all found it convenient that the luxurious white tub was large enough to fit both of them with space to spare.

He immediately felt guilty for it. He didn't think less of Clark for being in a remarkably distant tax bracket and he didn't resent Clark for not being impressed by wealth. In fact, it was something he rather appreciated about Clark. He'd found it refreshing as a friend and colleague over their many years of knowing each other.

But as a lover- and a generous one at that…

He felt out of his element when it came to wooing Clark. He tried to remind himself that Clark had chosen to enter a relationship with him knowing that Bruce was in the category of the insanely wealthy. It was less of a comfort when he reasoned that it didn't necessarily mean that he'd been ready for anything to fundamentally change in that aspect just because they were together now.

He felt Clark's chin rest on his shoulder. 

“Why are you thinking so hard?”

Bruce sighed, leaning into the contact.

“I apologize for earlier.”

It was said in the one tone Bruce Wayne and Batman shared, a carefully polite and vaguely corporate performance meant to diffuse any fallout from a perceived social violation. B often did it even- especially when he wasn't even quite sure what he'd done wrong yet. It was more common now that he was settled comfortably in middle age, caring more about if his interpersonal relationships could be salvaged or not.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Clark replied truthfully.

“I killed the mood-”

“You didn't-”

“But I made you upset when I-”

“I'm not upset with you-”

“But you are upset-”

“With myself, Bruce-”

“Because of what I said.”

“Oh, dear…”

Clark had left him alone for five minutes and in that time he gathered that Bruce’s brilliant mind had worked overtime to catastrophize his hasty evasion from their conversation earlier. 

Sometimes, Bruce’s nebulous identity allowed the people around him to perceive him as either cold and harsh- as oftentimes he could be- or as someone largely oblivious- which could also perhaps be true. And those personas allowed him to shield both Batman and Bruce Wayne from too much scrutiny from both colleagues and the public, ensuring his identity remained protected.

The downside was that Bruce was forced to downplay how sensitive his insecurities made him.

Clark kissed his shoulder, holding him snug by the waist, deliberating before he opened his mouth to speak and hoping his words would bring comfort.

“You should never feel bad about vocalizing your desires to me. Even if I don’t know how to react. Even if I do get upset with you- which, I’m not… You should always feel safe to tell me what you do or don’t want, what hurts and what feels good- emotionally and physically. I want to know these things about you as a partner.”

He felt Bruce sag into him, hoping it was out of relief.

“I-,” Bruce cut off, clearly struggling to accept what Clark said. Clark heard him swallow hard before he spoke again. He kept himself quiet, waiting patiently for Bruce to get his thoughts together. “I guess I’m so used to taking care of everyone else and still getting it so very wrong. It’s hard to let myself be selfish with you,” Bruce said at last, keeping his voice void of the raw old hurt simmering beneath the surface.

Clark smiled sadly into Bruce’s skin. “Well, if it helps, you haven’t scared me off and I’m happy you brought it up.”

Bruce frowned to himself. That couldn’t be right.

“But you were upset at what I-”

“Not with you-”

“What’s the difference?” Bruce asked, a touch of frustration bleeding into his tone.

Clark sighed, moving them so he and Bruce could face each other, the soapy bathwater sloshing at their movements. Bruce allowed his manhandling and didn’t complain at being settled into Clark’s lap, especially with Clark’s hands running gently up and down his sides. 

Clark watched him.

Bruce's eyes were sad and tired, yet calculating- years of trial and error catching up with him.

“Why are you so worried?” Clark asked, voice gentle.

Bruce’s jaw clenched, the furrow between his brows deepening. Clark resisted the urge to smooth it away with his fingers.

“How do I fix it?” Bruce asked, so bluntly it shocked a laugh out of Clark.

“Why should you need to fix it, Bruce?”

“You were upset after I brought it up. Why would I not have to fix it?”

Clark shook his head. He knew Bruce was trying to be more mindful about how his words and actions affected others, as not doing so had almost deteriorated his relationship with his kids. He had been there for a lot of it and he was proud of Bruce for putting the work in to salvage those relationships. Lord knew Clark had been on the other end of the more prickly facets of the Dark Knight’s character over the years. What they currently had was the culmination of over a decade of carefully constructed trust and respect- and a lot of Clark’s patience.

So he understood why Bruce’s hypervigilance and self-policing  had shifted toward their relationship.

He also knew mincing his words with the other man would not work. Bruce wasn’t likely to let it go until he understood every detail of the interaction from earlier. Clark gathered his courage, hating that there was no delicate way to flay Bruce open.

“Do you think sex limits your risk of rejection?” He asked, steeling himself for Bruce to provide a logical argument for why it was either not true or Clark was looking too deeply into it.

“Doesn’t it?” Bruce replied instead, unflinching. 

Silence hung between them for a long moment before Bruce spoke again.

“I still don’t understand why this upset you-”

Clark cracked.

“Because, Bruce-”

But Bruce kept going, unable to stop now that Clark had opened Pandora’s box.

“I admit I have… issues, but I’m not so socially inept that I’m unaware of what I can and can’t provide a partner. It’s acceptance that I’m uncertain about and it makes me… uncomfortable. I was trained from childhood to give people what they want to craft lasting bonds. What I want- it… it’s an afterthought. I suppose I am conventionally attractive and sex is usually expected from me anyway-”

Clark made a wounded sound.

“So I learned to make the most of that. It hasn’t always worked out. Some people did hurt me in ways I learned later were not okay and that skewed my perception of loving and being loved for a long time. Made me vicious and paranoid… insecure… and I unfortunately took that out on the ones who mattered most to me,” he added bluntly, as if sexual trauma and allusions to being violated were akin to a goddamn mission report.

Oh, Bruce.

“But I did learn. And once I worked through most of it I wanted more than anything to feel safe during sex if I was going to be having it regularly. And I do feel safe. With you,” he finished, that unnerving stare still fixated on Clark.

Clark wished he could say that he was relieved, but he wasn’t. 

Bruce sighed, sensing that he had perhaps just made things worse again.

“I know I’m not normal,” he grumbled, because that wasn’t the most ironic thing he could've said to an alien with godlike powers. Then again, Bruce had often said that Clark was the most human person he knew- and what did that say about Bruce’s perception of himself?

“It’s not about you being normal,” Clark said, an almost pleading tone in his voice. “I’m not angry either. I’m sad. I’m sad that someone I love thinks the bedroom is the only place I can love them!”

Bruce blinked at him, the pieces finally falling into place into place in his mind as his eyes flashed with recognition.

“Oh.”

Clark sagged back tiredly.

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s not true,” Bruce said firmly, eyes growing more intense at how defeated the invincible man beneath him looked.

Clark’s eyes narrowed.

“Bruce-”

“Do you know how long I’ve been in love with you?”

Clark frowned.  “Well, it’s been nearly a month since we got together and we only just said the words so hopefully a little bit before-”

“The whole time.”

Clark sucked in a breath, his brain screeching to a halt. It wasn’t that Bruce had possibly loved him since they had known each other that made his mind go into a 404 error. He had often wondered throughout the years, through the ups and downs of their separate romances, marriages and divorces, if he and Bruce would ever stop dancing around each other and be more. He had loved Lois with all his heart. He had. Yet even she had acknowledged that she didn’t live alone in the space in Clark’s heart. It wasn’t why they had ended things. Besides, he had told himself it was wishful thinking and it would never, ever happen until-

“I was the one who confessed to wanting to engage in a romantic relationship with you-”

“In those exact words,” Clark said with a wry smile.

Bruce shrugged.

“Alright, not my best work. I could’ve been more romantic about it-”

“We did both almost die right before that,” Clark pointed out, earning an affirmative hum from Bruce.

“That’s not why I said anything. You think I wouldn’t have forced myself to pine in silence for another ten years if I thought better of it? Or if I at all wasn’t sure that you returned my feelings?”

Clark bit his lip, swallowing the lump in his throat, immediately hating the idea that Bruce would’ve kept loving him indefinitely without saying anything when Clark absolutely loved him back.

“I felt safe enough that you wouldn’t reject me then.”

Clark gave him a watery smile, tears gathering in his eyes.

“Only took just over a decade.”

Bruce shrugged. “As I said, I learned during all that time. And I am glad that I waited. I might still question if I deserve you now but I know back then I definitely would have ‘fumbled you’ as the kids would say. We had to love and lose and our friendship was and still is one of the most important things in my life, where I do feel safe to get it wrong and it’s okay because you’re so… you. My insecurities aren't ever about you personally.”

It was the most words Bruce had ever said about his feelings to Clark and he felt honored to bear witness to his vulnerability, that Bruce was allowing himself and Clark this and…

Ah… okay.

The entire night... Bruce being openly submissive during sex, letting Clark take care of him, telling Clark explicitly that he loved him and the tentative mention of his desire to spoil Clark. 

Bruce was still using sex as a safety net for all the things that made him feel less within his element. That wasn’t a question and Clark would make absolutely sure that they worked on that, ideas already floating around his thoughts. But he was also trying to meet Clark where he was in this undeniable shift now that they were partners. 

Clark just wished Bruce didn’t feel like he had to do that at his own expense. 

Clark shifted, sitting up straighter so he could cup Bruce’s cheeks with his hands. “I have also loved you for the whole time.”

Bruce sighed, longsuffering.

 “I know.”

Clark laughed. “You are so-”

“Insufferable?” Bruce offered, a smirk blooming on his face.

“You,” Clark said, “You’re so you. And I love you.”

Bruce leaned down to kiss him. Clark moaned into it, hands sliding down to grab his ass.

“We’re supposed to be getting cleaned up, not making another mess,” Bruce reminded him as he pulled away.

Clark hummed, “Actually the bath was to relax you into talking about your feelings. You’re not the only manipulator in this relationship.”

Bruce arched a brow, “We’re calling aftercare manipulation now?”

“I know I’m not normal,” Clark said in his best Bruce impression.

Bruce squinted at him. “I don’t wanna play anymore. You’re rude.”

Clark lifted them easily, floating a bit to get them out of the tub, letting their feet gently touch the floor. He didn’t let go of Bruce’s waist.

“How about we get cleaned up by taking an actual shower?” he suggested.

“Alright.”

Clark got the shower started with some direction from Bruce and once it was the proper temperature they stepped inside. He really did like a lot of the products Bruce used and the oversized shower and tub were definitely a bonus. He relished the fact that both of their large frames fit together with room to spare.

Bruce was efficient, yet thorough when getting them both clean. But there was one thing he really wanted and he welcomed the “fuck it” that had entered his system after their heart to heart.

He reached for Clark’s hand under the shower spray, Clark eyeing him expectantly with a soft smile.

“Wash my hair?” he whispered, lashes fluttering when he felt two hands silently answer his request, lathering shampoo into his hair and massaging his scalp gently. He let Clark tilt his head back under the gentle water falling from the rain showerhead. He closed his eyes with a sigh of pleasure Clark swallowed with a wet kiss, licking into his mouth hungrily.

“Clark,” he gasped.

Clark said nothing, lifting Bruce up by the waist and moaning when Bruce’s legs locked around him. Bruce was still loose from earlier and Clark planned to bring him to ecstasy one more time tonight.

He pressed him against the nearest shower wall, his already hard cock catching on the rim of his pliant hole. Bruce held onto him as he plunged inside, crying out at being filled suddenly.

“Fuck- Clark!”

Clark set a steady pace, nowhere near as intense as earlier, but enough that Bruce felt the pleasure building as he was raised and lowered onto Clark’s cock.

“Ah.Ah.Ah.Ah!”

He threw his head back, wet hair smacking against the shower wall as Clark bit his shoulder with a low groan, grunting with each forceful thrust into Bruce’s delicious heat.

Clark’s mouth released him, pressing soothing kisses to marked up skin.

“Can’t get enough of you, B,” he panted.

Bruce’s moans dissolved into laughter. 

“G-good. Fuck! H-Hope it stays mmm stays that wayyyy- God! Clark, close…”

Clark kept the same pace, pulling back to watch Bruce’s face.

Bruce’s lips were parted, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, wet hair plastered to his forehead. He opened his eyes to meet Clark’s stare. Clark could see, with his enhanced sight, the clear difference between Bruce’s tears and the shower water.

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

Bruce did.

Clark held him close as he came apart with a choked sob, still fucking into him until Bruce felt his hips still and that now familiar feeling of being filled with Clark’s seed warmed his insides.

They stayed like that until Bruce’s legs stopped shaking.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he sighed into Clark’s neck, making the other man chuckle, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“What a way to go.”

“Hm.”

“We gotta clean up again,” Clark told him.

“Oh no.”

Bruce really did not mind. At all.

They did actually clean up this time and Clark made sure to clear the bed of dirty sheets and replace them with clean ones.

He had also taken the time to grab Bruce some water and some protein bars, which he gratefully accepted, trying not to blush as Clark watched him eat and drink.

They settled into bed just as the sun was peeking over the horizon. It wasn’t a big deal for Clark as he rarely needed much sleep and this was Bruce’s ‘bedtime’ anyway.

He pulled the covers over them and held Bruce close, dropping a kiss to the top of his head, his hair still slightly damp from their shower. He buried his nose there, inhaling Bruce’s scent. He always smelled so good.

He didn’t startle when Bruce threw a leg over his own to press himself closer and bury his face in Clark’s chest. Clark rubbed circles into his back, closing his eyes blissfully.

“Goodnight, B..”

“Hm… love you.”

Clark squeezed him tighter.

“I love you, too.”

They drifted off to sleep as the sunrise filtered golden light through the open balcony.

When Bruce woke next, it was the early afternoon, the harsh sunlight would have been offensive to his eyes had the drapes not been pulled in place to block out the worst of it. 

This was not a normal occurrence. Normally Alfred would have pulled them back abruptly to wake him for the day. He vaguely remembered that Alfred had been ‘given’ (re: begged to take) the weekend off due to-

The bleariness vanished from his eyes immediately as his body tensed at the distinct lack of warmth.

Clark was gone.

He took a steadying breath.

There was no need to jump to conclusions.

Clark loved him. Clark wasn’t mad at him. He had said so and Clark was not a liar.

There were countless reasonable explanations for why he wasn’t in the bed with Bruce after the night they had.

Perry could have called for an emergency interview and Bruce would never sabotage Clark’s career or reputation by asking he stay with Bruce instead.

Lois could have had a situation with Jon or Connor could have needed him and they were doing so well now. Or something may have happened at the farm with his parents… and far be it from Bruce to keep Clark from his own family though he would have gladly woken up and helped how he could. Knowing Clark he would’ve wanted Bruce to sleep in.

It could also have been a Superman situation and heavens knew many of Bruce’s previous romances had not withstood the demands of him being the Batman, always on and never off, disappearing without explanation. 

Of course he understood. How could he not? He simply hated himself for knowing all of that and still letting it sting, venomous sadness coiling snakelike in his gut.

Hypocrite.

He was honestly getting too old for this angsty, insecure crap.

But, God…

He just really wanted this thing with Clark to work out. For love to work out for him for once. It was the entire reason he was so scared to fuck it all up. 

He sighed, eyeing the pillow Clark had used and yanking it to his chest, burying his nose into it, relieved that some of Clark’s sunshine scent had lingered. He rubbed his cheek on the silky fabric, resting his head on it in mimicry of laying on Clark’s solid chest, allowing that comfort to lull him back to sleep.

This was how Clark found him a little bit later, standing in the doorway dressed in jeans and blue flannel, with some of his Ma’s food still freshly warm and packed in tupperware and a thick binder tucked under his arm,courtesy of Alfred, who had come home a few hours after they had fallen asleep, waking Clark with the noise. 

He remembered floating down the stairs to greet the other man in borrowed pajamas he'd hastily thrown on.

“Alfred, I thought you’d still be gone.”

The butler had simply arched a brow with a prim, “Honestly, Master Clark…”

Clark had flushed with embarrassment. Alfred did live there after all.

Clark had paused in thought.

“Actually, Alfred… I’m really glad you’re here. I could really use your help with Bruce.”

The butler’s gaze softened, a gentle smile gracing his face.

“How may I be of assistance?”

They had worked long and hard on their little project- with much embarrassment for Clark- within the time constraints they had and Clark was grateful Bruce had slept through it. Nobody needed more sleep than Bruce, in his humble opinion- though Bruce might disagree. Clark was certain he got more sleep than the Bat and he didn’t even need it.

He had called his mother at some point to let her know he needed some comfort food prepared and had flown to Smallville and back in record time.

He counted himself lucky that he got to see Bruce like this. The sunlight that wasn’t totally blocked out cast a dim glow on Bruce’s bare skin. His silver-streaked black hair was fluffed from sleep. His face was relaxed, mouth open with deep breaths flowing in and out of slightly pouted lips. And he was cuddling Clark’s pillow from the night before.

It took everything in Clark not to whip out his phone and snap a picture. For now, he allowed himself to bask in the moment and commit this image to his memory.

He let himself levitate, feeling more at ease to do so in the manor where the ceilings were high and he was less likely to run into and break anything.

It was liberating in a way, especially since Bruce didn’t seem to mind. Then again, he was likely used to Jon and Kon doing it when they visited with the others. That thought made him smile as he stared down at Bruce- that there was a comfort and deep love between their families such that the revived House of El had a second home at Wayne Manor.

He spun a bit in the air and floated down to sit on the edge of the bed, the feeling of the mattress shifting with the added weight drawing Bruce out of his sleep immediately, one icy blue eye, cracking open crankily.

“Hmm?”

Bruce’s ire was gone in an instant.

“Clark,” he breathed, tossing the pillow and reaching for him. Clark let himself be pulled into bed, quickly placing the tupperware and binder safely on the night table as Bruce pulled himself up to bury his face in his neck. “Where did you go? Are you okay?”

Bruce hadn’t meant to sound as desperate as he did.

Clark cursed himself mentally. Of course Bruce had woken up after he left- only to find him gone. He could’ve left a note on the stupid pillow, he realized.

He pulled back, kissing Bruce’s forehead. 

“Everything is okay. I was doing something… for you.”

Bruce’s head tilted curiously. At least he didn’t appear upset, his questioning seeming to be more out of concern for Clark than the fact that he’d been stupidly left alone the morning after.

God, he felt like such an idiot. He only hoped his little project with Alfred would make up for it.

“For me? What-” Bruce paused, looking at the items on the night table, eyes flashing with recognition at Martha Kent’s tupperware. He also knew the smell of her cherry pie, having been invited to the farm enough times over the years to know her pie from a thousand other pies. He could see some other dishes had been prepared as well.

He smiled fondly at Clark, a fragile soft thing that made the other man weak in the knees.

“Your Ma’ made us dinner?” he teased.

Clark nodded shyly, a deep red blush on his face.

“Yeah. There’s uh… something else I have for you, though.”

Bruce sat up straight. “You didn’t have to get me anything-”

Clark held up a hand to stop him.

“Yes, actually, I did. I needed to do this for you,” he insisted, grabbing the binder and scooting back to present it to Bruce with both hands in offering.

Bruce looked at it blankly, looking back up at Clark, eyes flitting between the item in his hands and Clark’s face more than a few times. Clark was biting his lip from nerves.

Bruce decided to have mercy on him and gingerly took the large binder into his own hands. It was nondescript on the outside. It almost reminded him of how he used to keep his very first case loads when he was still new to being Batman. That thought made him smile as he carefully opened the binder, only for his face to twist in confusion.

“Um… measurements?” he asked slowly, afraid to offend Clark with his lack of enthusiasm as he tried to make sense of what the hell he was supposed to be looking at.

Clark chuckled, his amusement at Bruce’s confusion overruling his previous anxiety.

“My measurements and sizes. You know, for clothes. Just in case,” he clarified.

“Just in case…” Bruce trailed off with a frown as he flipped through the binder since there were more pages. His breath hitched at the second section.

There were pictures of Clark dressed in various fabrics in diverse colors and patterns.

Once Bruce started turning pages he couldn’t stop, sharp eyes scanning each page with borderline computer speed.

There were samples of Clark wearing different accessories, shoes and the like. 

Then there were lists of some of his favorite things, people, foods, music, flowers, the list went on…

Places on a “Dream Vacation” list, which Bruce found most endearing since Clark technically could just fly there. Except, Clark had written down experiences he wanted to have- romantic ones.

Additionally, and this was perhaps the most precious of all, was the list of things Clark absolutely did not like, a clearly defined list of Don’ts to punctuate the lovingly crafted list of Do’s. There was even additional blank areas labelled as “To Be Determined”.

Bruce’s heart rate picked up noticeably. He wasn’t even trying to hide it as he glanced up at the ceiling, feeling tears well up in his eyes, biting his lip as he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“How?” he croaked at last, “Who-”

“Alfred.”

Ah.

He was struck with deep appreciation for everyone in his life. He looked back down at the “How To Spoil Clark” case file in his hands. He clutched it to his chest reverently.

“You like it?” Clark asked, rubbing his palms on his jeans. Bruce still hadn’t said how he felt about it.

Bruce fixed his eyes on Clark and he felt his insides turn to mush at the open adoration on his face. Bruce gently set the binder on the bed and then he found himself with a lap full of still naked Batman.

“You ridiculous, perfect man,” Bruce whispered, throwing his arms around him. “It means the world that you did this just for me.”

Clark’s shoulders sagged in relief.

“Really makes up for the fact that I woke up alone,” Bruce said mock innocently into his ear.

Clark groaned, “Honey, I’m sorry.”

“You could have left a note.”

“I know,” Clark mumbled.

Bruce leaned back, mirth dancing in his eyes.

“You’re messing with me,” Clark droned.

“A little,” Bruce admitted, sobering, “I really did think something happened. Like an emergency.”

Clark kissed him. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

Bruce hummed into the kiss, pulling back with hooded eyes.

“You’re more than forgiven, Kansas. Now, let’s eat before Martha’s food gets cold. I’m sure I’ll be able to feel her judgement from here if she detects we didn’t eat it fresh.”

Clark nodded sagely in agreement. “Ma’ does have a sixth sense for that actually. I thought I was the one with superpowers.”

“I know there’s pie. What else is in there?” Bruce asked, peeking curiously over Clark’s shoulder. Clark bit his lip to hide his laughter at how adorable he found it.

“Some of my childhood favorites,” Clark told him, opening the containers. “There’s some bierocks in here for us, and she also made us some pot roast with potatoes.”

“Smells good,” Bruce said, draping himself over Clark’s back to look at everything.

“Of course it does,” Clark scoffed, “It’s Ma’s!”

Bruce let go of him to get off the bed, walking gracefully toward his walk-in closet, almost catlike in his movements- but not in the way that Selina was cat-like- Bruce more akin to a jaguar, large and powerful in his prowl. He wondered if Bruce was even aware he did it, if it was a conscious act anymore or if it was second nature at this point.

Bruce came out of the closet in soft black pajama pants and a silk red robe, plopping down beside Clark and making grabby hands at the food.

“Feed me,” he ordered.

Clark barked a laugh.

“Alright, B,” he said, grabbing some of the cutlery Alfred had found him for the roast when he’d arrived with the food after Clark had given him his own containers of food. Martha hadn’t wanted the Butler to feel left out and Alfred had kindly accepted with the promise to return all of her tupperware to her in pristine condition.

He put the forks aside and handed Bruce one of the bierocks and watched his reactions as he ate the meat and cabbage-stuffed bread, pleased when Bruce moaned lowly in pleasure at the taste of good food. Bruce finished chewing and swallowed, licking his lips and looking back at Clark. 

“These are tasty,” he praised. He had tried the roast before during holiday dinners but in all the years they had known each other, Clark had never introduced him to the bierock. It was similar to other dishes he had tried but it still had its own distinct flavor.

“I’m glad you like them,” Clark said, starting to eat his own damn near kicking his feet like a little kid at the taste.

“You’re trying to get me nice and plump, aren’t you?” Bruce accused, eyeing him suspiciously yet taking another bite.

Clark nearly choked on his food from laughing.

“What did you say?” he wheezed, recovering quickly.

“You heard me,” Bruce said. “You wanna make me soft.”

Clark stilled, the mental image of a thicker, soft-bellied Bruce stirring something dark and possessive in his gut, dark blue eyes zeroing intently in on the other man.

Bruce’s eyes widened as he chewed awkwardly.

“I was joking but I can see I have now made this a thing-”

“Finish your food.”

“Uh…”

Clark grinned, sharp and predatory. “Please?” he added, sweetly.

“Damn, okay,” Bruce muttered, even licking his fingers clean obscenely just for Clark.

As soon as he was done there was a fork full of meat and potatoes inching toward his face. He opened his mouth, taking in the food slowly before chewing and swallowing with an audible gulp.

“You aren’t gonna feed me the whole time are you?” he asked somewhat nervously.

Clark shook his head. “Nah, but it was very sexy of you to let me do that and I’d like to revisit it later.”

Bruce pressed his thighs together, shifting in his spot.

“Noted.”

They enjoyed the rest of their meal in peaceful silence and Bruce had to admit to himself Clark had fulfilled Bruce’s earlier request to broach the subject of being spoiled with his offhand suggestion of dinner included. 

Clark had proven he could take such good care of Bruce, not because Bruce was some kind of weakling- but because he was safe to be vulnerable if and when he wanted it.

Because as much as he had wanted Clark to let go, he gave Bruce the opportunity to do the same. He could fall and trust that Clark would catch him. 

For Bruce that would've been enough. He would've made it be enough.

Naturally, Clark always gave more than just the bare minimum.

“Clark,” he whispered, nudging the other man gently.

“Hm?”

“I have a thing next week,” he said, staring at the ground, “some fundraising gala for Gotham's art programs. Would you… want to go with me? As my date, I mean.”

“I'd love to,” Clark said, “but…”

“But?”

Clark smiled, roping an arm around Bruce’s shoulder.

“I don't have anything fancy to wear.”

Bruce smirked.

“I can do something about that.”

He really could now.

Couldn't he?

“I'll even pretend to be surprised when I open the box,” Clark quipped.

Bruce laughed, a joyful sound that lit Clark up inside. 

He turned to face Bruce, who was looking at Clark like he'd hung the moon.

“What?” Bruce asked, still smiling softly through the long silence.

Clark shook his head, taking one of Bruce’s hands into his own.

“Nothing… I just… feel really lucky right now… That I get to be with you.”

“Flatterer,” Bruce murmured, humming when Clark’s fingers traced the edge of his robe, slipping it smoothly off his shoulders and exposing his chest.

“This is nothing. I can offer worship worthy of an altar if you let me.”

Bruce pretended to think about it for a moment.

“I'll allow it,” he decided.

Clark pounced, making him land on his back with an ‘oof’, bouncing a bit on the bed with a startled laugh.

Bruce peered up at Clark, who to him was the sun he wanted to orbit until he inevitably turned back into stardust, and made the decision that if this was as good as it was ever going to get…

He was more than okay with that. 

It was enough.

He was enough.

Finally.