Here Now

by KellinJo

Summary:

Bruce doesn't want to live in a world without Superman.

Or, Bruce believes Clark is dead, and he has a lot of unresolved feelings about it.

Notes:

I haven't touched this account in years, and I thought I would never write a fic again...but here we are in 2025 with Superbat! This ship has utterly consumed me, and I have so many ideas and WIPs in the works it's ridiculous.

Anyways, this idea came to me from a song that my sister was playing in the car this weekend. I started writing this on Saturday, and then it just...spiraled from there. It was not supposed to be this long, but I just kept going until it turned into a shameless excuse to write Superbat smut.

This is my first time publishing anything for this ship (and writing anything in general), so I really hope I did them justice 🥹

“Heart rate elevated.” 

The robotic tone cut through the air before it launched into spilling out every detail of his vitals, but he couldn’t hear anything over his pounding pulse. It felt like his heart was ready to tear its way through his sternum, breaking open his ribs to claw its way out of his chest. Each inhale felt like he was being stabbed, and he knew he needed to take a deep breath. One deep inhale and his head would stop swimming, but it hurt . 

“We have to-.... No-... He… kill us. ”

“Sir-....Look- him.”

In the back of his head, there was a voice. One he knew, but he couldn’t remember who it was. Not when his heart was about to beat out of his chest and his thoughts were running a mile a minute without any reprieve. There was so much grief and loss that washed over him. Behind his eyelids, he finally saw him. Dark hair with a single curl falling over his forehead. Glassy, blue eyes stared up at the sky. Lifeless. Green. There was so much green surrounding him. Green weapons protruding out of him. His hands shook as he took a step forward until he finally got to the body. He fell to his knees with his hands reaching out to curl into the blue fabric of the suit. He shook him, but nothing happened. There was no response. Lifeless. Dead .

“Bruce! You have to breathe!” Someone was yelling. Then, a burning sensation began to spread across his face.  

A loud gasp flew from his lips as his eyes cracked open to see two people hovering over him. His lips stayed parted as he tried to breathe, but his lungs just wouldn’t cooperate. He gasped for air, but it only rushed back out in quick pants that had his head spin and vision blurring. 

His eyes were wide as he looked at the two people around him. Two people he was certain he knew, but in his terror, he couldn’t remember their names. He pushed them both back and flew off the table, hands up and ready, defensive, as he barked, “Stay back! Get away from me! What did you do to him? Where is he!” His pulse thundered in his ears, and he could hear the robotic voice speaking faintly in the background. 

“Bruce…you’re okay. It’s me–Dick–and Alfred is here too. You got hit with a dose of Scarecrow’s new fear toxin. Remember?” The young man spoke calmly, his voice steady and his hands out in front of him in a sign of surrender. He wore a black suit with a blue bird across his chest, and his eyes–blue–were full of concern. Blue. 

A rush of agitation hit him as he remembered the scene of… No . He wasn’t dead. They did something to him. He kept his gaze pinned on the man–Dick–for a beat longer before he rushed forward. He grabbed him by the front of his suit and spun them to slam his back against one of the cave walls. “What did you do with him? Where is he? ” The last question came out as a low growl, his hand tightening on the suit as he pressed Dick further into the wall. Something in the back of his mind held him back, telling him to go easy.

Dick was calm, even if his eyes almost betrayed him. He kept his expression neutral and his hands right where Bruce could see them. He hadn’t so much as flinched when Bruce pinned him against the wall, but he did swallow before he asked, “Who, B…Who are you looking for?” 

Frantically, he looked around. This place was familiar. It felt like this place was safe, but he still wasn’t sure if he could trust these men. The younger one seemed harmless, given the fact that he hadn’t acted yet. Even with that thought in mind, he still didn’t let go of him.

“Superman,” He spat, “What have you done to him? He’s…” All his fury burned out as the final word lingered on his tongue. His heart was no longer pounding, but instead it felt heavy in his chest. Like there was some sort of hole being carved into him that nothing would fill. He released the man and took a step back, his entire body shaking as he tried not to think about Superman– Clark staring up at the sky with lifeless eyes. His hands went up to his head, and he pulled at the hair near his temples, his breathing shaky. 

“Bruce, B. You have to stay with me here…What’s wrong with Superman?” 

It’s too much. Something was building inside him that he couldn’t stop. He could feel it in his knees as they threatened to lock up on him, but the worst was the burning that seemed to spread from his throat up into his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled his fingers tighter against his scalp to distract himself with the pain. It only lasted so long. 

He opened his mouth to speak. To tell them that Superman was dead, but all that came out was a ragged sob. It felt raw in his chest as he released it and finally let his knees buckle beneath him. He hit the ground right as another sob ripped from his chest, and he covered his face with his hands as he said, “He’s dead . Oh God, he’s dead…” 

Silence filled the room, save for Bruce’s trembling breaths. No one said anything after that because what do you say when Superman has died? The world’s greatest hope…dead. The thought only made Bruce’s chest hurt even more as he thought of his friend and all of the things left unsaid between them. All of the things he should have said but was too much of a coward to ever be forthcoming with how he really felt about their relationship. It was too late. He had waited until it was too late, and Clark had died without ever knowing that he loved him. 

“He’s gone…” He hardly recognized his voice as he gasped out the words around his tears. “He…and I never…I didn’t…” 

“Master Dick,” The other man said in a low voice, “I will…tend to this if you will keep an eye on him. It will just be a moment.” A beat later, the clipped steps of dress shoes echoed in the cave as the man went only a few feet away, but Bruce was hardly concerned by whatever it was he was up to.

So consumed with grief, Bruce couldn’t do anything but sit there with his head in his hands as he hid his tears. A cavern was growing in his chest with each passing second that his reality sunk in. He would never see Clark’s blue eyes and megawatt smile, or hear his laugh as he told Bruce some horrible joke that he’d learned at work. He’d never feel the warmth of his hand as it lingered a second too long on his arm. He’d been a fool to think that the man was invincible. Even gods fell. 

He was thankful that the younger man stayed quiet and let him grieve. He didn’t want to answer any questions or talk. There was nothing more to say now anyways. What was done was done, and nothing could change what had happened. Nothing could bring him back.

A pitiful noise caught in his throat, and he felt like a boy all over again. A freshly orphaned boy still clutching at his mother’s dress as he tried to shake her awake. Her blood flowing onto the Gotham streets. All he knew was loss. He was grief personified, cursed to live his life without any warmth. 

A light breeze floated into the cave, soft enough that he had nearly missed the feeling of it as it brushed along his neck. It was likely just a draft in the cave, but that theory was shot to hell when a warm hand settled at his nape, fingers curling against his skin. The touch was familiar, and as he pulled his hands away from his face, his breath caught in his chest. 

The first thing he saw were blue eyes, the same crystal blue of the sky. They looked at him with such warmth and devotion that for the third time that night, Bruce swore his chest was going to cleave open. Instead of a single arrant curl falling against his forehead, the mass of dark curls hung down and brushed against the frames of his glasses. Bruce blinked a couple times as he looked at the man before him. It was Clark, but was he really here? 

For a moment, the men just stared at each other, but Bruce was the first to move. He reached out with a trembling hand to place his palm against Clark’s chest. The worn t-shirt was soft to the touch, but what he was really focused on was feeling the steady rhythm of Clark’s heart as it beat in his chest. The rhythm was strong, like the rest of him, and Bruce was afraid that the moment he pulled his hand away he would disappear. He placed his other hand on Clark’s cheek, his fingers gently brushing over his cheekbones and down to his jaw before he reached up to pluck the glasses off of Clark’s face. 

A pink flush covered the man’s cheeks at the intimacy of the touch, and it only made him that much more endearing to Bruce. Words escaped the two of them as Bruce felt his way around Clark to make sure that he was here. That he was alive . He brushed one hand along his chest and abdomen while the other gently traced his features and pushed his hair back. 

“Is it really you?” His voice was hoarse, but he didn’t care in the slightest. He needed confirmation.

Clark quietly reached up to gently take one of Bruce’s hands in his and squeezed it before he planted a soft kiss to the skin of his palm. “Yes, it’s really me…I’m here, Bruce. Whatever you thought you saw, it wasn’t real. I’m alive.” 

“You’re alive,” Bruce repeated, and relief rushed through him. Clark was here, and he was alive. 

A bright smile stretched across Clark’s lips as he murmured, “I am, and I’m here now. How do you feel?” His smile softened, and a little line of concern formed between his brows as he reached out with his other hand to check Bruce’s temperature. He pulled his hand away, satisfied to see there wasn’t a fever, and added, “Why don’t we go upstairs and get you changed. Sound good?” 

Bruce wanted to tell Clark that he wasn’t a child. That he was a grown man and could take care of himself, but he didn’t have any fight in him. He was so tired. 

Clark helped him off the floor and, without another word, turned them both to exit the cave. The two men from earlier watched them, and the younger one gave a little smile. His brain still felt fuzzy on all details except for Clark, but he was at least glad to see he hadn’t accidentally hurt the guy.

They took the stairs with Clark’s arm slung around Bruce’s waist, and Bruce leaned into his side with his head against his shoulder. It felt like forever before they finally made it to the top of the stairs, but finally, Clark pushed a door open and ushered them into a house. He seemed to be familiar with the place. Easily guiding him through the winding halls of the large manor without needing to stop or backtrack. 

They walked in silence with Bruce glancing around at the different paintings and expensive vases. His attention always managed to linger a beat too long on paintings of a couple with a young dark-haired boy. The blue eyes looked hauntingly familiar.

He kept an easy pace with Clark, thankful that his friend was allowing him to lean into him. His body didn’t feel like it’s own, and he was worried that if he tried to walk on his own, his legs would give out again. Though, the longer they moved through the house, Bruce had a feeling like they were being watched. It was an unshakeable feeling that caused him to glance around every so often. Once, he swore he saw two small figures duck behind a sofa and a larger one hide behind a grandfather clock.

Their journey through the house ended at a large set of doors that Clark pushed open with ease, steering Bruce inside. He closed the doors behind them before leading Bruce to the bed with a soft, “Sit down. I’ll be right back.” Luckily, Clark didn’t disappear from his line of sight. He stayed in his line of vision at all times, moving around the room to gather a few things that Bruce couldn’t quite make out thanks to the lack of light in the room.

There was something so…familiar about this scene. Bruce couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was like Clark knew this place like the back of his hand. He moved around the room with practiced ease before he returned to his spot in front of Bruce. Without a word, he reached down to have Bruce stand, his hands gentle as he guided him up from the bed. Now it was Bruce’s turn to blush as Clark started to work off his Batsuit. Steady hands moved along the pieces of armor and fabric to undo everything with exact precision, and Bruce was baffled that Clark knew how to get the suit off. It wasn’t an easy feat by any means. 

“How do you…” The question died in his mouth as Clark pulled the remaining fabric off his skin, leaving him in only his briefs. The blush on his face went dark red, and he was thankful for the moon being the only light in the room. 

Clark smiled like he knew the question Bruce was about to ask, but he just gave a soft chuckle and mumbled, “That toxin really is strong…Here, put these on while I turn the bed down.”

Clothes were pressed into his hands, but Bruce was much more interested in watching as Clark started to unmake the bed. He tossed the decorative pillows into a pile on the floor and set to work on pulling the blankets back, humming a soft tune to himself. He was utterly relaxed as he moved around the bed, and Bruce couldn’t understand what was happening. This was clearly his manor, but why was Clark so familiar with his room? Bruce dumbly pulled on the clothes, his left foot nearly getting caught in one of the legs of his sweats as he thought about how comfortable Clark was in his space.

Once he pulled the shirt over his head and slipped his arms into it, Clark looked at him with a fond smile before he slid right into the bed and waited for Bruce to follow. As Clark pulled the blankets up to his chest, there was a faint glint on his left hand. Bruce’s eyes narrowed, and without any prompting, he slipped into the bed and grabbed his hand. He pulled it close to his face for a better look before realizing it was a gold wedding band. Simple with three black gemstones set into the gold. 

“Since when are you married?” He asked, his brows drawn into a tight furrow, “And since when do we lie in the same bed together?” Not that he was complaining about them sharing a bed. 

Clark was obviously stifling a laugh, his eyes crinkling in the corners, and Bruce felt his stomach flip. With a slight shake of his head, Clark turned to feel around on the bedside table next to him, grabbing something from a small dish before turning back. “Well, mister world’s greatest detective…” Clark grabbed his left hand, warm and steady, before he slipped a ring onto his left ring finger. The metal was cold against his skin, and he wasn’t really sure where Clark was going with this. He squinted in the dark to get a better look at the ring, but what he saw was an identical ring to Clark's, only with rubies instead of black gemstones. 

Something heavy settled in his stomach at the implication of the ring. He swallowed nervously before he said, “I don’t understand.”

Clark seemed to understand as much, so he gave Bruce’s hand a faint squeeze and murmured, “Bruce, you dosed yourself with Scarecrow’s newest fear toxin after getting your hands on a sample. I told you not to do it, we argued, I went upstairs, and you did it anyway. Like I knew you would.” He rolled his eyes as he recalled the sequence of events, and Bruce was mildly amused by the fact that he was one of the sole people who could make polite midwestern Boy Scout Superman roll his eyes. 

“Anyways, I went upstairs, and then thirty minutes later, Alfred was calling me to say I’m needed in the Bat Cave. He told me nothing was horribly wrong, but that the fear toxin gave you some mild amnesia, a panic attack, and had convinced you I was dead.” He winced at the last part, but smoothed it over with a half-lipped smile. 

Bruce stayed silent as Clark spoke and the details sank into his brain. He tried to reconcile what Clark had said with what he knew, but he came up short on things he did know. He knew that he was Bruce Wayne, orphaned billionaire, but he also knew that he was the Batman. He knew that he was in love with Clark Kent, who was also Superman, and one of his greatest fears was him dying. That was the extent of his knowledge.

“So we’re married?” The question came out so abruptly it sent Clark into a fit of laughter, and Bruce was in awe of him. 

The sound of his laughter seemed to fill up every corner of the room, running all the shadows out. He rolled onto his back as he laughed, pushing his glasses up to rest on his forehead so he could rub at the bridge of his nose. His chest rose with each puff of breath he inhaled and quickly exhaled, a couple soft snorts settling in his nose. Bruce had seen Superman laugh before, but it was rare that he saw Clark laugh. Though, if what he was told was true, then he supposed he actually saw the latter laugh more than he thought.

Clark quieted down, pulling his glasses off to set aside. It was deeply amusing to him that he wore them when he was in the manor, but he figured he could ask about that later. Bright eyes turned to Bruce, and he was blinded by the grin casually thrown his way. There was something in the way that Clark looked at him. It was reverent, like he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else but with him. 

The sheets hissed as Clark turned back onto his side and moved closer, his arm draping over his waist while pulling him into his chest. Bruce tensed for a moment before he relaxed into the hold. To him, this felt like the first time they’d ever shared a bed.

“We are very married, Bruce,” Clark replied, his tone soft. The light, playfulness seeped out of him a moment later. He pressed his palm against the small of Bruce’s back, and he whispered, “I shouldn’t have stormed upstairs…I’m sorry I left you alone to deal with that. I know Dick and Alfred were down there, but if I had known you would think…that then I never would’ve…” Guilt crept into Clark’s expression, and Bruce found that he really didn’t like the way it made his eyes get dim.

“You couldn’t have known that would happen,” Bruce interjected. “Don’t blame yourself for this when I did it to myself. You apparently told me not to, and we both know how stubborn I can be when it comes to things like this.” 

A chuckle followed by a muttered, “Oh, don’t I know.”

Bruce couldn’t help his own laugh at the exasperated tone in Clark’s voice. Clearly, they had been married long enough. 

“Still,” Clark continued, his hand rubbing soothing circles at the base of Bruce’s spine, “I’m sorry I left.” 

They lay like that for a while, Clark rubbing a firm hand along his spine and Bruce melting beneath the touch. He knew every little spot that made Bruce’s eyes flutter shut, especially the spot right under the nape of his neck. It was torture every time Clark dug his thumb into the spot, smoothing a slow circle into the skin before his hand made its descent again. He needed this–the heavy weight of his husband’s hand against his back, their chests meeting with every slow exhale–after his body had been screaming for half an hour.

Bruce wet his lips, and he almost backed out of what he wanted to say. Almost. He remembered the deep-rooted grief that had carved out a spot in his chest when he thought Clark had been dead. Remembered how his entire body felt numb with the things he never got to say to the man. But Clark was right here, looking at him with soft eyes that spoke of nothing but encouragement as he looked at Bruce. I’m listening , they said. 

“When I…Down there, I thought you were dead. It was so vivid,” He stopped to catch his breath as the vision washed over him again. Clark’s cold, lifeless eyes. His pale skin. All of the Kryptonite. “It felt real , and in those moments when I thought you were dead. I didn’t remember any of this. Us . I thought that…” 

Clark’s hand stilled at the base of his spine, and he shifted a hair to press even closer. The warmth of his body seeped through Bruce’s clothes, and it was all the push he needed to go on. 

“I’m not afraid of many things, Clark. I’ve been the Bat long enough that we are one and the same now. Some days I feel more like him than I do Bruce Wayne, but even he gets scared. I didn’t just think you were dead, I thought you had died before I told you how I felt. I was living in a world where you were dead, and I was alone . No family…No you. There was so much left unsaid that it hurt.” 

The room was quiet as he finished speaking, save for the distant ticking of the clock on his nightstand. The seconds ticked by as the silence seemed to swallow them. Cocooning them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was palpable. Bruce could see the gears turning in Clark’s head as he mulled over what he wanted to say in response. His expressions were always so open, so easy to read.

Finally, Clark inhaled and he smiled. Not his Superman smile; the one that was plastered all over the news any time he saved Metropolis from danger. The one where his dimples were so deep in his cheeks and his eyes crinkled at the corners, every single tooth on display for the cameras. No. This was the smile that he knew he reserved only for him. The one where his entire face softened, making him look ten years younger. The boyish smile that was crooked on one-side and only showed his front teeth. 

“Bruce, I would know you loved me in any universe.” 

He said it so simply. Like, Bruce was silly for even thinking that the unspoken feelings that had been between them for so long were lost on Clark. 

Bruce, for what felt like once in his life–and might as well have been due to the amnesia–was speechless. Clark looked so earnest, and anything Bruce wanted to say to that was cut off by a pair of very soft lips pressing against his. Clark smelled like drugstore aftershave and the shampoo that Bruce used, a perfect blend of the life that he lived as an average man and as Bruce Wayne’s husband. He dragged his palm from Bruce’s back over his side and took his time skimming thick fingers along the column of his throat. 

A memory resurfaced at the simple touch. A time when Bruce had flinched as those hands touched his neck because he was afraid of the strength he carried, but Clark had never hurt him. He’d proven himself time and time again that he was always in control of his strength and powers. 

Clark took his time dragging his fingers along the side of his throat, making sure to let them linger at his pulse point before he finally cupped his jaw. He tilted Bruce’s head, angling it just like he liked, and deepened the kiss. Clark Kent kissed him like he was starving. Like he was the best five-course meal he’d ever tasted and still couldn’t get enough of him. He slid a leg between Bruce’s thighs and crushed their lips together like he wanted to steal all of the air out of his lungs. He was, but Bruce didn’t care. He kissed him back just as fiercely, all of his anxiety and fear manifesting itself in the kiss. His hands fisted themselves in the fabric of Clark’s shirt, holding him close so he wouldn’t disappear. 

The kiss was possessive and needy. A taking, and Clark took everything that he had. He didn’t waste any time sliding the hand from his jaw to settle at the nape of his neck, his grip strong as he kept Bruce right where he wanted him and dragged his tongue along his bottom lip. Still polite as ever, asking for permission to do something that was already his. Bruce easily parted his lips, and Clark’s tongue dipped into his mouth a beat later, claiming every inch of him before Bruce finally had to pull away to breathe. Damn his human biology.

A few shallow pants slipped past his swollen lips, his eyes heavy and lidded as he looked at Clark. The blue of his eyes was barely there, just a thin sliver as his pupils ate up the irises. His skin was flushed a deep pink from his neck up to his ears, and Bruce knew that they weren’t ending with just a kiss. 

“You know,” He started, uncurling his fists from Clark’s shirt to slide one up to skim his fingers along his sharp jaw. “To me, that was our first kiss.” 

A groan settled in the back of Clark’s chest, his pupils eating up even more of the blue. He leaned in to brush their lips together and mumbled, “Don’t tell me that…” 

Bruce couldn’t help his little puff of laughter, his lips quirking in a ghost of a smile. He looked at Clark through his lashes and whispered, “It’s the truth. In this state, I don’t have any recollection of our relationship…Maybe you should show me.” 

That was all it took. Clark had him on his back in less than a second, his hands sliding underneath his shirt as he found his spot between Bruce’s legs. His hands were so warm, burning against his skin as they traveled up his abdomen. The look on Clark’s face was one he had never seen, at least he thought he hadn’t. He was so focused on taking in every little detail that Bruce was worried he had suddenly gone catatonic, that was, until Clark moved his hands from underneath Bruce’s shirt and ripped it off of him. The fabric was like paper in his hands, and once all of the bare skin was revealed to him, another groan caught in the back of his throat. 

“I never get tired of seeing you like this,” He started, his gaze somewhere far away as he ghosted his fingertips along each little ridge and scar. “Our actual first time, I swear I licked every single scar on your body until you begged me to get on with it. Do you know how many scars you have, Bruce?” The question was rhetorical because he knew they both knew. Superman had been the one to stitch up a majority of them. 

Bruce’s mouth ran dry at the thought. Clark, bent over him as he licked along every single scar on his body, taking his time to drag out the sensation until he was wanting. That had to have been torture, and he was pissed he couldn’t remember it. “You’re playing dirty.”

Clark’s lips turned into a playful smile, his gaze finally dragging its way up to his face as he retorted, “I’m just trying to remind you, but if you want this to be a first time all over again…Who am I to deny you.”

For a moment, Bruce regretted his decision to remind Clark that this was technically his first time with him. Only for a moment. 

The second kiss was nothing but a fight. They had fought many times before, physically and verbally. In the beginning when Batman had been unsure about Superman. In the middle when Bruce and Clark couldn’t agree on the best course of action. And now, when they kissed like they were competing against each other to win.

Clark bit down hard on Bruce’s lip, pulling a ragged gasp from his chest so he could slip his tongue in his mouth. His hands once again traced a path up his body only to stop so he could stroke a thumb over one of his nipples. The touch was barely there, but Bruce was so wound up that he couldn’t help the pitiful sound that escaped from him. He arched up into the touch, and Clark took that as the go ahead to do it again, only harder this time. He dragged the pad of his thumb in a slow circle before he pinched the nipple between his thumb and index finger, rolling it just as slowly as he whispered, “You’re always so sensitive.”

Heat rushed over Bruce’s skin at the observation, his skin flushing pink in mild embarrassment, but he chose to ignore it. He focused on the way that Clark’s hand mapped out his body and how he worked him with his lips. No one had ever kissed him this way before. Like he was someone worth being kissed. Bruce could feel every ounce of love Clark had for him pouring into the kiss, especially as it grew softer. The need to conquer had quelled and was replaced by soft kisses that traveled from his lips and down his jaw. 

As Clark’s lips trailed down to his neck, Bruce found himself melting into the mattress. His eyes fluttered shut when Clark sucked a mark at the soft skin beneath his ear, and he truly couldn’t do anything but let it happen. His hands made their way to Clark’s shirt, tugging at the hem in a silent ask for it to go. He would have ripped it off of him in the same way that Clark had done his, but it was one of his old Gotham U shirts. He didn’t have the heart to tear it when it looked so good on Clark. 

The message was received, and Clark broke away long enough to tug the shirt off his body and tossed it aside. He wasted no time leaning back down to resume his attack on Bruce’s neck, licking and biting at the skin until he decided to stop teasing. He bit down on the skin where his neck and shoulder met, and a low moan slipped out of Bruce. Clark was hardly playing fair, seeing as he knew all of the spots that made Bruce squirm and moan, but he really couldn’t find it in him to care. He could complain later, if he remembered. 

“I can never get enough of you,” Clark spoke, his voice pitched low as he brushed his lips down Bruce’s sternum. He looked at him through thick, dark lashes, and Bruce knew with certainty that he used that look to get his way any time they argued. “Even before we got together. I used to linger just to be close to you. The times that I was in Metropolis and away from you were always torture.” 

Bruce dragged a hand through Clark’s curls, his fingers gliding through the strands. He noted the way he tilted his head into the touch, eyes fluttering briefly before he dipped his head back down and licked from his ribs down to his navel.

“Oh, fuck .” Bruce couldn’t take his eyes off him, his gaze firmly rooted on the other man’s face as he closed his eyes and dragged his tongue over his skin like he was tasting the world’s finest caviar. 

He spared him, if only briefly. Instead of licking any more of his skin, Clark curled his fingers into the waistband of his sweats and briefs, dragging them off his hips and down his legs. It was all so human. Clark didn’t need to use his superspeed to rid Bruce of his clothes, no matter how eager he was. Something funny twisted in his chest at the thought of Clark wanting to take his time, to remember and cherish this moment, even if it was something they did often. To Bruce, it wasn’t something they did often. At least, in his toxin-riddled mind it wasn’t something they did often. 

A low hum from Clark brought Bruce out of his thoughts. He glanced down at the man between his legs, eyes widening at the scene. Only in his dreams did he ever see Clark Kent settled between his thighs with his pupils dilated and lips parted. What came next was definitely something he only saw in his dreams and wildest fantasies. 

Clark’s gaze flickered up to meet his, intent on catching Bruce’s expression as his long fingers wrapped around the base of his cock and squeezed . Pure satisfaction bloomed across Clark’s face as Bruce choked on a groan, his head tipping back against the pillow at the sensation. He thought Clark would give him a second to adjust, but that was a short-lived thought. If he thought the squeeze was bad, it was nothing compared to the wet heat of Clark’s mouth as he took the tip of his cock into his mouth and started sucking. 

Bruce groaned, a desperate sound low in his chest, as he propped himself up on his elbows to watch. Clark took his time to tease, his tongue just barely brushing along the tip, and it was agonizing. All he wanted was for Clark to swallow him down and take him like he had earlier during their kiss, but it was obvious that he had other plans. Instead of trying to devour him, he worked his way down inch by agonizing inch until Bruce was panting, the muscles in his abdomen quivering.

He slipped a hand into the dark curls and tugged, hoping to get Clark’s attention, but it was futile. The man was focused on his task, and he wasn’t going to give in. Blue eyes flickered up, landing on Bruce’s face, taking in the furrow between his brow and the sweat beading along his temples. He felt so raw and exposed like this, but it was Clark. Clark who had always seen him for who he really was. Clark, who knew him inside and out and still married him. 

Without any prompting, Clark gave Bruce a wink before he swallowed the rest of his cock down, the tip touching the back of his throat. He waited only a second before he opened up his throat and started to bob his head in a rhythm that made Bruce’s head spin. Every nerve in his body felt exposed as Clark bobbed his head and flattened his tongue along the underside of his cock, making sure that Bruce would feel everything.

He wasn’t sure if it was the trick his mind was playing on him, making him believe that this was their first time, or if Clark was just really good with his mouth–likely both–but he could already feel a knot settling at the base of his spine. A low moan slipped out of him, echoing in the room along with the wet sounds of Clark’s mouth as he took him in over and over again. The lewd sounds had Bruce’s heart rate ticking up and a flush coating his chest, but when he heard Clark moan around his cock, it was like a religious experience. 

The knot at the base of his spine got tighter with each passing second, and watching Clark wasn’t helping. The flush that spread across his face while his eyes grew hazy with lust and love was enough to finally send Bruce over the edge. The fingers gripping his hair grew tighter, his abdomen tightening as he tilted his head back with a soft shout. He could feel Clark’s throat working around him to swallow down every last drop, and Bruce swore. 

“Clark…Clark, fuck, stop.” The words hardly sounded like they came from him, nearly wrecked with a whine threatening to make an appearance at the end. 

Fortunately, Clark stopped. He pulled off his cock with a soft pop and dragged his thumb along his bottom lip with a tiny smirk. Bruce could only watch as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to the inside of his thigh, teeth skimming over the sensitive skin. “Stop? But I’m only getting started.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes at the playful threat and muttered, “Don’t tell me you’re mouthy during sex.” 

The fact that Clark didn’t deny the claim piqued Bruce’s interest. He lifted a brow at the silence, but Clark simply ignored his silent question in favor of dragging himself back up his body. A boyish grin spread over his lips as he pressed a couple of soft pecks to his lips, a little chuckle settling in his chest as he murmured, “You’re so beautiful.” 

Sweet talking. He was most definitely up to something. 

Bruce almost missed the sound of a bottle opening because he was so focused on each one of the pecks Clark kept pressing against his lips. He broke one of the pecks to glance in the direction of the sound, eyes narrowing at the bottle of lube that Clark had pilfered during his well-planned distraction. 

“Don’t give me that look,” Clark said, a teasing lilt in his tone. “This is always your favorite part.” 

Bruce frowned and rolled his eyes once again, but it wasn’t like he could deny the claim. He couldn’t remember any details of their sex life. 

Clark gave his hip an affectionate pat and murmured, “Just relax. I’ve got you.” 

I’ve got you.

The words offered a comfort that Bruce didn’t know he needed. Those three little words had the tension in his shoulders easing away, and Clark’s smile softened. Bruce realized that he was listening to his heartbeat, and that thought alone had him blushing all over again. How was it that Clark had this effect on him? 

Clark gave him the space to work through what he was feeling, shifting his focus to the bottle as he squirted a generous amount of the lube onto his fingers. Those fingers that had stitched up his wounds, had pulled him–literally–out of precarious situations, and saved his life time and time again. They were the same fingers that had brushed along his skin, had mapped out every scar and ridge on his body until he knew everything about him, and now they were brushing along the insides of his thighs, leaving a cool path behind them. 

Bruce shivered at the coolness of the lube on the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, and Clark merely chuckled as he leaned down to bump their noses together. Blue on blue. Their eyes never wavered from one another, and Bruce was thankful for the eye contact. He was glad to see the devotion and affection that peered down at him as a finger pressed inside him.

The logical part of him knew that it wouldn’t hurt, seeing as they were married , but what he wasn’t expecting was how his body seemed to remember exactly what to do. His brain may have been addled by the toxin, forced to forget things until it wore off, but his body knew Clark. It remembered for him. 

As Clark’s finger pressed into him, Bruce spread his legs even further apart and took it without complaint. A hum of approval settled in his husband’s chest as he watched, his gaze never wavering as he murmured, “So good for me…You’re always so good for me, Bruce.”

He hadn’t expected the praise to hit him as hard as it did. It blanketed him, and without any warning, his body decided to submit for him. It was a subtle shift, one that he knew Clark had already noticed. He felt his entire body sink into the mattress while he tipped his head back against the pillow, baring his neck. 

Clark wasted no time leaning down to start marking up his neck, teeth scraping over every sensitive area until Bruce was close to whining. The sensation at his neck mixed with how slowly Clark was moving his finger had him ready to snap. He was beginning to believe that Clark was purposely teasing him, which was the likely answer. Finally, after agonizing seconds, Clark’s finger finally bottomed out, and he began to thrust it, settling into a rhythm that was almost too slow, but he understood why he was taking his time. 

“How long are you going to treat me like glass?” Bruce’s voice was strained as Clark nipped at his skin and curled his finger in an upwards motion. 

A low, thoughtful hum settled in Clark’s chest, his lips spreading into a smile against his skin. Bruce couldn’t help his own smile. “Mmm…Maybe just a few more seconds.”

Clark made him wait a couple more seconds, like he had said, before he slipped in a second finger. He immediately started scissoring the two fingers, and Bruce groaned in the back of his throat at the feeling. He’d had sex before. Plenty of times, with many different kinds of people, but Clark was different. He wasn’t trying to get a quick fuck in, nor was he trying too hard. He opened him up with a skill that showed they’d been doing this for a while. His fingers worked in a steady rhythm. Thrust, scissor, curl, repeat.

“How…,” He started, his eyes threatening to roll back as Clark’s fingers just barely teased his prostate on the last upwards curl. “How long have we been married?” 

Clark doesn’t stop what he’s doing. On the contrary, he took it a step further. Instead of keeping to his original pattern, he gave one final thrust of his fingers and, without searching, started to massage his prostate in slow strokes. A jolt ran down Bruce’s spine, and as much as he tried to squirm away, Clark wasn’t letting that happen. 

He pressed his weight down onto him and continued to massage that spot until his legs felt like they were going to turn into Jell-O. Clark took the opportunity to lean down and kiss over his face, starting with his eyebrows. He slipped a third finger into him, and Bruce let out a string of curses that a sailor would blush at. 

“Two years.” The words were a whisper against his skin, followed by, “But we dated for three before getting married. We had to make it believable to the public.” 

Bruce hardly registered a word he had said; his entire body felt like it was on fire as Clark continued to massage his prostate. He kept the same steady pace, fast enough that Bruce could feel the beginnings of another orgasm, but slow enough that it was driving him insane. He was nothing but a panting mess as Clark carried on, dragging his lips against any inch of skin he could reach while his fingers had no mercy. 

“Clark…I’m… Oh .” His toes curled, and he could feel that same knot settling at the base of his spine. It felt like he was being pulled taut, like a spring just waiting to snap. He thought Clark would stop, but he was beginning to fear that his words had only encouraged him further. He added more pressure against his prostate, and the look in his eyes made it evident that he intended to devour him whole. 

Bruce came with a loud cry, his entire body tensing as he arched off the bed. It was like fire had spread through him as Clark helped him through his second orgasm, his fingers never stopping. The pleasure began to blur as overstimulation crept in. He gasped Clark’s name and shifted his hips to get away, but he was stuck. Clark leaned down to his ear, kissing the shell as he whispered, “You’re doing so well, Bruce.” 

For a moment, Bruce was afraid that he was going to keep going, but as his body spasmed and shook, Clark had mercy on him. He stopped and pulled his fingers out, wiping his hand on his sweats. The only sound between the two of them was Bruce’s shaky breaths as they pumped out of his chest. He lifted a hand and brushed his hair back from his forehead, muttering, “Do you do that often?”

“Depends…Usually, when you piss me off or you’re particularly crabby one day.” He said it so simply that Bruce laughed. Of course Clark would take the time to massage his prostate and send him into a state of overstimulation in those instances. Though because he knew himself, he knew that the method had to yield good results. 

The sound of fabric pulled him out of his thoughts, and he glanced down to watch as Clark started to slip out of his sweats and boxers. He caught a glimpse of the red plaid boxers and stifled a laugh. Though Clark must have caught his smile because he blinked and muttered, “You laughed at my boxers during our first time. Something about, ‘how do you manage to be so predictable, Kent?’” 

Bruce pushed himself up into a sitting position and reached out for Clark, his hands settling on the man’s neck. He pulled him close to rest their foreheads together and mumbled, “Your predictability is one of the things I love about you…You’re familiar in every way possible.”

He closed the rest of the space between them, slotting his lips over Clark’s in a soft kiss. Neither of them felt like fighting over this kiss. It was all slow, gentle presses of their lips, a couple of little smiles sneaking their way into it.

Bruce found himself on his back again while Clark pushed the rest of his clothes off, the kiss never breaking despite the change of position. Strong hands gripped onto Bruce’s thighs, easily wrapping his legs around Clark’s hips as he found his place between them. A hint of a smirk graced his husband’s lips as he kissed him and murmured, “I love you…Even when you dose yourself with a fear toxin and make me mad.” 

A little snort settled in Bruce’s nose, but hearing Clark tell him he loved him was the closest he’s ever felt to any religion. Hearing those words from the one man on the planet who could destroy it made him feel powerful in a way the Batsuit never could. He let the words wash over him, consume him. 

“You have ruined me, Clark Kent.” He lifted a hand to gently brush some of the curls out Clark’s face, and he couldn’t help but soften when he tilted his head into his touch. 

“I feel the same way about you, Bruce Wayne,” Clark spoke, his tone laced with pure adoration. “You’ve been my best friend for so long that without you I’d forget how to exist.” 

Bruce tightened his legs around Clark’s hips, his signal that he was ready. He took the hint and reached between them to guide his cock to Bruce’s entrance, pressing the tip against him as he whispered, “Ready?” He was giving him a chance to back out. Ever the polite farmboy.

“Ready.” The word came out in a near whisper, but Clark heard him loud and clear. He leaned down to press their foreheads together once more, and without a moment's hesitation, he finally entered him. 

Clark was bigger than he had imagined, and if this had actually been their first time, he was certain he would have needed a moment. But because his body was so attuned to Clark’s, he took him with ease. His jaw went slack as Clark pressed into him, filling him up until the only thing he could think about was how Clark was all his. Only he got to have Superman like this. 

The muscle in Clark’s jaw ticked with barely leashed restrain, but he fisted his hands into the sheets and released a breath he had been holding. He could’ve swore he heard a faint ripping noise. Bruce had never felt so full in his life, and Clark was still pushing into him. When he finally bottomed out, they inhaled as one.

“Move,” Bruce gasped, his hands resting on Clark’s shoulders with his nails already digging little crescent moons into the skin. They would heal within seconds, but at least for now he could pretend like they’d last. 

Clark didn’t need to be told twice. Bruce could see it in his eyes that the time for sweet nothings was over. He swore he could see a faint flicker of red, but he told himself it was just the light. He pulled his hips back quickly and in one swift motion, pistoned them forward. They moaned together as he bottomed out, Bruce’s eyes squeezing shut as Clark managed to hit his prostate dead on. He was going to kill him. 

“So perfect,” Clark spoke, a flush settling on the apples of his cheeks. “Do you know how perfect you are? Like you were made for me and only me.” He accented his point with another hard thrust, the motion pushing Bruce further up the mattress. 

He couldn’t have responded if he wanted to. His brain was nothing but mush as Clark settled into a dizzying rhythm. Each thrust was hard enough to knock their hips together and he knew there would be bruises tomorrow. Clark moved with precision, like he knew exactly where to hit to make Bruce cry out in pleasure. 

“Everyone always wants a piece of you.” Clark’s voice had gotten close to his ear, and he could feel the tickle of his breath as he spoke against the cartilage. He grabbed one of Bruce’s hands in his own and squeezed it before pinning it to the ground, his hips never faltering as he fucked into him again and again. “Doesn’t matter if it’s Bruce Wayne or Batman…Everyone wants a piece of you, but I get both.” 

“Greedy,” Bruce gasped the word, his eyes rolling back into his skull since Clark chose that exact moment to wrap his free hand around his cock and squeeze. The low chuckle in his ear sent a shiver down his spine and made his cock twitch. He’s completely at Clark’s mercy, but there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

“Only when it comes to you,” Clark supplied, the hand on his cock quickly matching the rhythmic speed of his thrusts. Bruce swore he could see stars behind his eyes. “Look at me, Bruce.”

Bruce’s eyes opened at the command, his lashes fluttered as Clark’s face came into focus. For a moment, they just looked at each other, blue on blue. A furrow formed between Clark’s brows as he subtly shifted his hips and started hitting deeper, obviously chasing his orgasm by this point. Bruce could tell the eye contact was doing it for him, and he found it oddly endearing. Clark would be the type of man who got off on prolonged eye contact during sex. 

“Clark, I really don't think…,” His words trailed off as Clark swiped his thumb over the tip of his cock, pressing down a beat later before he went back to stroking it. He couldn’t even comprehend how another orgasm was steadily building in him again, but he couldn’t complain when the pleasure had him wound so tight he could burst. Again . 

A smile fit itself on Clark’s lips, and the asshole has the audacity to feign innocence. He looked down at Bruce, his smile verging on smug as he murmured, “Think what, love?” 

Bruce moaned at the pet name, his body tensing beneath Clark. He truly was going to be the death of him. 

They were both close. Bruce could tell by the way that Clark’s hips stuttered every other thrust, and how tightly he pinned his hand against the mattress. Neither man dared look away. They breathed as one, their chests rising and falling with every panting breath that filtered between them. They breathed each other in with every inhale, and Bruce knew that Clark could smell their mixed scents. He wondered what it would be like to have heightened senses like his. To be able to hear his heartbeat from across the world. 

“So beautiful, Bruce…And all mine.” The words were strained, like he was trying his hardest to hold back. His hips grew sloppier, followed by the hand wrapped around his cock, but he couldn’t care less. Clark shifted his hips one final time, the tip of his cock bumping right against his prostate for the final time, and that was all it took for Bruce to see stars. He choked on a moan as his third orgasm ripped through him, nearly knocking the life out of him. It was amazing how he could spend his nights bleeding in the streets of Gotham, but the moment his husband fucked him, he was gasping for air and barely clinging to reality. 

Clark immediately followed after him, quickly pulling out to spill his release on Bruce’s thighs. 

Neither could do or say anything except for trying to catch their breath. Bruce rubbed a hand down his face, collecting sweat on his palm that he wiped on the sheets when he dropped it back onto the mattress. The weight between his legs disappeared, leaving him alone on the mattress. Clark was gone and back in a second with a warm, damp wash cloth in his hands. He took his time cleaning up the mess between Bruce’s legs, his gaze once again soft and totally Clark.

The intimacy of being cleaned up had Bruce antsy, but he forced himself to wait patiently for Clark to finish up. This must be a routine of theirs. He could tell by the way Clark methodically dragged the rag over his skin and occasionally bent down to kiss one of the forming bruises on his hips. Once again, he does it with practiced ease.

“We are very married, aren’t we?” The question was meant to be a joke, but when Clark turned his attention onto him, he nearly forgot how to breathe. How did he manage to get this lucky? Had he done something in a past life to allow this? So much tragedy surrounded his life, but somehow he was allowed this one good thing. 

Clark tossed the rag to the side, not caring where it landed, and crawled back to his spot on the bed. He maneuvered them under the covers, pulling the blankets up around them before he grabbed Bruce by the waist and tugged him closer. The almost dopey smile on his lips made his heart skip a couple of beats. 

“We are very married…The kids will remind you in the morning.”

Kids. Kids…

Bruce blinked once, twice, and then a third time. 

“We have kids?”

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, and I'm sure there will be more of these two idiots being dumb and in love in my fic writing future!