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Bruce doesn’t even get the chance to fully wipe the grease from his hands before shoving his gloves and gauntlets on. He was a bit peeved that Clark was working in his city without so much as a hello, which had nothing to do with the Bruce’s devastating crush on the man that made him stupidly desperate to spend time with him, and everything about avoiding emergencies where Bruce would be caught unprepared – or as unprepared as Batman gets – elbow deep in the guts of the Batmobile.
His grievances would have to wait, however. Superman’s emergency line had pinged him with a location in Gotham, and his top priority was making sure he’d get out alive from whatever he got himself into. Trying to scold a corpse is a pretty useless endeavor(most of the time at least, you never know with the kind of life he leads). No other information about the situation had come through, which was usually not a great sign. Kryptonite wasn’t as common in Gotham as it was in Metropolis, but the cities handled their radioactive weapons in vastly different manners.
Growling in frustration at the out of commission Batmobile, he jogged over to one of his lesser-used vehicles that he kept on standby in the cave. Since he didn’t really want to fly the Batplane into the packed residential district he was being directed to, the Batcycle would have to do. He’d carried unconscious people on the bike before, but it wasn’t his favorite, and Clark was heavy when he was asleep. He just hoped the Man of Steel would be the Man of Still Conscious.
It was a quick ride and the street off the alley he hid the bike down was quiet. The whole area was quiet. Most fights that downed Superman involved explosions and mass destruction, huge weapons meant to destroy the indestructible. This was… this was wrong.
The heat vision in his cowl showed two bodies standing in the entryway of the sagging rowhouse he was pinged to. It was easy to tell that they were guards by the way they stood and moved, occasionally peeking through the sheer curtains of the front windows out onto the street. He had no idea how many more were inside, but the clock was ticking.
The guards peeked out the window again, and right after they pulled away, Batman slipped past to the door, dropping one of the sleep gas balls from the tube on his belt into his palm and dropping it through the mail slot. He could hear the faint plink it made against the hardwood of the floor, the confused whispers of the guards lasting barely a minute before he heard them slump to the floor.
Air filter clicked in place, turning his half-mask into an even more terrifying, nearly blank face, Batman eased open the door. He quickly scanned the house for more heat signatures, cowl picking up on sounds too quiet for him to hear alone and pointing out their directions of origin. A set of footsteps was approaching the stairs from a hallway above, likely coming to investigate the small disturbance in the foyer.
He slipped into a shadow, watching from behind the man as he descended the stairs, brandishing his gun before him. Good for him; he was cautious, likely experienced. Experienced enough to reach for a walkie talkie clipped to his belt to signal for backup before even investigating the scene himself. Too bad it still wasn’t enough.
Batman was on him before his hand was even touching the device, wrenching the gun away with one hand and covering the man’s mouth and nose with the other, the small, chemical-soaked towelette tucked between his fingers causing the man to quickly go limp in his hold. He laid the man to the side of the staircase, deftly dissembling his gun, scattering the parts as he walked and tucking the magazine into his belt for safe keeping.
His luck ran out halfway down the hall when a shout from downstairs caused doors around the house to fly open and nearly a dozen men to charge out guns first. The close quarters combat was in Batman’s favor, however, the bright flashes of bullets aimed at the ground startling the men on the opposite side of Batman instead of deterring the man they were aiming for. A quick sweep of legs and scattering of sleep grenades rendered the whole group unconscious without much difficulty. The third and final floor was cleared easily, with only two guards remaining at the door near the end of the hall.
He slid up to the door, listening carefully for any sounds from within and hearing nothing. For the first time, his chest clenched with worry that maybe something was very wrong, or maybe he was too late. A sharp kick just to the side of the door handle sent the door splintering inward, the first bit of genuine lighting spilling out from the small room.
“B, you came!” Clark grinned dopily at him, head lolling as he listed it from his chest.
“Clark, what the hell happened?” Batman was by his side immediately, quickly cutting off the ropes (completely normal ropes, by the looks of it) from where they secured him to a rickety, old chair. “Did they- do they… know?”
“Know what?” Clark giggled, “Oh, you mean”- now free, he leaned forward to stage whisper from a few inches in front of Bruce’s face- “my secret? No, they don’t know.”
“What did they drug you with?”
“Uhm, I think it was a mix of ethanol, midazolam, and amobarbital.” Clark scrunched his face as he thought, not resisting Bruce’s hands as he poked and positioned him, looking for injuries.
“Hmm, a truth serum. Clark, how did they-” Bruce cut himself off as he picked up Clark’s arm. “You were injected?”
“Oh, yeah. They had these guns that shot lasers. Red sun radiation I think,” Clark said thoughtfully before ducking his head in shame. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I was here investigating something smaller for The Planet and it just happened. I didn’t think the guns would hurt so I didn’t dodge as well as I should’ve.”
“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. Let’s just get you out of here, alright?” Bruce sighed.
“You’re not mad?” Clark looked up at him with big eyes.
“Well, maybe a little, but we can talk about that later,” Bruce said as he helped him onto unsteady feet.
“Maybe it was a good thing though. It’d be a lot harder to fake being injected if I was still powered up,” Clark said, leaning heavily on Bruce as he led them through the house and around to the alley where he left the Batcycle.
“Sure,” Batman sighed, letting go of Clark to retrieve the bike from the shadows.
“Where’s the Batmo- oh.” Clark looked in awe at the Batcycle. “We get to ride that?”
“Yep.” Bruce took off his cape and approached Clark with it spread wide in front of him. “You’ll get cold as we ride, so wrap up in this.”
Clark happily tied the cape around his own shoulders, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning at Batman as he ran his hands over the thick, black fabric now covering his arms.
“Do I look scary like you now? It’s okay that you’re a bit scary in your costume. I like it.”
Bruce just grunted, climbing onto the bike and starting the engine with a quiet roar. Not for the first time, Bruce found himself grateful for the cowl and how well it could hide the blush Clark tended to bring to his face with his carelessly thrown-about compliments and praise.
“Hop on, big guy,” Bruce called to him, forcing himself to look away as Clark excitedly hurried over to climb on the bike behind him.
Bruce would get him under some sun lamps once they were back at the cave and he should be good as new. Clark settled on the seat behind him, and he had never dreaded it being so deep in the night before; a little sun would’ve made this whole situation unnecessary. At least Clark didn’t have his super hearing to pick up on the increase in Bruce’s heart rate as he felt his strong arms wrap tightly around his torso, broad chest pressed flush between his shoulder blades.
When Bruce finally launched them forwards and sped back towards the cave, Clark held on impossibly tighter, forcing Bruce to count each breath to stay focused on the task of getting them home alive and unharmed. It only took a few fast blocks for him to feel some sense of false security over his control of the situation.
Clark’s face pressed into his neck as the rougher bits of Gotham’s streets jostled their bodies together. He lifted it up, the tip of his nose lightly tracing the edge of the cowl, right against the bare skin of his face, breath ghosting over his cheek hotly before being stolen away by the wind. Each bump made Bruce more aware of the… situation that was growing behind him. Clark’s breath was coming in quick, warm puffs, quietly heard over the whistle of wind, his body hot and hard against Bruce’s spine.
Bruce had to keep reminding himself that Clark is still very much out of it, likely unaware of his actions and unlikely to remember them later once the drugs were flushed from his system, but it was hard when Clark was spreading his hands over the planes of Bruce’s stomach, trailing them to the sides to grab his hips, up to squeeze at the thick muscle hidden beneath Batman’s armor. He had progressed from just squirming to obviously humping Bruce’s back now, rutting the huge line of himself in a steady, desperate rhythm against Bruce in a way that made him both grateful and hateful of the layers between them.
His gloves creaked with the force he was squeezing the handlebars. Clark was making these high, little noises as he thrusted against Bruce’s back, right into his ear. His own breathing had picked up, the suit growing uncomfortably hot as he grew hard, the protective cup painfully pressing down his erection. He couldn’t help squirm himself, his body seeking any kind of friction, hips shifting forward helplessly before pressing back again.
This ride didn’t feel even half as long on the way to get Clark, but now it seemed to never end. Bruce needed it to end before he made a mistake he would never be able to recover from.
Clark whined, squeezing tighter, hips speeding up in a frantic rhythm. They were mere minutes from the manor now, so close, so close and-
The sound Clark made as his body locked up in pleasure shot a bolt of heat straight to Bruce’s crotch, a strangled groan forcing its way past his clenched jaw. He probably would’ve tumbled over that edge himself if it weren’t for the near chastity-cage-like construction of his suit. He should’ve been more embarrassed that all it took to get him there was being humped by his crush like an animal in heat, but he couldn’t find the energy to even think about that.
Breathless, as the bike skids to a halt in the cave, Bruce thanked the stars for somehow having them get home without crashing. Clark was a heavy weight against his back, slumped in a languid, post-orgasm haze, and Bruce worried that he was going to tip off the bike as it tilted, but Clark’s arms were secure around his waist. He was glad that he didn’t have to deal with a pile of Kryptonian toppled onto the floor, but the loose embrace was making his heart race embarrassingly fast. His mind kept throwing thoughts of what this could be like under different circumstances to the front of his mind, using the newly acquired collection of feelings and sounds he got from Clark on their trip over to supplement the somewhat familiar fantasies.
He could feel himself throbbing in his cup and wrestled himself and Clark off the bike as quickly as his wound up body would allow, which is to say, not with much speed or finesse. Clark was just so damn grabby! He was able to settle Clark with his arm thrown over his shoulder and his own around his back to hold him close.
His panting was at least partly due to physical exertion by the time he managed to get Clark into the cave’s bedroom – a small place he installed to make long nights a bit more comfortable. He had to dodge Clark’s grabby hands as he dragged him into the ensuite and set him on the floor of the shower, careful not to let him tip to the side and bang his head on the tile.
“Clark, let me help you clean up, you’re all-” Bruce cut himself off.
He had hardly thought about it when he took Clark to the bathroom to clean him up; it seemed like the most logical thing to do, something practically habitual for him. Clark tried to grab Bruce again when he moved to take off his shoes, the man whining like a toddler each time he missed. It was baffling to witness, quite frankly.
“Do you want to do it yourself?” Bruce asked and felt himself grimace at how reminiscent his tone was to the one you’d use to talk to a misbehaving child.
“No.” Clark stilled, watching quietly and behaving himself now as Bruce began to strip off his layers.
He got off Clark’s shoes and socks, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.
What was he doing? What the hell was he doing? He was about to- to wash his best friend who just humped to completion on Bruce’s back. He shouldn’t- he couldn’t-
“Actually, Clark, could you work on the rest of your clothes for me so I can go grab you a spare set?” Bruce stood stiffly, taking a step back. Clark looked up at him with big, sad eyes.
“But I want you to-”
“Be a good boy for me and get undressed, okay?” Bruce said, feeling like a man possessed.
But it worked. A warm flush rose to Clark’s face, and he nodded, his own hands clumsily moving for his belt, eager – very eager – to please. It wasn’t all too surprising that Clark would like that. To be praised, to be someone’s good-
No. No no no. He tore his eyes away from Clark’s damp crotch, from watching the way he tucked his thumbs into his waistband to shimmy out of his rumpled, sticky clothes. He took his time getting out the clean, new clothes for him to wear – soft boxers and an old shirt that was big on Bruce, but would fit Clark just right. He set them on the bathroom counter when he went back, carefully avoiding looking at where Clark sat naked where Bruce left him, soiled clothes tossed carelessly across the floor.
He continued to not look when he grabbed the shower head from its holder, pointing it away from Clark until he got the temperature to something nice and warm. He didn’t look when he carefully moved the spray to be where his best (well informed) guess at where the mess would be on Clark’s body. He kept his eyes off Clark as much as possible when patting him dry with a towel, carefully heaving his now sleepy form from the floor and handing him the underwear first to put on by himself. He even tried not to look as he walked Clark to the bed, settling him against the pillows and pulling up the blankets to his chest.
“Wait! You’re not staying?” Clark asked when Bruce had decided he was satisfied with his work and began heading for the door.
“I’ve got more work to do,” Bruce said, biting down on the pet names he so badly wanted to tack on to the end of his sentence.
“Will you stay until I fall asleep at least?”
Bruce should say no. He should say he’d just be in the other room and Clark could fall asleep fine on his own, but he didn’t have the heart for it.
“Alright, just let me grab a chair-”
“You can just lay here.” Clark patted the bed beside him. “There’s enough room.”
He should really go.
“Okay.”
He had no idea why he said okay. It was not okay. He was so far from okay. He laid in the bed next to Clark.
He took a deep breath, then another, willing the uncomfortable heat that had been swirling in his stomach for far too long at this point to go away. He could feel his heart rate slowing, his body cooling – and then he felt the weight next to him shift. An arm was thrown across his chest, half his body getting pressed down by half of Clark’s as he rolled to lay on top of him, a leg slotting between his own.
In an instant, all of Bruce’s hard work was undone. Clark nuzzled happily into his new spot, humming with content. He wiggled against Bruce, shifting into whatever he deemed to be the most comfortable pose, sliding against Bruce’s body, between his legs. Bruce did his best to hold still, to wait until Clark’s breath grew deep and slow, warm against his neck, body soft and heavy against him. He was never more grateful for all the stealth training he has done than now as he slowly extracted himself from Clark’s cuddling and crept out of the room.
He ascended the stairs to the manor in record time after shucking off the majority of his suit, panting heavily as he wrestled with his undersuit. The fabric was overstimulating against his throbbing cock, and he sighed in relief as he finally freed himself from the fabric, taking himself in hand beneath the steaming hot sprays of his shower. In this moment of weakness, he let the memories of Clark’s small sounds, the feel of his body moving against his back, seep into the front of his mind. Would he be that loud, that desperate in bed? What would he sound like as Bruce sunk down on him? Would he let his mouth hang open as he groaned or would he bite on those plush, pink lips to try and keep those sounds in? What did his face look like? Did he keep those wondrous, blue eyes open, watching Bruce’s body, how their bodies fit together, or did his eyes screw shut against the pleasure, brows furrowed as he chased his climax?
With a choked moan, Bruce spilled over his hand, fingers spasming against his oversensitive dick as he tried to work himself through it, but recoiling with each twitch of sensation. His body trembled, knees shaking, fighting to stay straight as he slumped against the cool tile of the shower wall before sliding down to the floor.
Any other shower would’ve run cold ages before Bruce lifted his head from where he held it in his hands, guilt still boring through his bones as he dragged himself into bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Clark woke up feeling perfectly pleasant, body heavy in what felt like an actual cloud of a bed. It would’ve been more confusing if he wasn’t so darned comfy. Especially since the last thing he clearly remembered was being in hell of a lot of pain, catching a blast from some gun to his chest and the wind leaving him as he actually felt it.
It had taken him by surprise, knocking him to the ground. That was all it took for the gang to get the upper hand on him. His body had felt so heavy that he couldn’t have flown himself away even if he could make it feasible. As they dragged him away into the house he’d been staking out he internally bemoaned what felt like what was going to become the death of Clark Kent. It would have to happen eventually, but why now and like this?
Or maybe he really was dead, not just as Clark but as Kal, as Superman. It would explain the lack of aches and pains, the warmth and comfort he found himself mysteriously floating in. Maybe he hadn’t managed to signal for Batman to get him, or maybe B got there after it was too late.
His brows furrowed as the memory of ringing shots in the distance began to form in his mind, the sounds of a fight growing nearer yet quieter as the amount of participants dropped one by one. He had been relieved when he saw a dark shadow slip through the doorway. Relieved and excited. Excited to see those black gloves reaching for him, touching him with so much care and gentleness, wrapping around him and holding him tight. But not tight enough. He wanted – needed – more.
He remembered the want, the heat of it that matched so perfectly with the heat pressing against his front. The ride was bumpy, the rumble of the bike and the vibration of wheels over rough Gotham roads had shifted him closer, made him tingly and twitchy against Batman’s back. He had- he couldn’t stop himself- saw no reason to stop himself from chasing that need- that desire. Batman smelled so good, felt so good, so solid and firm against him, not pulling away-
Fuck.
Clark felt sick as the memories of the night grew clearer and clearer in his mind, the memories of Bruce’s smell, his body, consuming all of Clark’s muddled senses as he shook with his release. He was hard, remembering the grabbing, the begging as Bruce dealt so patiently with him after- after he-
Bruce wouldn’t even look at him.
Clark felt something terrible begin to well up in his chest, fingers twisting themselves in the blankets as he curled in on himself – Bruce’s blankets, Bruce’s spare bed, Bruce’s-
“Clark, are you alright?” A familiar voice and gentle touch on his tense shoulder yanked him from the precipice of his spiral.
“What?” He croaked as he rolled onto his back, looking over to see- Bruce.
“Are you in pain? What’s hurting?” Bruce was scanning him over, hands already grabbing the blankets to pull them away so he could look at Clark’s body.
His mind finally snapped into action, grabbing the blankets and tugging them back up before Bruce would be able to notice anything funny going on below the belt.
“I’m fine! I’m just- I was-” Clark felt the words catch in his throat as he looked up at Bruce, his steel blue eyes, alert and assessing, focused solely on Clark, on his well being. Guilt tore through him as he thought about how after all that he did, Bruce would still put up with him, put his concern for others above his own comfort.
“Bruce, I- I’m so sorry.” Bruce stared at him, and Clark couldn’t stop the words that welled up within him. “I’m sorry for last night, for- for what I did. I shouldn’t have done that. Not to you, not when you were helping, not when I had called you in to help. I understand if you can’t forgive me. I’ll leave and-”
“Clark.” Bruce silenced him with a single, firm snap of his name. His voice was softer but still serious when he continued. “Kal, it’s okay. There’s nothing for me to forgive.”
“But I-”
“You’re okay, and I’m okay.” Bruce looked at him with that firm set in his eyes that he got when he was stating something not meant to be argued with, something he had declared final. “I see nothing wrong here.”
We are not talking about what happened now or ever. Forget it.
Clark bites the inside of his cheek, watching Bruce closely for any cracks in his composure. There were none.
“Okay. Thank you, then, for helping me,” he sighed.
Bruce grunted, which was as much acknowledgement as Clark knew he’d get on the matter, before grabbing a tray that he must’ve set on the bed-stand when he saw Clark curled up under the sheets and assumed something was wrong. The guilt hadn’t gone away, and as Bruce set up a full breakfast in front of him, he wasn’t sure it’d ever be gone.
~~~
If anything, the guilt eating Clark from the inside out only got worse. Bruce hadn’t reached out since Clark left the cave for anything. To be fair, Clark hadn’t reached out either, but he felt like it was Bruce’s turn to do so. Clark was trying to let Bruce dictate the boundaries between them since he- Since Bruce was the one who was wronged. He had hoped that the boundary wasn’t… this. This being never seeing each other again. He missed just popping by the cave, Bruce setting up his laptop near wherever Clark was working in the watchtower, trips to the fortress archives or late nights in the library at the manor.
He missed his friend. It had only been two weeks, sure, but Clark didn’t even realize how much space Bruce took up in his life until it was left empty. He never meant to acknowledge his feelings for Bruce, not to himself if he could, and definitely not to him. He valued their friendship far too much to risk it by confessing to his selfish desires. It seemed that he didn’t need to confess to ruin everything anyway.
It didn’t help either that at least half of his nights recently had been spent tossing and turning, trying to escape the memories of that night, of his mistake. Most mornings started with a cold shower after he’d woken up, hot, hard, and panting in his bed, hips tight from clumsy rutting and mind foggy with the lingering thoughts of black leather over firm muscle, the smell of metal and sweat over expensive cologne. It was weird how he felt almost proud that he never gave in, got off to thoughts of Bruce since that night. He told himself it was because he was maintaining a boundary, the one Bruce clearly set.
At least work had been helping. The hustle and bustle of the Planet, Lois ranting about one thing or another while dropping off a cup of shitty office coffee on his desk, Jimmy nearly dropping a swollen folder of photos all over the bullpen floor – it made it easy to smile again, to forget about what happened for a moment. Of course, as soon as his apartment door clicked closed behind him, it all came rushing back. He was settling down for another night of moping over the peaks of the city skyscrapers when he heard a ping from his communicator that had him leaping across the room.
It wasn’t exactly the kind of reaching out Clark was hoping for, but Bruce had called for Clark, for his help, and he would never say no to that. He’d never say no to anything Bruce asked of him. In seconds, he was in his suit and flying to the coordinates Bruce had sent to him. It was somewhere in Metropolis, which meant it was likely Wayne Business rather than Bat Business, although Bruce had a talent that involved making the two overlap quite heavily from time to time.
He was never sure what to expect when Bruce called him like this, so he tried to be prepared for anything, so when he spotted Bruce alone on the roof of one of Lex’s buildings, swaying gently, relaxed with his face turned to the dimming sky, he was only slightly concerned. He heard banging on the roof access door from the inside, a broken piece of metal pipe wedged beneath the handle to keep it shut, but with how many sets of steps were thundering up the stairs, who knew how long it would last. A quick scan of Bruce’s body showed elevated heart rate and elevated temperature. He looked flushed, weirdly lax in his unusually rumpled suit. Was he… drunk?
“Mr. Wayne, are you alright?” Clark touched down a few feet away, resisting the urge to reach forward and take his face in his hands.
“I’m fantastic now that you’re here.” Bruce smiled at him lazily. “Take me home, please?”
Clark blinked at him, jaw dropped open slightly in surprise as Bruce held out his arms as if to hug Clark, waiting expectantly to be swooped up and across the bay. Something was definitely wrong, but he could hear the groan of the door about to give and knew his time here was up. He took Bruce in his arms, wrapping them securely around the man's waist as he tried his best to ignore how the way Bruce threw his own around Clark’s neck made him feel.
Bruce was warm in Clark’s arms, and he kept letting out these little sighs that cut cleanly through the rush of the wind. It wasn’t overly cold, but at this altitude with the wind it could get a bit nippy, so Clark tried his best to ignore the way Bruce squirmed in his arms as if he was trying to get closer, to burrow into his suit, reminding himself that it was only because of the weather. He carefully used one arm to grab the edge of his cape and pull it forward around himself, hopefully covering Bruce from the wind.
That only made it worse, however. Bruce hummed in content as he was wrapped in Clark’s cape, but the squirming didn’t stop. He nuzzled his face into the crook of Clark’s neck, right above where the suit ends and his skin began, rubbing the flushed skin of his face against him. Clark bit his lip, kept his eyes focused on the smoggy haze of Gotham not too far off now, ignored the way Bruce’s body felt pressed against him. He couldn’t do this again, let his body get ahead of his thoughts and betray his friend’s trust. He couldn’t-
Bruce’s squirming, in an instant, became much more methodical, the slight twist of his torso angling their bodies together so that Bruce could press against the swell of his thigh right where it attached to the hip, his own thigh slotting between Clark’s. With what little leverage he had, Bruce rolled his hips against Clark, rutting against him, rubbing Clark’s slowly swelling dick through his suit. Bruce’s breath was hot on his neck, damp on his skin as he mouthed over it, panting and grunting with the effort it took to hump against him like this.
He could smell Bruce’s arousal, how it grew in intensity as Bruce squeezed tighter against him, hips moving in small, quick twitches. His own suit was getting uncomfortable, cock leaking and making the fabric damp and sticky, harsh against the sensitive skin. A scrape of Bruce’s teeth had him choke off a gasp and he flew a little more quickly, pointing a little more directly at the manor. He could feel the hot line of Bruce against him, smell the heat and musk of him building beneath the wrap of his cape.
Bruce stumbled with the speed at which Clark extracted himself from his clinging limbs onto the balcony of Bruce’s room. He tried not to look at Bruce as he fumbled with the door handle, heart pounding hard beneath his ribs, cock throbbing in his pants as he realized that he is going into Bruce’s bedroom right now with a very horny and worked up Bruce Wayne. He finally managed to get inside, turning around to make sure Bruce was following and freezing at the sight of the man before him.
Bruce had taken off his suit jacket, leaving it on the floor to get just as rumpled as the half unbuttoned shirt he still wore. His eyes were dark, focused solely on Clark, face flushed and red lips parted, shiny with spit. His hair was messy, damp with sweat and moisture from their flight over the bay. Bruce’s eyes swept down his body, lingering around what Clark knew was a very obvious bulge in his suit, before slowly trailing their way back up.
He braced himself for Bruce’s rage, his disgust, a dismissal. He expected Bruce to be upset, to yell or snap, growl at him to get out and never come back, to swing at him or- or-
A hand pressed hard against his erection and he nearly crumpled in on himself at the contact, choking on his groan as surprise made his arm shoot out and push Bruce back. This close, Clark could smell the want radiating from Bruce’s body as he stood there quietly, looking at him with a blank, vaguely intrigued face.
“Bruce, I- what’s going on?” Clark took a step back, equally disappointed and relieved that Bruce didn’t follow.
“What do you think?” Bruce’s voice was rough. Clark wanted to hear just how rough it could get.
“I think that you’re drunk-”
“Drugged.” Bruce held up a finger, interrupting.
“That’s worse, actually.” Clark felt himself fraying. “Do you not see how that’s worse?”
“Not really.” Bruce shrugged.
“Right.”
The silence made his skin itch. This wasn’t- he wasn’t- Bruce had taken care of him last time, and now it was his turn to do that same. He could do it. He could respect Bruce’s sober boundaries and help him.
“You should take a decontamination shower and try to sleep this off. Can this be slept off? What happened?”
Bruce huffed, crossing his arms, annoyed at the change in conversation it seemed.
“Lex got something in me. I’m not sure how, it’s been a bit hard to think about it. By the time I noticed something was going on, the effects were in full swing. I’m lucky I made it to the roof before any of his people caught me. I was even luckier to have you as my ride home.”
“Luthor drugged you as Bruce Wayne?” Clark balked at him, ignoring the flirtations.
“Even a lackadaisical CEO knows something worth hiding about his company, and LuthorCorp has been in quite a standoff with Wayne Enterprises over some property developments on the bay.”
“Rao, I’ve never wanted to use his shiny bald head as a bowling ball more in my life,” Clark growled under his breath.
“I’m sure Mr. Clark Kent will find a way to drag his reputation soon enough. Don’t you have better things to be doing right now, though?”
“I- what?”
“You wanted me to get ready for bed. Why don’t you help and take this suit off for me?” Bruce purred, stepping closer as Clark stepped back.
“Mr. Wayne-”
“You absolutely do not need to call me that, Kal.”
“Bruce.” Clark started again, back now pressed against the wall as Bruce stalked towards him.
“Don’t you want to help?” Bruce teased, a dark look in his eyes.
“I-” Clark felt panicked, stomach churning with a mixture of desire and guilt. “I will help.”
“Good-”
“And then I will go to the guest room and wait until morning to make sure you are alright, and then I will leave.”
“Oh.” Bruce’s face turned down in disappointment. “Fine.”
It was only slightly easier to help Bruce undress now that he wasn’t actively coming onto Clark. He still had to work hard to not let his eyes linger on the bare skin of his chest before he got a sleep shirt pulled over it, to not pause when he had to crouch to tug down the clean lines of Bruce’s slacks for him to step out of, face level with his crotch. It was hard to tuck him into his bed and stay resolute in his determination to not crawl in beside him after having been asked to do so all night. But he did it. It was done.
“Clark?” Bruce’s voice was quiet, drawing his eyes down to the man’s face at last, just before he had been able to escape unscathed to the hall.
“Yeah, B?”
“Do you like me?” The sound of him so small, so nervous, made Clark’s heart squeeze painfully in his chest. He wasn’t sure if this was something they should talk about now, in this situation, but he couldn’t let Bruce think that he’d done something wrong, that he was unwanted or unlikable.
“Yeah, you’re my best friend, Bruce.”
“No, I mean- do you like me? Do you want me?”
Bruce was looking up at him with open eyes, wide and vulnerable, wavering between fear and hope. It wasn’t a good idea. He shouldn’t have done it, but it seemed like the only logical thing to do at the time, even though he was sure that the guilt already festering inside him would be made into a permanent feature for as long as he lived.
He bent forward and kissed him; it was just a gentle press of his lips over Bruce’s, but in that small pause, Clark knew he’d never be able to forget how their mouths were able to slot against each other, how soft Bruce’s lips were, warm against his own.
“You’re my best friend, and I do like you,” Clark whispered as he let himself hover just inches from Bruce for a second more.
“Then why go?” Bruce asked, but Clark just smiled and turned away, closing the bedroom door behind him.
~~~
While he didn’t serve Bruce breakfast in bed, he did still make sure to have coffee ready by the time Bruce made his way down to the kitchen. Clark had spent a lot of time last night thinking about what he was going to do; part of him wanted to leave immediately, leave Bruce to Alfred and continue on like nothing ever happened, just like last time. Because that was so sustainable. The option was set aside for further consideration while other routes were considered.
The longer he had laid in the dark silence of one of the manor's many empty rooms, the more he began to feel some kind of bravery grow within him. He stopped thinking about what he was going to do and looked at the things Bruce had done, cataloging them, sorting them each into little mental bins. The more he sorted, the more he began to think – to hope – that Bruce might actually return his feelings. The drug Bruce had been affected by last night wasn’t the type to make you horny in general, just honest. And Bruce was honestly horny for Clark.
He decided to stay in the end, and not just to check on Bruce, but to talk to him.
“Clark.” Bruce’s voice was rough from sleep, the barest hint of surprise noticeable to trained ears. “I thought you would have left already.”
“I said I wanted to make sure you were okay before heading out. I hope I’m not overstaying my welcome?” Clark smiled lightly as he slid a fresh mug of coffee across the kitchen island for Bruce, who took it readily, slouching onto one of the bar stools.
“You’re always welcome to stay in the manor for as long as you need, you know that,” Bruce grumbled, sipping his coffee and staring blankly at the wall across from where he sat.
It always amused Clark to be reminded of just how much of a morning person Bruce absolutely was not. You had to practically wrestle that man into bed and then drag him out of it after. He was shoved under the comforter all sharp edged and snappy and then emerged soft and slow, all his corners rounded out. He would slink through the house looking rumpled and warm, eyes half closed and hair pointing in every direction until he had at least one full cup of coffee. It made Clark’s heart ache to think that he was one of the few people on Earth to ever get to see Bruce like this – soft and vulnerable.
“Great, because there is something I wanted to talk to you about.” Bruce immediately grew tense. “After last night I did a lot of thinking.”
“I see.” Bruce set down his coffee but kept the mug clutched tightly in his hands. Clark watched in real time as Bruce’s posture and face went blank, wall after wall slamming up and into place firmly over anything he was feeling inside.
“There is no need to have this conversation. I understand the results of my actions and will cease to contact you outside of what is strictly necessary for our work. Thank you for the coffee, feel free to stay and help yourself to the kitchen for as long as you’d like.” Bruce’s voice was the same calm and clinical as always when he was like this, when he was trying to escape the room with minimal casualties as quickly as possible.
“Bruce, sit back down,” Clark snapped just as Bruce had risen from his chair.
Icy blue eyes locked to meet his for a moment as he stood frozen, holding Clark’s gaze as he slowly sat back down. The slight increase in heart rate was the only thing betraying his collected composure. He was scared.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap,” Clark said, “I just think it’s important for us to discuss this. We shouldn’t have brushed it off the first time, and we will not be doing the same now.”
“I don’t see how last time has anything to do with this.”
“It has everything to do with this.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you were drugged and not thinking clearly and I was not upset by your actions, so neither of us needed to disservice ourselves by lingering on an uncomfortable situation. This time was different. You’re smart; I’m sure you figured out all the ways my drugging was different from yours.” Bruce had lowered his eyes to the table. He was cracking.
“I don’t think they’re all that different, really,” Clark goaded. He wasn’t sure why he was taking such a roundabout, almost cruel approach, but he wanted to hear it from Bruce first. A confession of his own was not only nerve wracking, but unlikely to get them anywhere. A confession from Bruce meant that he had to find something other than the reality of their feelings to argue in order to get out of this.
Bruce scoffed, “Of course they’re different. Are you-”
“Tell me how they’re different,” Clark demanded and Bruce snapped his jaw shut, staring at him with confliction.
“You’re really going to make me spell it all out for you?” Clark’s silence was enough of an answer for Bruce to let out a shaky breath and continue. “You aren’t used to being drugged while at human levels of power. You were practically high out of your mind and unable to account for your own behavior. Sure, they were both truth serums, but I should have better tolerance. I could’ve done other things than call you, but I wanted to. I wanted you to be there, and I wanted to act on my- my attraction,” Bruce hissed out the last word like it was a curse. “I coerced you into undressing me, into kissing me.”
“You’re attracted to me,” Clark repeated, slightly in awe of how Bruce was able to skew his perception of the situation so drastically.
“Jesus- yes, now are you done with your sadistic-”
“In what ways?” Clark cut him off again. “In what ways are you attracted to me?”
Bruce glowered at him, body fighting to not curl in on itself, face starting to flush with shame.
“Sexually,” Bruce gritted out and Clark waited, seeing that Bruce’s mind was still working. “Romantically.”
It was the answer Clark had been hoping for, the one he had been dreaming of hearing for many years since they had first met, and even then, it made his mind grind to a halt. Some part of him had expected Bruce to weasel out of this anyway, but here he was, admitting to liking Clark romantically.
“You were never supposed to find out,” Bruce spoke quietly from where he clutched his mug on the counter. “I was happy just being friends, I could live with that. I can still live with that, but- but I can learn to live without it too. Can I go now? I think this has been humiliating enough.”
“No, wait- I’m sorry,” Clark blurted out, reaching for Bruce over the counter but freezing when he flinched. “I- You- Do you think you could learn to live with more than that, too? With more than being just friends?”
“Clark, what are you saying?” Bruce’s face went stony as he stared Clark down.
“Bruce, I’m attracted to you, too. Sexually. Romantically.”
Clark felt his heart thundering beneath his ribs as he waited for Bruce to respond.
“It’s a bad idea. It could distract us at work,” Bruce whispered.
“We’re adults, we can be professional.”
“Missions, too. An extra liability-”
“Is it not already?”
“I’m not good. Look at just these past few weeks. I’m mean, stubborn, arrogant, presumptuous, paranoid-”
“I’ve known you for years, Bruce. I know what I’d be getting into.”
Finally Bruce was silent. Clark used the opportunity to walk around the island, spinning Bruce’s stool so that he was facing him. With the gentle nudge of his finger, Clark made Bruce look up at him, his face still flushed and eyes glassy. He was so close to Bruce, the smell of him, the heat of him drawing him in. It would only take a slight shift forward to bring their mouths together, to pull Bruce towards him and feel the strong line of him against his body.
“I really am no good, Clark. Relationships… I’m bad at them. You deserve someone better than me.” Bruce’s last line of defense was put up, but Clark was ready to knock it down.
“Don’t you think I should get to decide what’s best for me?” Clark kept his voice soft, stomach twisting as Bruce let his eyes drop, lips quirking into a frown. “Bruce, look at me. No one is better than you.”
He didn’t give Bruce a chance to respond, closing the distance between them at last, relishing again in the feel of Bruce’s lips against him that he had been increasingly desperate for since last night. The feel of Bruce wasn’t enough, he needed to taste, to hear his heart pick up and breathing lose control. A swipe of his tongue against the seam of Bruce’s lips had them parting, Bruce sighing, hands moving to clutch loosely at Clark’s shirt at his sides. Clark groaned at the press of Bruce’s tongue against his own, the taste of him, and the sound urged him to tilt his head to deepen the kiss.
Bruce was panting when they pulled apart at last, eyes blown with lust, face and body flushed with heat. Clark needed more of it, needed to draw more of Bruce’s little noises, hear the catches of his breath, feel the wet warmth of his mouth pressed against his own. He dove back in with invigorated passion, new determination to draw from Bruce everything that he was able to give.
Bruce groaned, hands beginning to explore more freely now, fingertips slipping under the edge of Clark’s shirt, sliding across his neck to twist in the short curls at the base of his skull. Clark slid his hands down Bruce’s back, noticing the arch of it and deciding with sudden certainty that he needed to feel the arch against him. It was easy to tug Bruce up from the stool and pull them flush, spinning them so the cool countertop pressed in a line against Clark’s back. Pressed together like this, Clark grew aware of his own hard cock straining in his pants, the heat of his body sweltering under each layer of fabric.
He didn’t need to feel or see Bruce’s erection to know it was there, instead able to smell the arousal wafting from his body in steady waves, the heady scent of precum growing stronger in the air. His hands roamed to Bruce’s ass, gripping onto the thick flesh to tug him forward, Bruce’s hot, hard cock straining against Clark’s thigh as it was given more friction and pressure to rut against.
Bruce groaned, ass flexing in Clark’s grip as he was manhandled to rut against the mound of Clark’s thigh. Clark took the opportunity in the break of their kiss to slide his lips across Bruce’s jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin below his ear as Bruce bared his neck. He worked his lips and teeth over the skin there, leaving a trail of flushed skin in his wake, savoring each choked gasp and groan Bruce let out as he shifted his hips insistently against Clark. Bruce’s hip was pressed against his own arousal with each thrust forward, a consistent tease of sensation but not enough pressure for progress.
As Clark’s hands continued to explore, gliding over strong shoulders, across his pecs and ridges of the muscles in his stomach, coming back around to his ass and down to his taught thighs, their rutting grew more desperate, damp clothes sticking in a way that was beginning to feel uncomfortable.
“Bruce,” Clark groaned, mouthing along the skin of his neck. “Bruce.”
“Mm,” Bruce acknowledged, hardly slowing in his pace.
“Should we- ah, move this to- a- a bedroom?” Clark got out between pants and groans.
“Feeling worked up?” Bruce huffed, a teasing smile on his lips. “I think I like you right here, just like this.”
“Bruce, please-” Clark whined at a particularly sinful roll of Bruce’s hips against his own.
“Shh, just let me take care of it,” Bruce whispered against the shell of his ear, nipping at it as his hands moved to the waistband of Clark’s pants.
Clark groaned, desperate, so hot and needy for more. He wanted – needed – more, more of Bruce, his mouth, his skin, his sounds and taste. His mind was hazy with lust, and the feeling of the cool kitchen air against his cock as it sprung free from his shucked-down trousers made him shudder. Bruce shoved his own pants down and Clark was enraptured by Bruce’s thick, swollen cock now bobbing in the air, tip slick with precum, the smell of it overwhelming, making Clark’s mouth water.
Bruce took the hem of his shirt between his teeth, holding just the front of it off his stomach and part of his chest, sliding one hand up Clark’s own stomach, exposing the warm skin beneath as he let his hand settle and squeeze over one of Clark’s pecs. The graze of a thumb over his nipple made him gasp, hips jerking, and Bruce fixed him with a devious look that spoke promises of later. Bruce pressed his hips close again, groaning past the dampening shirt in his teeth as the hot lengths of their cocks pressed together, his other hand sliding between their bodies to wrap around them the best it could. Bruce pressed closer, letting his arm slide from Clark’s chest to wrap around his back to pull them tightly together, bellies a soft and warm compression on either side of their leaking cocks.
Clark moaned loudly as Bruce began to move his hand, hips twitching forward in time with each stroke, hands going again to Bruce’s ass to drag him up and against him, hard and fast. Pressed together like this, wet and desperate, they both approached the edge of their pleasure rapidly, Bruce’s pants and groans taking a high pitched undertone as he nuzzled his face into Clark’s neck, Clark himself growling with his desire to come. He only paused in his frantic humping when he felt Bruce’s body lock up against him, felt a splash of something warm and wet on his stomach as Bruce shudders against him, hand jerkily milking each last drop from his pulsing cock.
He let Bruce slide down his body, slumped against him as he caught his breath, tipping their bodies apart so they could see the mess they made between them. Clark reached for it, the musky scent of Bruce’s cum filling his sinuses in a way that made his head feel fuzzy, letting a finger drag through the warm release before bringing it to his lip, licking it off with careful, curious kitten-licks. Bruce watched him with wide, hungry eyes, breath stuttering only for a moment before he was chasing the taste of himself in Clark’s mouth, hand returning to the warm place between them and wrapping harshly around Clark’s weeping dick, stroking with vigor that was almost cruel, but perfect for Clark.
He cried out into Bruce’s mouth, inadvertently opening it wide for Bruce’s tongue to delve into, and he jerked hot in Bruce’s hand, throbbing. It was seconds before Clark gasped, shaking as he spilled over Bruce’s fist, whimpering as Bruce stroked him through it. Even after his orgasm tailed off, after Bruce let his softening cock fall from his tight grip, Clark continued to hold him close, their mouths moving slow and open against each other.
Just like that, they breathed, luxuriating in the feel of each other until Bruce began to grumble about the stickiness on his body and hand. Clark couldn’t help but chuckle, his chest feeling so full of love for the man before him as he hoisted him up and flipped him to be sitting on the counter, Bruce’s protests rendered ineffective by the bloom of red on his cheeks and the aversion of his eyes. It stayed for the duration of time it took for Clark to clean them both up, running a warm washcloth over Bruce’s skin with reverence, taking up his messy hand and watching intently as he slowly cleaned each finger.
“So,” Clark started, breaking their moment of quiet reverie after tossing the dirty rag in the sink and moving to stand in front of where Bruce sat, hands on his thighs. “I think we should talk more about this.”
“I can think of some better things we could be doing.” Bruce grinned wryly at him, straightening one of his legs so his shin brushed against the still half-hard bulge in Clark’s pants. So, he already noticed that it usually took more than one round; at least he didn’t seem put off by it – in fact he seemed put on by it.
“Bruce… we really should talk.” Clark used all his strength to shift his hips away from Bruce’s teasing, and the other man dropped his leg, the playfulness leaving his posture.
“I know. Can we just… not do it right now?”
“B, we can’t put it off forever.”
“I’m not saying that we should. We will talk, but I’m sure you’re aware that I’ve already had one hell of a day and have demonstrated record levels of vulnerability and it’s barely even 10am.” Bruce smiled softly when that drew a small chuckle from Clark. “I promise we’ll talk, but for right now, can’t we just have this?”
“Okay, yeah. Yeah, we can.” Clark smiled, kissing him sweetly. “Thank you.”
“Mhmm. Now, where were we? I think I remember someone saying something about a bedroom earlier.”
“I could be onboard with that.”
“And we could be there already. What’re you waiting for, big guy? Take me to bed.”
Clark kissed him deeply as Bruce wrapped his arms around Clark’s neck. He could hardly believe that it took two weeks and them both being drugged to finally see that their love for each other was reciprocated. He’d have to thank Lex before throttling him into the sun. Right now, however, he had more important matters to attend to.