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One of the most common questions Clark got when people learned about his super senses was, “How do you sleep?”
It was a fair question. Clark was sure most people couldn’t imagine getting a good night’s sleep if they could passively hear every sound in a several-mile radius.
The answer was twofold. First, Clark didn’t actually need to sleep. He enjoyed sleep, and felt refreshed afterward, but it was more of a habit than anything. Besides, unlike certain other heroes, he didn’t have much else to do all night.
And second, Clark was used to hearing every sound in a several-mile radius. He’d learned how to tune it out years ago. There were certainly some nights when stress or anxiety made it difficult, but most nights, he let the background noise wash over him and paid it no mind.
However, there were still some sounds that could wake Clark from a dead sleep. And ever since he’d started spending more of his nights at Wayne Manor, one of those sounds was the Batmobile screeching to a halt in the Batcave, a sound that meant Bruce had finally returned from his nightly patrol.
He opened his eyes. Because sleep wasn’t biologically necessary for him, he always woke easily, like turning on a light.
He listened as the door to the Batmobile opened and heavy footsteps hit the floor of the cave. Bruce’s heart was beating faster than usual, the night’s adrenaline still not yet faded.
Those footsteps stumbled slightly, and Clark sharpened his hearing to listen to the sound of Bruce’s lungs filling with air, then expelling it, no hint of a rasp or struggle. The sound of his blood rushing through his veins, and only his veins, not leaking out through any open wounds. It sounded like Bruce was uninjured. Clark allowed himself a measure of relief.
Instead of making a beeline to the showers, Bruce took a seat, presumably in front of the Batcomputer. Clark heard him remove his cowl and run a gloved hand through his sweaty hair, then he heard fingers typing on a keyboard.
Clark debated speeding down to the Batcave to encourage Bruce to come to bed, but he couldn’t be sure yet how well the gesture would be received. Bruce wouldn’t appreciate the interruption if he was tying up an important case.
Clark picked his phone up off the nightstand, taking note of the time. He’d give Bruce an hour. One hour, and if he wasn’t in the shower by then, Clark would take matters into his own hands, even if it meant Bruce would be annoyed with him. He’d certainly endured worse.
He settled comfortably back into bed, letting his eyes slide shut but keeping his mind active. The sounds of typing continued. After what felt like a while, he checked the time again.
Fifty-eight minutes. Close enough.
In the split second before Clark activated his super speed to drag Bruce upstairs, he heard the scrape of a chair and Bruce standing up. His heart rate was slower now, but his breath was heavier. Something was weighing on him, even if there wasn’t any active danger. A case gone cold, perhaps.
There were few things that irritated Bruce more, Clark knew, than a dead end. In the rare instances when all of Bruce’s significant resources, massive intellect, and well-honed skills couldn’t see him through, he grew frustrated. He blamed himself. He struggled to sleep at night.
Luckily, Clark had just the thing to address that problem.
The shower ran for a good ten minutes before Bruce turned it off. The sound of fabric sliding against skin as Bruce ran a towel over his body and got dressed, and then more footsteps making their way out of the Batcave and up the stairs.
Bruce was notoriously light on his feet, but tonight there was a heaviness to his steps that further alluded to his frustration. By the time he reached the master bedroom and opened the door, Clark was fully prepared for the scowl Bruce was currently wearing.
Clark propped himself up in bed, patting the empty space beside him. Bruce pretended to ignore the gesture, but collapsed in that very spot all the same. He met Clark’s gaze, anticipating what Clark was going to say.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Clark bit back a smirk. Oh, they were definitely going to talk about it. Clark would personally make sure of it.
But they didn’t have to talk about it just yet. Clark needed to warm Bruce up to the notion first.
He placed a purposeful hand on Bruce’s chest, feeling the beat of his heart underneath. At the slightest touch from Clark, Bruce’s heart rate elevated.
“Plenty of time to talk in the morning,” Clark said, his free hand coming to brush against Bruce’s cheek.
Bruce caught on instantly. His gaze slipped from Clark’s eyes to his mouth, a hint Clark knew to take. Clark leaned down, ever so slowly, and pressed his lips to Bruce’s. This close, the smell of shampoo and soap and, beneath it, just a hint of Bruce’s natural musk enveloped Clark in a heady cloud. He had to fight to keep his wits about him, surprised every time by just how easily Bruce had him thoroughly seduced, one look and Clark was gone.
Before Bruce could seize on his chance to deepen the kiss, Clark pulled away, leaving mere inches between them.
“In the meantime,” he said softly, “Maybe there’s something else we can do to take your mind off things.”
Bruce could be an exceedingly patient man when he wanted to be, but that wasn’t the game they were playing tonight. Instead, Bruce reached up and buried a hand in Clark’s hair, scratching blunt nails against the nape of Clark’s neck, drawing him in for a second kiss, this one longer and deeper, with a flash of tongue.
Clark shifted his body weight so he was on top of Bruce, forearms bracketing Bruce’s head. He sank into the kiss; even at this stage in their relationship, it still sent chills up his body.
Even though Clark ostensibly held the upper hand from his current position, Bruce was the one in charge of how this night would go. When Bruce’s nails began to dig into the impenetrable skin of Clark’s neck, when he hiked up one of his legs to wrap it around Clark’s waist – a man of Bruce’s age had no right to be that flexible, Clark believed, not that he was complaining – Clark took it as a signal to keep going. Experimentally, he rolled his hips, causing Bruce to take hold of those hips with both hands, slotting one of Clark’s thighs between his legs and grinding against it.
Clark watched the expression on Bruce’s face begin to soften, the deep lines between his eyebrows smoothing out and his lips parting invitingly. Clark closed the distance between them to kiss him again, then moved his mouth next to Bruce’s ear and breathed, “Tell me what you want from me.”
“Your mouth,” Bruce rasped, that deep voice driving Clark as wild as it always had. He ignored the call of his arousal, setting it aside for later. He had more important things to focus on.
He made quick work of pulling Bruce’s shirt over his head and sliding his sweatpants off of his legs, reaching down to feel the heat at Bruce’s core through the thin layer of his underwear.
Bruce pulled Clark into another kiss, letting him linger there for a moment, before pushing insistently down on the crown of Clark’s head, guiding him where Bruce wanted him most.
A spark of mischief took hold of Clark, and he decided to indulge himself, tugging just hard enough on the elastic waistband that it snapped, the fabric tearing like tissue paper and falling away from Bruce’s cunt, nestled in a tidy, well-groomed patch of thick, dark curls.
Bruce didn’t voice a complaint at Clark’s blatant disrespect for his undoubtedly luxury branded underwear. Taking things one step further, Clark dragged Bruce bodily to the edge of the bed, feet planted on the floor, Clark kneeling in front of him.
After taking a moment to admire the view – but not so long that Bruce had a chance to get impatient – Clark descended on Bruce greedily, parting his folds with his tongue, tasting that slightly salty, slightly bitter, completely intoxicating taste. The arousal went straight to Clark’s head; though he biologically couldn’t get drunk, every time he went down on Bruce, he imagined this was what it felt like.
Clark placed a firm hand on each of Bruce’s thighs, spreading them easily. Bruce’s dick was swollen and waiting; Clark nudged it with the tip of his nose and heard the spike in Bruce’s heart rate like the beat of a drum. The scent of Bruce’s pheromones wrapped around Clark like a thick, fuzzy blanket, blocking out any thoughts in his head that weren’t about Bruce: the smell of him, the taste of him, the soft sigh when Clark’s tongue entered him and curled upward, hitting that sweet spot on his first try.
“That’s it, baby,” Bruce practically growled, arching his back and closing his eyes. “Just like that.”
Encouraged by all of Bruce’s reactions thus far, Clark continued his ministrations, setting a steady – slow, but not too slow – pace, thrusting his tongue into that tight, wet heat. In moments like these he couldn’t be more grateful that he didn’t need to breathe.
“Faster,” Bruce demanded, and Clark obeyed.
Clark’s senses told him when Bruce was approaching an orgasm. He always got there faster after a night of patrol, the adrenaline priming him for sex. His scent grew thicker, his taste stronger, his heart rate faster. Clark dug his fingers into Bruce’s strong thighs, rubbed his nose against the underside of Bruce’s sensitive dick, and heard Bruce’s breath catch in his chest, felt him clench around his tongue, his thighs shaking and his chest heaving.
Clark kept going until the shaking stopped and Bruce said, “Okay,” in a firm voice, hand on Clark’s head pushing him away. Clark pulled back and licked his lips.
The entire room was filled with Bruce’s scent. His taste lingered in Clark’s mouth. His heart rate began to slow.
Clark waited, breathless, for Bruce to beckon him closer, licking the taste of himself off of Clark’s tongue.
“Fuck me,” Bruce whispered.
Clark didn’t need telling twice. He’d hardly noticed how hard he was until now, almost painfully so. His cock strained against his pajama pants, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he freed it and it sprung to attention, red and already leaking at the tip.
His shirt followed his pants into a heap on the bedroom floor. Now that they were both completely naked, Clark got into position, taking Bruce’s arms by the wrists, lifting them over his head and holding them in place, one-handed. He felt Bruce test the strength of Clark’s hold, not because he stood a chance of escaping it – or even wanted to – but, if Clark had to guess, because it thrilled Bruce to know that he couldn’t.
Bruce was wet enough from Clark’s mouth and his own arousal that Clark could easily slide two fingers into his cunt, stroking the G-spot he’d already thoroughly pleasured.
“Don’t be a tease,” Bruce warned him. Clark smirked and withdrew his fingers, then lined the head of his cock up with Bruce’s entrance. He lingered there a moment before…
“I said fuck me.”
Clark bottomed out inside Bruce in a single stroke. Bruce sucked in a breath, clenching again, this time around Clark’s cock. He’d told Clark once, matter-of-factly, that Clark was some of the best dick he’d ever had, something Clark had naturally let go to his head, because when Bruce Wayne said you were good in bed, it fucking meant something.
Maybe it was the pace Clark set, slow at first, picking up speed and force until Bruce’s eyes were screwed shut and he was once again straining against Clark’s hold.
Maybe it was the way Clark listened to every tiny clue Bruce’s body gave him and adjusted his technique accordingly, playing Bruce like an instrument to a song he knew by heart.
Or maybe – and this was Clark’s favorite theory – sex was just better with someone you actually had feelings for.
Clark lavished kisses across Bruce’s neck, adding the occasional scrape of teeth. He took one of Bruce’s hard nipples between the tips of his fingers and twisted, harder than most people could stand; Bruce had nerve damage there and he’d told Clark explicitly that he could be rough.
That hand ghosted down Bruce’s side, brushed along his hips, until it found Bruce’s dick, swollen again, gleaming wet.
It took a little more effort to get Bruce to come twice in such quick succession, but Clark had never been the type to back down from a challenge. With two slick fingers, he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves, applying just enough pressure to keep Bruce on the right side of overstimulated.
“Keep going,” Bruce said unnecessarily, as if Clark had any interest in stopping. Watching Bruce come closer and closer to his second orgasm of the night was bringing Clark right up to the edge with him.
Bruce was breathing hard, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, the muscles in his arms straining. Clark recognized this, too; Bruce was hitting a wall, so close to coming undone but unable to get all the way there.
“It’s not—” Bruce started to say before Clark cut him off.
“Don’t worry about it,” Clark assured him. “It’s just me. You can let go.”
At first, Clark’s words didn’t make a difference, so he repeated them.
“It’s just you and me here, and we have all the time in the world.”
Bruce’s body relaxed, slightly, just enough for Clark to notice. He kept going. Not letting up, not changing pace.
“That’s it. Just like that.”
Clark wasn’t going to let himself go until Bruce got there first. He was close, for real this time. He just needed a little push…
“Let go.”
Bruce did. His muscles seized and he came with a shout, and it was such a sudden sensation, Bruce convulsing around his cock, that Clark followed right after him, spilling himself into Bruce’s already dripping wet cunt.
He fucked Bruce through both of their orgasms, pleasure blinding white hot behind his eyes, until Bruce was boneless beneath him, entirely satisfied.
Clark pulled out carefully and rolled over to lie next to Bruce. Moments passed in silence and stillness before Bruce got up, walked quietly to the bathroom, and returned minutes later smelling somewhat less like sex and a little more like minty toothpaste.
“What was that?” Bruce asked, voice deceptively casual.
Clark knew better than to pretend he didn’t know what Bruce was referring to. He was asking how Clark had known how to break through the wall Bruce had hit when Clark was fucking him. The easy answer, of course, was that breaking through walls was kind of Clark’s thing.
But the real answer was a little more complicated.
Clark would always tell Bruce the truth, even if he knew it might not be what Bruce wanted to hear. “We both know you can get off on a little danger,” he said. “I’d imagine that’s not uncommon for people like us.”
“It’s not uncommon even for the average person,” Bruce said. “Some of the most popular kinks involve the threat of danger or pain. In a controlled environment, of course.”
“But you deal with danger every day,” Clark continued. “I thought it might be worth seeing if I could get you off easier by making you feel safe.”
As expected, Bruce narrowed his eyes, immediately and visibly displeased. Vulnerability was very much not in Bruce’s comfort zone, though he’d been letting himself open up more and more to Clark every day.
Still, Clark didn’t want to push his luck too far. He changed the subject. “Now, do you want to tell me what happened on patrol?”
Bruce continued to glower at him. “I thought you said we can talk in the morning.”
“I did say that, didn’t I? Fair enough. We are talking about it in the morning, though.”
“I don’t doubt it.”