Work Text:
It took them two weeks to succeed.
The damage was much more severe than the first time. Clark was worried about his friends' well-being.
Especially Bruce's, who had been unconscious for a whole day.
"He'll be fine, you know." Zatanna squeezed Clark's shoulder, an understanding smile on her face, "His body is just healing."
Clark sighed and thanked her for the comfort. His bad feeling about Bruce going alone had been half right in the end.
And if he had been completely right, he would have lost his best friend after the most absurd and ridiculous confrontation they had ever shared.
Dick had visited once too. Diana, Hal. But Clark continued to sit there, in the chair next to the bed. Alone with the company of Bruce's soft breathing, he covered his face with both hands, resting his elbows on his knees.
"You're impossible." he whispered.
To tell the truth, Clark had been relieved by the mandatory distance that the division of tasks had caused. He had time to think about what he had done, had time to take his mind off Bruce (or try to).
As long as they were on the mission, the inevitable confrontation would not happen. Bruce would never allow such sentimental and personal situations to interfere with the main objective, and Clark had never been so grateful for that.
Now, with the disturbing and uncharacteristic image of Bruce lying unconscious in bed, a wave of regret swallowed Clark without mercy.
He would never forgive himself if the last thing he had done with that important friend before his death was to kiss him without explanation.
The tragic event had only contributed to him realizing that hiding, omitting and ignoring such feelings was the most stupid solution possible. First of all, he didn't even know why that had been his first choice; Clark was not someone who put any of that into practice, except to protect his identity.
Maybe it was because it was Bruce, someone who abused the practice of all options.
"I'm in love with you," the declaration fell silent and muffled against his hands, heard by the four walls of the room and by Bruce's temporarily non-functional ears.
×
It didn't take long for him to wake up.
Clark had only gotten up to go wash his face and when he came back the bed was empty. Bruce was standing there staring at the window.
"...", Clark sucked in a shaky breath, but eventually he couldn't hold it in any longer and walked over to him.
"How long?", Bruce's now husky and even deeper voice sounded.
Always straightforward, except for the elephant in the room.
"One day, that's all.", Clark answered, deciding to discard all his previous logic and common sense and ignore it along with Bruce.
Bruce sighed, his fingers fumbling with the bandage around his head, his gaze never leaving the window.
"Dick was worried.", he warned despite the small 'Don't tell him I came here' the man had asked.
"Mn.", Bruce acknowledged, "I'll go see him as soon as possible."
"Has it been a while since you've seen him?" Clark turned to look out the window as well.
Bruce's index finger and thumb rubbed his own eyes hard, "A few months."
"You must have scared the hell out of him. Knowing you, I'm sure you didn't even tell him you'd be working alone."
"He's a busy man." His demeanor remained unchanged, but Clark could feel the pride that overflowed from that sentence, "If I had warned him, maybe he would have come."
"It's worse when you don't warn others about things, you know?"
Bruce didn't bother to answer, his eyes distant, looking far beyond whatever it was he was observing.
"I came out of this alive, Clark." It wasn't a simple comment, it sounded like a warning, a reprimand.
Clark nodded slowly, trying to imitate him, trying to keep the unaffected expression on his face, trying to sideline the internal, painful tremor in his chest, but his expression methodically crumbled, feature by feature, and his eyes were watery.
How the hell did Bruce keep the demeanor up?
His arms immediately reached for Bruce, almost as if by instinct. Clark held him in his arms, a strong and desperate hug.
"Why are you like this." he questioned angrily, content just to hold him in one piece.
"Alive?" a humorless laugh escaped him.
Clark shook his head in the face of that terrible sense of humor, hugging him tighter, as if he were going to run away. Only from this close was it possible to notice the difference in height between them, Clark was taller, covering him with his frame.
He wished the moment could last longer. Clark was aware that the moment Bruce was the first to break contact—and he would be the first to break it—the tense atmosphere between them would once again hang in the air, almost solid, separating them physically and emotionally.
As predicted, Bruce pulled out of his grip first, taking a firm step back. Clark released him immediately, his arms falling in disappointment but not surprise. He waited for questions. He waited for another reprimanding look, he waited for Bruce to demand explanations for his behavior.
His wait was in vain. Neither option happened, instead, Bruce swallowed hard and walked away from him, preparing to leave the room. They hadn't exchanged a single word since then.
×
Clark loosened the tie around his neck a little and adjusted his glasses.
Despite the pleasant atmosphere, there were too many important people in this place. Since the event was taking place in Metropolis, of course at least three journalists from the Daily Planet were present. He had already spoken to a few people, but it had been a while since Clark had been actively in the field; his work as a journalist was more often done during the day, too.
Bruce would come.
Without a doubt. This meeting only happened every four years, and multiple renowned people from the surrounding cities were invited. Bruce had been invited to every meeting without fail since he turned twenty-one. All of his children had been here. The only year he hadn't attended was the year Jason had been murdered.
He would come.
It wasn't like they didn't see each other anymore. Superman and Batman met for work, every now and then, but despite the League, Bruce's priority would always be Gotham, above anything and anyone.
Clark congratulated himself for thinking that on the surface he was doing a decent job of ignoring what had happened. Inside, however...
The heads of the people around him began to turn toward the front door, excited and anxious looks everywhere. Clark glanced out of the corner of his eye, already knowing who he would find.
Bruce was flashing a smile that oozed wealth and friendliness. Damian didn't exactly look pleased to have come, but now that he was no longer a child, he seemed to know how to convey a serious cordiality, his manners and posture the best possible, Clark couldn't help but notice.
But his attention quickly framed only Bruce in the center. It had already become a habit, one he needed to get rid of.
Bruce didn't ignore his stare. His gaze fell on Clark, the smile on his lips falling a little. Unintentionally, Clark managed to catch his heart rate quickening slightly.
At least he wasn't the only one who was nervous. Granted, he was the only one who had been anticipating the inevitable encounter ever since he was told he would be here, but still.
Damian walked towards him. Bruce seemed to freeze behind him, as if he wanted to stop him. It was obvious that the boy didn't know the situation, there was no way he could have imagined it. Bruce quickly composed himself and followed his son.
"Hello, young master Wayne.", Clark greeted playfully.
"No need for that, Kent. The journalist here is you.", his eyes scanned the surroundings, as if to confirm that no one was listening. "I wasn't expecting to see you here.", he admitted honestly and directly. Clark couldn't help but smile.
"I was told last minute, too.", he shrugged.
"Damian, Clark is here on business.", Bruce scolded him when he reached them. He seemed on a serious mission to avoid looking at Clark. Damian snorted.
"He's not bothering me, Bruce. I'm just hanging around.", Clark made a point of affirming.
"And I just meant it's a nice surprise to see him here. You were going to come talk to him anyway, what's the problem?" Damian crossed his arms. Bruce's mouth opened and closed, his jaw clenched.
The problem was that he in fact wasn't planning on come to talk to him face to face, Clark figured.
Damian arched an eyebrow, studying the situation and the expressions on the men's faces. It was written all over the boy's face that he still didn't understand why Bruce hadn't greeted Clark properly.
Bruce's eyes finally fell on him. Clark's heart lurched in his chest. That expression: evasive, worried, hesitant—nervous? That was new from Bruce. It made Clark want to press the topic Bruce was trying to avoid.
"...I should go talk to the others. If you'll excuse me," Bruce suddenly adjusted his suit jacket and walked toward the stairs.
"How formal," Damian observed, his curiosity now fully focused on Clark, "What's wrong with you two?"
Clark forced a smile and scratched the back of his neck.
"Nothing for you to worry about, kid."
Damian narrowed his eyes, but didn't press the matter.
(...)
Clark felt like a strategist. Not quite the world's greatest detective, but he certainly qualified well.
He waited all night. He did his job quickly and waited. His eyes occasionally fell on Bruce, surrounded by several people, some models who clearly had a greater affinity with him standing very close.
And yet Clark waited methodically until he was away from the other people at the party. He watched and seized the perfect moment to catch him alone. Clark followed him as he walked away, Bruce's steps sure as if he knew where he was going by heart. Clark couldn't help but wonder how many people he had already dragged somewhere in this mansion and fucked, since he knew the place so well.
"Go ahead, Clark." Bruce suddenly turned toward him, a disinterested look on his face. Oh, of course. Clark hadn't cornered him; Bruce had lured him into the trap with bait.
"So?", one of his perfectly aligned eyebrows raised. "You made it pretty clear all night that you wanted to talk to me. I think some people even started to notice."
"That's the problem? That they were noticing?", he countered automatically.
"What else would be?", Bruce didn't take long to retort.
Clark sighed, looking around. He and Bruce were on a balcony, the cold breeze colliding comfortably against them, the embrace of the darkness making the confrontation easier.
All the frustration that had been pent up inside Clark was boiling to the surface. He scratched his neck hard—the last time that had happened, the ending had been catastrophic.
"You know what the real problem is.", he walked firmly towards Bruce, the intensity of his advance devouring the distance and the tension that separated them.
"I do.", Bruce didn't back down.
"And we're not going to do anything about it?" Clark breathed shakily. Damn, Bruce was firmer than him.
"There's nothing to be done."
"Why?"
"We work together. Our duties are interspersed, we're on the same side, but that doesn't mean this can't change overnight," Bruce dictated like a memorized speech.
Clark couldn't believe his ears. He scoffed.
That reason was so— So Bruce. Future worries, paranoia, distrust—
It was only then, through the bitterness he was feeling, that Clark realized.
That was the only reason Bruce had offered.
No rejection.
His gaze slowly fell on Bruce again. His expression was hard, resolute, but too defensive.
Clark took a step forward, then two more.
"What are you—?" Clark placed one of his hands on Bruce's cheek, trying not to be afraid to get closer. Patience, patience was what was needed to deal with him. Bruce's eyes widened, but he didn't pull away.
An internal turmoil wracked Clark's chest as Bruce's gaze transformed from surprise to something new, the blue of his eyes deeply affected by the situation, the eagerness and repulsion both present in his conflicting gaze. So close, so reachable, Clark had the privilege of seeing the micro changes, the fear in his gaze.
And the same untamed desire that Clark felt, reflected back to him like a mirror.
Slowly. Unlike the last time, Clark approached calmly, his lips slowly but surely fitting with Bruce's. Still hesitant, Bruce's eyelids closed the instant his lips opened.
Slowly. The pace was fearful, experimental. Their mouths tasted each other slowly, reluctantly. Yet neither of them could stay in that slow torture—the kiss escalated, Bruce’s tongue invading Clark’s. Suddenly, as if there had been no progression, the kiss turned violent.
It was hard to breathe with the lack of pause. Clark pressed Bruce against the balcony railing, the iron just high enough to press their pelvises together, an intense friction that they both worked to maintain.
Suddenly, Bruce's hands grabbed him by his pants and reversed their positions, one of his knees between Clark's legs while his body pressed him against the railing.
"You're the one who can fly." His voice sounded deeper, affected by excitement. Clark was about to answer when Bruce's knee moved between his legs.
Clark was so worked up by his fantasies becoming reality that the movement was enough for him to tilt his head back. He grabbed Bruce's hips, his hands sliding until his palms were full of his ass. His grip was firm, bringing him closer, their throbbing erections colliding against each other inside their expensive pants.
Bruce seemed to notice that detail, that people absolutely could not notice that curiously the pants of both billionaire Bruce Wayne and reporter Clark Kent were dirty with something that suspiciously looked like cum.
Clark frowned as Bruce freed them both from their clothes. Wasn't that going a little too easy? Too fast—
The instant Bruce's erection appeared before his eyes, any concern he could possibly think of drained from his brain. His mouth filled with saliva, his heart thundering inside his chest. It was bigger and so much more striking than in the dreams and distortions he used as masturbation material.
Clark threw reason out the window. Whatever had possessed Bruce couldn't leave before they finished what they had started. Clark couldn't admire it for long, fearing Bruce would come to his senses.
Bruce looked like he wanted to push their hardnesses together and stimulate them, but Clark stopped him. In the blink of an eye, Bruce was facing away from him, his abdomen pressed against the cold iron of the balcony railing, Clark holding his wrists behind his back.
"I've masturbated more than enough thinking about you," Clark admitted, his voice firm. Bruce's neck and shoulders immediately began to burn, his breathing shaky. "I need, I want something different, Bruce..." he pressed his cock against Bruce, "I swear I can't take this anymore"
Bruce lowered his head, feeling the warmth and the throbbing. He was silent for a moment, and his sudden silence was enough to make Clark's stomach churn with anxiety again.
"What?" he stepped closer to Bruce after he mumbled something Clark didn't hear. If it had been a no, he would have had to stop immediately, but—
"Condom. In my wallet, inside my pocket." he spoke in a low voice, almost as if he was embarrassed.
Clark gasped, nodding despite being behind him.
Too good to be true. That was what was going through his head as the condom slid down to fit his throbbing erection.
"No fingers, no need for that. Just go," Bruce ordered, still on his back, his hands gripping the iron railing.
Clark paused.
"...Are you sure—?"
"Clark," his voice was muffled by his own breathing, as if he couldn't wait any longer, "Now."
The command only caused more heat to build in his pelvis. Clark couldn't put it off for even a second longer either.
To his surprise, penetration wasn't difficult to accomplish. A shiver consumed him from bottom to top when he was fully inside Bruce, his eyes closing involuntarily.
Bruce trembled, his hands gripping the railing. His own erection tensed at the contact. The sight of his back, the muscles and scars, the sweat dripping down... it was all so much better than anything Clark had ever dreamed of.
There was only one explanation for how easily he could enter him.
"Have you been touching yourself here, Bruce?" Clark grabbed his torso, one of his hands on Bruce's chest.
Bruce's breath escaped his lungs.
"Stop talking and do what you have to do," he scolded, the fact that he had been caught clearly causing him embarrassment. It only made the moment more real, how Bruce was acting. Clark felt an inordinate amount of happiness at having such an answer.
"I will," he replied, affection overflowing from his voice. His lips placed a kiss in the middle of Bruce's back, soft lips against firm muscles, and the action alone seemed capable of dismantling Bruce completely. His back relaxed, a moan escaping his lips.
"N-not like that..." he warned, his voice weak. Clark felt his cock throbbing.
"Like what? And why not?" he kissed the back of Bruce's neck before licking his skin eagerly.
"...Kal-el...!" he growled angrily again, his entire body vulnerable beneath Clark's. There was no way he could help but take advantage of the situation: was Bruce sensitive to affection? Of all things?
Clark's hands caressed Bruce's nipples before caressing his waist and back simultaneously as Clark kissed his cheek, then his earlobe.
Bruce groaned and panted in frustration, his body temperature rising and his legs shaking.
Suddenly, his hand grabbed Clark's face, his grip firm.
"Stop it... just... do it!" His gaze was intense, his eyes red and watery.
Clark smiled.
He thrust, his hips moving back and forth in a frenzy. Bruce surprisingly seemed less bothered by the pain, more comfortable, perhaps. He arched his back as Clark's hands marked his hips with marks, possibly even his fingerprints.
The railing shook with each thrust, and Clark was starting to get delirious, thinking that if the damn thing broke, he would just keep fucking Bruce in the air, or on the floor of the balcony, as long as they didn't stop.
They were both pretty resilient. Time passed, and Clark just felt like he couldn't get enough of going in and out of him. Bruce didn't make as much noise as Clark, but each moan was sincere, deep, like he was trying to contain it and only the most explosive and impossible to contain ones escaped.
That is, until the moment the stimulation seemed to be too much, getting close to being enough. His breathing became louder, his grunts and whimpers more frequent, louder.
Clark felt like he couldn't hold out for another minute. He bent over Bruce again, his right hand gripping his forgotten erection and jerking it off. Bruce gritted his teeth, a visceral noise escaping his mouth as he came undone by the simultaneous stimulation. Clark hugged his torso, also reaching his climax.
They were both gasping for air. Clark felt better than ever. When he recovered, he was about to have a heart-to-heart talk with him, the guilt of skipping confession and going straight to sex catching up with him.
But Bruce pulled away, putting his pants back on, a hard look on his face.
No. Fuck, no!
Was this revenge for the careless kiss and him walking away without explanation?!
Clark also put his pants on properly, a bad feeling taking over his chest.
"Bruce, where are you going?" he hurried to ask.
"Back to the party?" he answered, not seeming to be in the same hurry to leave.
"But, but we... we need to talk." Clark moved closer to him again.
"About what? We didn't do what we wanted to do?"
"...What?"
"We did what we had to do. Isn't that enough?"
"No...!" Clark couldn't stop himself from saying. His hands gripped Bruce's shoulders, "I... Bruce, you know it's not just that for me... how could it be just that? I l—"
"Clark." Bruce glared at him, "That's the limit I'm willing to cross."
Oh. So he understood, it was about... limits, not lack of knowledge.
He deliberately didn't want to even hear about Clark's feelings.
"That's it?" His brow furrowed in disappointment, "I mean... I, I liked it, don't get me wrong..." His cheeks burned slightly, "...But what I want goes far beyond just sex. You know that, don't you?" He tried again, "I don't know if you feel the same way about me, but that's not fair. Not to you, not to me." Clark grabbed one of his hands.
Bruce didn't seem like he was going to give in, his gaze cold on their joined hands.
"What I feel... isn't a limit I'm willing to cross." Clark opened and closed his mouth. "...So, that alone can't be enough?" The suggestion in his voice didn't go unnoticed, "We can do it again whenever we want."
"I... that's great, but I... Bruce, you're not making sense."
"I can't do it the way you want, Clark."
"You don't want to?"
"I can't."
"You're not willing, then?"
"..." Bruce gently released his hand from his, "You can have some time to think about it."
And just like that, he was gone. Clark felt empty and strange. Things could never just be easy when it came to Bruce Wayne.
But.
Clark had persisted enough to know that he wanted it too.
Enough to know that what he was really feeling was fear of getting involved with someone so close, someone from work.
And Clark wouldn't stop until they both had what they really wanted.