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“Jesus, Bruce, what crawled up your ass and died?”
Bruce’s expression didn’t change, he didn’t even bother to acknowledge Hal’s question as he typed at the console, digging for the intel he needed, ignoring the rest of the Justice League as they wandered in to the meeting room with various bits of breakfast and coffee. He’d been up for three hours already, the worry in his bones growing greater each passing minute. It had been three days since he’d seen Clark and it just wasn’t sitting right with him. Diana had told him not to worry, that Clark was a big boy and could take care of himself, Hal and Barry had all but shrugged.
It wasn’t right.
He finally detected the the small tracer he’d surreptitiously put on Superman’s uniform. It was highly unlikely that Clark hadn’t realized it was there but the signal never fluctuated until three days ago when he’d lost it and Clark had gone AWOL. It was faint but Bruce could track it and, as the team sat at the table to start the morning meeting, he transferred the information to the batjet and left the room, again ignoring the questions from the others. If they weren’t worried, there was no need to bring them in on the mission.
It took Bruce two hours to get to the signal and he ran a few passes to try and figure out what was going on. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around and the cave was the only thing in the area where it was plausible for Clark to be. An echolocation scan of the cave revealed underground tunnels and Bruce wasted no time in heading down to find Superman.
There was no one around and it bothered him, why would someone take Clark and then just leave him alone? It didn’t make sense. Batman kept on heightened alert as he picked the final lock, murmuring under his breath so Clark would be prepared, would know that he was there.
“I’m here, Superman, have you out soon…”
A satisfying click and the creak of squeaky hinges later and Bruce was stepping in to the room, scanning for any enemies before his eyes locked onto Superman.
-
Normally the warning would have been more than enough to alert Superman of rescue. Normally it didn’t hurt so much to breathe.
The walls were lined with lead, but it was an unnecessary precaution. Superman slumped in his shackles, far weaker than Clark Kent had ever been. His caped bunched up, grimy and dirty, where his arms were twisted at an aggravating angle above his head, and they hung limply despite the growing discomfort. The rusted metal chaffed along his wrists, cutting through invulnerable skin like it was paper. Muscle cramps kept his legs stiff where they were splayed out in front of him. Superman hadn’t moved in hours. There wasn’t a green rock in sight.
He squinted against the light, drawing in the minutest breath to steady himself for another attack before he could make out a gratifyingly familiar shape. “Batman?”
He licked his lips, swallowing thickly as he tried to pull himself to his feet. “You have to hurry,” he rasped. His mind was muddled. Normally he had such a good grasp of time, but everything was harder to control. “He left two hours ago, I don’t know when he’ll be back.”
Even as he tried to stick to the facts, there was something like awe that tinged his words, like he wasn’t quite sure this was happening. Superman was a solo act. Yet here Bruce was, and Superman couldn’t imagine why.
-
Batman was at Superman’s side before his name was fully out of his mouth, stopping the idiot from trying to stand as steady hands making quick work of the first shackle. There was blood. Superman wasn’t supposed to bleed. When it clicked open, he carefully lowered Superman’s arm, massaging gently to get the blood flow back, wondering if there would even be pain.
“Who? Who was it? Talk to me, Superman…” he needed to keep Clark talking, keep him conscious until they got back to the Hall Of Justice and got him help. The second shackle clicked open and Bruce was just as gentle with that arm as the first.
Mind racing, Bruce tried to anticipate what had happened and how to help, there was no kryptonite that he could see, which didn’t mean there wasn’t some there, or that Clark hadn’t been injected with it somehow. But Kryptonite poisoning looked different than this, this was highly unusual. As soon as he got Superman back to the batjet he’d contact Diana and get them prepared for whatever was going on. For now, he had to figure out how bad the damage was and what had caused it.
-
Superman leaned in, resting his head against the other hero’s shoulder with a tired sigh, breathing in his scent. He could tell the difference anymore, the minute shifts between leather and sweat and skin. It was like all of his senses were being muted by cotton, and he hoped Bruce would wait until they got somewhere quiet to yell at him about the break in professionalism. It made the pit of his belly tighten. He was so hungry.
“Parasite. He’s an… Energy thief.” That didn’t sound right. There were small but vital differences that made such a broad term unacceptable, but Superman was too tired to try and reason with his own fluttering thoughts. “He can steal most forms from a solid source.”
They could debate about that later, if Bruce was feeling particularly, the polite word was, meticulous. The muscles in his legs started to spasm, painful but understandable. They were normal, human spasms, the sort you got after exercising too hard. Superman wouldn’t know. It had been decades since that was any sort of risk. He breathed in sharply, eyes squeezing shut but he slowly shuffled forward, trying to walk.
He racked his brain, trying to make sense of the times he’d so carefully tracked. It was impossible to be completely accurate when he’d blacked out in between, but Superman was nothing if not stubborn. “I don’t know where he goes, or what he’s doing. It’s usually six hours or so before he returns, ten before he needs to feed.”
-
Batman pulled Superman up to his feet, steadying him for a moment as he tucked himself in close to support his weight. Parasite, that didn’t sound good at all but it explained a lot. If he was siphoning energy off of Clark regularly, and Clark didn’t have access to the sun to help him recharge, it would definitely take it’s toll.
“Parasite…” he repeated with a growl as they headed out but his thought was cut off by Superman’s legs practically giving out on him. The pain in his expression was obvious and Batman stopped him, stepping closer as he slipped his arm down behind his knees and picked him up, “Shh, Clark…” he murmured quietly as he moved through the corridors, faster than they had been going but still slower than he wanted, “We’ve got lots of time… I need you to relax… rest……”
They got to the batjet and Batman made sure that Superman was securely buckled in before he took his own seat and took off at top speed towards the Hall, radioing the rest so they would be prepared. As they flew, Bruce monitored Superman carefully and he reached across the console between them, resting his hand lightly on Clark’s forearm, careful of his injuries. “We’ll send the others back to capture and investigate Parasite while we fix you up…”
-
This was embarrassing. Superman could barely keep his eyes open, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to try. He pressed his face into the crook of Bruce’s shoulder, expression marred with discomfort. He was one of the most vocal members of the League on needing back-up, but that was always because he expected to be their cavalry. Superman was always the one who could take the hardest hits. They all had their roles to play, and if he couldn’t do that right, then he wasn’t carrying his own weight.
Now, more than ever.
He collapsed in the jet’s seat, more relieved than he dared voice. Bruce had been as careful as possible, but there was nothing quite like being able to rest his head on a solid, steady surface. His arms throbbed, muscles burning with disuse, and Superman didn’t want anyone to see him like this.
“I’m okay.” Superman said, gritting his jaw as he sat up straighter. “Fly past the sun, and I’ll be right as rain.” He wasn’t entirely joking. If he could get away with it, he’d be leading the charge. No one had to know what transpired in Parasite’s lair beyond the composed lines of a mission report.
-
Batman frowned as he watched Superman wincing and he shook his head lightly as he got back on the comms to amend his message to the team.
“Change of plans, Diana, I’m taking Superman to the batcave, I’ve sent you the coordinates to Parasite’s base and the timeline, take care of it.” his tone left no room for argument and Diana’s confirmation came quickly.
“Roger that, Batman… take care of him…”
Adjusting the flight path, Bruce made sure that they would maximize their sun exposure on the way back to Wayne Manor. “We’ll get you some sun, farmboy, don’t worry…” he flipped on the autopilot and went to the back of the jet, grabbing a bottle of water and a sterile cloth to clean away the obvious blood from Clark’s wounds.
-
The look on Superman’s face could stop most villains in their tracks. People didn’t usually say it, not when he was supposed to be a paragon of goodness and virtue, but Superman could be terrifying when he put his mind to it, and Bruce had drawn a line he wasn’t ready to face. It was a shame Batman wasn’t afraid of anything. He still waited for the com to disconnect, before he hissed, “What the Hell, Bruce?”
The accusation burned in the space between them, and Superman very nearly pulled his hands away, just to act like a petulant child. To add insult to injury, Parasite hadn’t even needed to hurt him. All his injuries came from the villain’s carelessness not malice, the same way someone, anyone human would react after being locked in the dark for three days.
-
Superman’s expression and tone didn’t phase Batman one bit, his training came in handy, even though it didn’t phase him, he could see how others would be scared stiff by the look alone. He simply set the water bottle down next to the chair and held out his hand, expecting Superman to place his own in it so he could clean him up. It was a possibility that Superman wasn’t even upset by the ordeal, but Batman wasn’t about to layer on more trauma if he was. Alien or not, Superman was still very human.
“Give me your hand, Clark…” Batman pushed the cowl back so he could make proper eye contact and held his hand out again, his voice gentle rather than the usual gruff tone that he took in the suit, “You can wash up properly back at the manor but let me clean some of it off now, hm?”
If Superman was agitated, he might take it out on Bruce. People reacted in so many different ways when they were dealing with trauma and Bruce was ready to take whatever it was that Clark needed to get out to help him feel safe again. Part of that meant giving Clark the power to say no to whatever he was offering. It would be annoying but understandable if the man didn’t want someone touching his wrists when he’d been bound for three days. It was almost like a check-in without straight out asking if he was okay.
-
His arms ached. Not in the bone-deep way that came with touching a star, or diving to the bottom of the ocean, but in a quiet, throbbing way that left his fingers trembling just enough that Superman wasn’t sure he could pick up that water bottle without dropping it. It scared him.
He put his hand in Bruce’s, staring hard at the thin line of crimson that had bled through the sleeve of his uniform. It would heal in under a minute of sunlight, but right now, it looked like it was mocking him. Superman forced himself to look away, but his voice softened, almost instinctively trying to match Bruce’s, to follow his lead. “You had no right to bench me like that. Parasite is my case.”
Sometimes it was almost easier to talk to Bruce when they were fighting. The other hero’s approval meant more to him than Superman was comfortable putting into words. He didn’t want this to be the version of him Batman saw when they were in the field together, and Batman needed to depend on him.
-
Weakness was something that Batman despised wholeheartedly in himself. As a human, it was something he ought to have been used to but he’d never been able to. He certainly didn’t fault others for their weaknesses, it was part of life, but in himself? That was another story altogether. Every cut, every torn muscle, every hyperextended joint, every concussion all of them reminded Bruce of his mortality. He used to envy Clark his invulnerability, still did, in some ways, but this hit to his inviolable state must have been terrifying on a level that Bruce, with his experience with weakness, wouldn’t understand.
He held Clark’s hand, gently sliding his own down to the man’s elbow so his entire forearm was supported and started to wipe away the blood and dirt from around the wound, being careful to avoid the injury itself so he wouldn’t cause more unnecessary pain.
“Parasite is the Justice League’s case,” Bruce reminded lightly, eyes on Clark’s arm, “I know you would be able to handle it but the rest of us need some practice too so we keep sharp…” he smiled, glancing up at Clark’s irritated expression, admiring the way the blue in his eyes seemed to brighten when he was enflamed with fervour of one form or the other, “Diana’s been getting sloppy lately…” he added with a twinkle in his eye.
-
Bruce was being careful with him. It almost made Superman snap, almost made him demand that Bruce stop patronizing him. It was the warmth in his gaze that gave him pause, just enough that Bruce could surprise a laugh out of him. He let himself enjoy the feel of gentle cloth against his skin. He didn’t know how much it helped until he felt the knot in the center of his chest ease, and he wished he could wash it all off, turn the last three days into a memory that he could bury. Compartmentalize and ignore, it was what they did. It was how they survived. The fact that he wasn’t ready to do so weighed heavily on Superman’s mind.
But Bruce was with him. When Bruce was by his side, Clark always knew they were going to win.
“It took you three days to find a sense of humor?” He murmured, far too soft to be as funny as he wanted to be. It took a monumental effort to let himself sink back into the chair, and Superman fell away to find Clark in an ill-fitting costume, the same way Bruce could push back his cowl. But he found the strength to reach up, pulling his wrist away from Bruce’s gentle ministrations to cup the other man’s cheek, and in the quiet corners of his mind, Clark faced how terrified he was that he would never see him like this again.
-
The laugh, the attempt at joking back, Bruce could see that Clark - and it was Clark, 100% Clark who slumped back into the chair - was trying to do what the rest of them did when faced with frailty. Shove it down and forget about it. For someone who didn’t have much experience with it, it wouldn’t be easy. He sighed quietly as he leaned into the man’s warm hand and watched Clark’s expression. There was fear dancing around the edge of it, a mix of sadness, frustration, andfear. Bruce didn’t know if it was fear that this sort of thing would happen again but he didn’t like to see it on Clark’s face.
Raising his own hand to cover Clark’s against his cheek, Bruce leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, pulling away just enough so he could speak, “Hal will never believe you…” his tone was still gentle, lightly teasing towards Hal as it had been towards Diana previously, but there was a new desire in it as well, “We’ll keep it between ourselves, maybe… our little secret…” Bruce looked into Clark’s eyes as he spoke, the familiar ridges and valleys of his irises as comforting as the darkness that surrounded them at night in their bed when the world was quiet.
-
Clark’s brow furrowed, and a spark of frustration and desperate, painful hope flashed across his face before he leaned in, pulling his partner into another kiss. His hands still shook and his muscles still ached, but it didn’t have to matter when Bruce looked at him like that.
There was so much between them, so much that Clark wasn’t comfortable with anyone else ever knowing. Bruce was his greatest ally, the person who above all else, Clark knew he could depend on, whether it be on the battlefield or in the quiet spaces between their bodies, where no one else could see them. Bruce was the only person who could destroy him.
“I want to get out of this suit.” It felt like a confession, far more honest than anything else Clark had said today. Sweat and blood weren’t the worst of what stained the fabric, and it felt too heavy on his skin. Everything it represented bore down on him.
Wayne Manor came up on the horizon.
When Clark disembarked, he made sure to do it on his own two feet.
-
Bruce nodded as he pulled away from Clark, heading back to his seat to take over the controls to land the jet in the safety of the batcave. “The shower in the master bath is the best in the mansion… I’ll have Alfred bring up something for us to eat in a bit…” Alfred hadn’t been expecting them and Bruce made sure that his butler and friend would be kept busy by preparing food as he walked with Clark, slowly but surely, to the master bedroom. There was no need for the man to see Clark in such a state and it would only serve to embarrass one and worry the other.
When they got to the bedroom, Bruce pulled off his cape and slung it over a chair, turning to Clark as he undid his gauntlets and pulled them off. “I should have asked… do you want a shower or a bath? Either way, this bathroom is the best…” he kept his tone easy-going, letting Clark make the decision again, giving him those small bits of agency and control back after days without.
-
It took too long. Clark wanted to be able to fly through the mansion. He’d done it enough times now to know how fast he could be. It was a painful juxtaposition to their slow, lumbering pace. He counted every uneven step, every second he wasted leaning against a corridor wall, and by the time they reached the master bedroom, he was out of breath and nothing but his stubborn pride kept him standing.
Clark winced.
“A bath sounds good,” he said. The illusion of choice was a mercy when his legs felt like they would give out, but his suit was already peeling off hi form, psionic Kryptonian technology folding it into a small square in the center of his palm. Clark didn’t care what Bruce saw, not now.
He held on too tightly to the wall as he lowered himself into the tub. It said a lot that the tile remained in place, without even a crack breaking through, but Clark didn’t care. He was splayed out on large marble, more of a jacuzzi honesty than any sort of respectable tub before the faucet turned on. A husky, shameless groan rippled through him now that he could finally lie down, but he turned to Bruce reflexively, watching him through half-lidded eyes. Reaching out for him was as easy as breathing.
“Stay…?” He asked, a faint tremor shifting his words. “I could use the company.”
Clark just wasn’t ready to let go yet.
-
“A bath it shall be…” Bruce murmured as he stepped out of his boots, belt, and armour, leaving him in his black t-shirt and boxers as he turned on the taps of the tub. He held his hand under the water to make sure the temperature was right, contemplating the way the water moved over his fingers though all he really wanted to look at was Clark. The man would want some privacy, something Bruce was keenly aware of and gave to him freely until he felt a hand on his arm and heard a quiver in Clark’s voice that told him far more than his actual words.
“Of course,” he replied, standing and hesitating as he contemplated an idea that Clark might be too embarrassed to ask for. Bruce wouldn’t push it, not yet anyway, and he turned the taps off and sat on the edge of the tub, hand moving to thread through Clark’s hair, “Let me wash your hair for you?” Get Clark clean first, thenask to join him.
Thankfully only one side of the tub was against the wall and Bruce knelt behind Clark, one hand on his shoulder as the other reached for the shampoo. It was a fresh scent, like the forest after it had rained, and it lathered thick as it filled the room with images and memories of better times. Bruce took his time, using the soft pads of his fingers to diligently massage Clark’s scalp, hoping that the silence wasn’t only comfortable on his side.
-
Crimson rivulets stained the water, not enough to make a difference but enough that Clark could watch them branch off and disappear. The wounds on his wrist were already healing. If he had been human, it would have taken days, weeks for them to disappear, if the scars ever would. It should have given him comfort. Instead an odd sense of dread settled over his shoulders, alongside the weight of the world.
He was drifting before he realized he’d closed his eyes, too tired to notice anything but the wash of warm water over his skin. Bruce was the first thing he saw when he awoke. That was always enough to make him smile.
“Sorry, I uh… Yeah. Yeah, please.” He couldn’t help but lean into the other man’s arm. It was Bruce’s shampoo, he noticed, that ridiculously expensive stuff that he didn’t have to think twice about buying because he could probably afford to buy out the factory that made it. Clark liked it. It reminded him of home now, the same way dried hay and sunshine still did.
He reached up without looking, hand finding Bruce’s wrist so he could still him. It was strange to know, honestly know that he couldn’t stop Bruce right now, not even if he really wanted to. Bruce would stop because Bruce wanted to, because he cared about Clark. He swallowed thickly.
“Join me?” He whispered. Because I missed you felt too raw.
-
Bruce stopped when Clark took hold of his wrist and he nodded even though the other man wouldn’t be able to see him. He shifted closer, soapy hands moving to Clark’s chest, giving him a light hug as he pecked his cheek. He used the opportunity to rinse his hands off and then stood up and pulled his shirt over his head, his boxers hitting the floor before he stepped in to the warm water.
With a quiet sigh, Bruce reached out and gently pulled at Clark so that he was sitting behind the other man, keeping him braced between thick legs and strong arms, his head resting against his shoulder. “I’ve got you…” he murmured quietly, pressing another kiss to Clark’s temple as he scooped little handfuls of water up over the man’s shoulders and hair where he’d be cold from the air, “Bit of a day, huh?"
-
Growing up Clark never would have imagined a tub big enough to fit two grown men, especially two grown men who should have by all rights shopped at the Big and Tall. They made it work though, twisting and shifting as little as possible until everything was so much warmer, so much gentler, the hard pane of Bruce’s chest still far more forgiving than smooth marble and Clark had to close his eyes because it was almost too much. If he started crying now, he didn’t think he’d be able to get a reign on it. Best not to start.
Clark took Bruce’s hand in his and kissed the back of his wrist, closing his eyes at the feel of warm water dripping down his nape. There were so many bubbles. All he could think of was Bruce.
“How’d you find me?” He murmured by way of answering, almost too softly to be heard. He hadn’t expected back up, and the times he allowed himself to dream, he’d expected it far later. He and Bruce had their jobs, multiple ones even. Batman could disappear for weeks at a time, whether it be locked in his cave or on some exotic island, pursuing a case. Not all of Superman’s fights could be ended in one punch.
-
Clark was always so strong, it was expected, he was the Man of Steel. How else would a man of steel be if not strong? Bruce knew most thought this way and he also knew that most people were wrong. Superman was the Man of Steel, not Clark. Clark was, at his core, human and all humans had their vulnerabilities, their low times, and their Achilles heels. The only difference with Clark was that he wasn’t used to his weaknesses being physical and the effect of that on his emotional wellbeing would be exponentially more distressing.
He scooped a bit more water and smoothed his hand over Clark’s head, debating whether or not to tell the man about the tracker or not. There really was no point in keeping it from him since he was sure that Clark already knew about it. “The tracker… took a while to lock on to your signal but I found you…” Bruce kept scooping water over Clark’s hair, rinsing it out slowly.
-
“That thing,” Clark said, surprised at having forgotten. There was precious little that slipped past his eidetic memory, and he’d forgotten that. It felt like so long ago, back when it was just the two of them, when the Justice League wasn’t even a concept, barely even an idea. He laughed, soft and startled and a little to rough as he turned to face Bruce. Water sloshed over the end, bringing about a thousand bubbles with it.
“I used to think that was your way of saying you liked me.” He admitted softly. He used to use it as proof that Bruce cared.
Bruce moved his hands, letting Clark move as he wished, smiling a little when their eyes met. The only thought that crossed his mind at the sound of the water hitting the floor was how irritated Alfred was going to be. That thought was replaced with confusion and Bruce’s brow furrowed as his smile grew skeptical.
“You… thought that me putting a tracker on you was because I… liked you? Oh Clark…” there was exasperation in his voice as he rolled his eyes but the fondness was readily evident, “Most people would consider that a breach of privacy…” Only Clark would be able to justify it as he had and Bruce really did adore him for that, he didn’t know anyone else who thought like Clark did. Frustrating and endearing all at the same time. “I’m glad I did though, came in handy today…” he added as he ran the backs of his fingers down along Clark’s cheek.
-
“Oh it was. Gross breach of privacy, I don’t know what you were thinking. You always had my number, and I always answer when it’s you,” Clark said in one low whisper, so much earnestness twisted into his words it was a wonder he didn’t choke on them, but it was true. Even in the thick of battle, he was the one to answer Bruce’s calls, which came in handy since the stubborn bat tended to throw himself off high surfaces, not always with a grappling hook ready. “Of course, I thought it was because you wanted to kill me for a while.”
That was true too, all of it painfully true. They had a long and twisted history, but there was no one Clark trusted more, and he kissed Bruce then, kissed him hard and needy, sliding against him in the warm water.
“I follow your heart, no matter where I go. I can hear it anywhere on the globe, and it… It let me know that I can keep fighting.” He whispered into Bruce’s mouth, one hand resting over his chest, just above his frantic pulse.
I should’ve known you’d find me.”
The symbol of hope. And he hadn’t believed in his best friend.
-
He had been trying to keep things light and trivial but he had been wrong, Clark’s tone, his words, the look in his eyes showed Bruce as plain as day that the man needed something much more profound. “Clark…” it was all he could breath out before they were kissing, Bruce’s knees knocking against the sides of the tub, water hitting the tiles bringing bubbles to float listlessly around his discarded clothes on the floor.
Bruce was breathing hard by the time Clark was whispering again, eyes shut tight as his hands moved to pull the man in closer, wanting as much contact as possible. His heart skipped a beat, something Clark would have noticed, and he made a small noise in the back of his throat as the full weight of Clark’s words sunk down into him. He didn’t understand it but he didn’t question it, how Clark could see him, Bruce Wayne, mere human, as a beacon of strength when he was so undeniably powerful himself. He wouldn’t question it but the fact that Clark thought of him that way made his heart nearly break. The heart he so prided himself on it’s indestructibility.
Only Clark could make him feel so keenly.
One hand smoothed down Clark’s torso, fingers digging into his hip to give his own hips something to push up against as Bruce deepened the kiss. His other arm was wrapped around Clark’s shoulder with his hand splayed out over the side of his head, keeping him from turning away. It was antithetical to the plan of giving Clark choices and control back but Bruce couldn’t help himself, needed Clark close, needed to taste him, needed to use him as a ground to stop his own emotions from inundating him.
-
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t what they were used to, with laughter that could turn mocking in a second, and everything an unspoken competition or achingly, maddeningly slow where they tried to kiss away the wounds they couldn’t heal, wounds that went so much deeper than flesh. Clark always had to be aware, alert of what he was, of how he could hurt, but Bruce could leave bruises on his hips now, and Clark needed to convince himself that he wasn’t going to lose everything.
It had been three days, of helplessness and horror, his body betraying him on a fundamental level. He’d suffered Apokalips. Despite his haughty title, he knew he was far from the most powerful being in the universe, hardly even the most powerful in his solar system maybe. He wasn’t deluded by grandeur, prideful though he may be. But he’d been taken in his home, in what people claimed was the safest city in America if not the world, and he hadn’t thought he had anything in his arsenal but his fading wits.
Bruce was there and he was now, and Clark wanted that to matter.
He kissed him hard on the lips, and lower and lower, his hands moving in time, stroking up his broad chest, memorizing the feel of warm skin beneath his touch as he ground into him. There were bubbles in Bruce’s hair and one, perfect droplet of water on his clavicle, and Clark took it all in before he bit down as hard as he could on it, and made sure Bruce felt it.
-
Bruce tried to keep Clark’s lips on his, not nearly satisfied with what he’d been given to happily let that mouth leave, and he groaned quietly as he tipped his head back and took a deep, steadying breath, capitulating to Clark’s desire. The hand at Clark’s hip moved to the firm curve of his ass and he kneaded the muscle, feeling the way it flexed as he ground down against him, letting himself get lost in the urgent but gentle attentions to his throat.
The bite came out of left field and Bruce cried out, his arms tightening their grip reflexively before he relaxed, the steady throb of the teeth imprints rapidly warming up. “Fuck… Clark…” Bruce grabbed a fistful of dark, wet hair and pulled the man’s head up to remind him that whatever he did, it was wanted and permissible. More than that, Bruce could take it and he would keep taking it for as long as Clark needed him to.
He would be whatever humanity’s beacon of hope needed him to be and if that meant adding to his already substantial collection of scars, it was a small sacrifice he was eager to make.
-
Clark went willingly, the taste of salt and skin still playing on his tongue as he leaned in to kiss Bruce, kiss him with everything he had. They gave so much of themselves to the rest of the world, and sometimes it didn’t feel like enough. Too often it didn’t feel like enough, but they were the only ones who wanted what was left behind. Clark licked his way into the slick, wet heat, losing himself in the feel of Bruce’s tongue sliding against his, the way his mouth parted so sweetly when Clark pressed in, pushing a whisper of his best friend’s name past his swollen lips. There wasn’t an inch of space between them, but Clark still wanted more.
His hands moved lower, fingers fanning out across Bruce’s ribs before sliding down to his naval and his thighs, before he took him in hand. He coaxed his cock to harden, pressing his own along the thick, heavy length. Clark kept the pace that way, driving friction and heat through his nerves until his impatience threatened to rive him wild and he reached lower. He couldn’t move Bruce the way he wanted to, couldn’t make him spread open or drag those long, muscular legs out of the water to give Clark the access he needed, but Bruce was so ready to oblige.
“You’ll always find me,” he whispered, and it should have been a vow, a promise, but it was laced with something horrifyingly vulnerable that begged for reassurance.
-
More water splashed over the edge and up between the small space between their bodies as it disappeared leaving them tight together. Clark’s voice, so quiet but so full of hunger, slipped in past Bruce’s tongue to wind itself down his spine, leaving pulses of lust in its path. He shivered once, twice and then a huff of a breath left him as his hips bucked up into Clark’s hand, his thighs already starting to tremble with anticipation.
The compelling heat of Clark’s cock against his own paired with the man’s insistent hand, had both of them worked up quickly and Bruce murmured encouragingly against Clark’s lips. It was instinctual, really, as Clark’s hand moved lower, Bruce’s legs tried to open for him, restricted by the edges of the tub. It took some maneuvering, but Bruce got one leg hooked over the edge of the bath and pulled Clark in to rut against him, wanting to feel the silky smoothness of his erection against his own.
The vulnerability in Clark’s words hit him hard, again, and Bruce wrapped both arms around the man, his leg coming down to lock him in close as he peppered kisses over Clark’s cheek, his lips, his chin, his nose, wherever Bruce could reach. “Always, Clark…” he stated firmly, one hand dipping under the water to Clark’s ass, squeezing firmly, “I will always find you.”
-
Bruce lit a fire underneath his skin, and it burned through his nerves. It made everything come alive after he’d spent so long trying to keep himself together, fighting for the right to exist when a monster stole everything defined who he was. Clark could claim he was just a human, just another one of them once he put on his glasses, but he was always going to be Kal-El, always going to be Superman, and it wasn’t compartmentalization he needed for that but acceptance. With Bruce he wasn’t one or the other. With Bruce he was just who he was, and every little kiss, the feel of soft pink lips against his skin and strong hands around his body told him that again and again.
Clark let out a strangled whine, almost too broken to hear and pulled his best friend back into a searing kiss, eyes shut so all he could focus on was the velvet smooth feel of his mouth. And as he spread Bruce on his fingers, coaxing him open, the tight heat of his body. He dragged him lower, human-weak for the moment, but strong enough to make Bruce keen for him, sliding his cock through his straining clutch until he was buried to the hilt. He held Bruce there for a moment, whispering praise and please into his jaw as he slowly worked his way back to the darkening bruise on his shoulder to suck in earnest, lips pinching just so. Clark rolled his hips, feeling Bruce strain against his thick length with sharp jolts of pleasure that nearly ended him. It was perfect. It was everything. They were just getting started.
“Don’t let go.”
-
The desperation in Clark was palpable, the need for this physical reassurance and the deeper comfort required knowing that Bruce was by his side and always would be by his side no matter what. He moved easily as he always did with Clark, able to read the man’s desires with the slightest movements, anticipating what he’d want and moving with him like a dance if it was a sloppy, wet dance in bathtub that suddenly seemed far too small despite being exceptionally large.
Clark’s fingers were unrelenting, pushing past Bruce’s entrance and working him open as Bruce shifted and moved to both help himself loosen up and keep the angle as advantageous as possible. Each stroke of his fingers near his prostate had him gasp and choke on Clark’s name but when he pushed in his cock, Bruce went breathless, the stretch almost painful but so perfect he couldn’t even speak. He needed the time that Clark gave him to adjust, his muscles fluttering around Clark’s length as he huffed out a breath and let his head drop to the side to give the man access to the mark he’d started before. The quiet words of encouragement were all that Bruce needed to stay moored safely against the chaos
“Ngh…” Clark’s cock moved with his hips, the excess of precum that he naturally produces providing some lubrication so the friction was smooth but it was still so tight, “I… I w-…. Clark….” All Bruce could get out coherently was Clark’s name and he had to be satisfied with doing instead of telling. His arms were still wrapped around his lover and he repositioned his leg against the back of Clark’s thigh, locking them together with Bruce’s breath panting out in a sharp staccato, “Cl-Clark… I won’t…… ever…..”
-
Bruce’s mouth was swollen red, soft and pliant, and utterly filthy. There was no hiding what they’d been doing. Somehow Clark managed to leave it alone, so he could suck into the skin of his throat. He wanted to hear Bruce like this, wanted to make his voice break as he sucked on his pulse, wanted to make him moan for him. It was all a promise, just as much as the bruising grip he kept around Clark’s shoulders, an oath as sacred as the one that sent Bruce prowling into the night.
Clark couldn’t break through marble now, but his hand curled along the edge of the tub like he was trying to. He kept the other hand on Bruce’s thigh, holding him steady as he pulled out, slow and easy at first, Bruce’s body trembling around him with every inch he dragged out only to thrust in deep. Fucking him long and low, their rhythm driven by need instead of any sort of grace.
Clark was wounded and beaten, but he still had this. Bruce still let him have this.
However they decided to make love, whether they were in the elevator at Wayne Enterprises, high above Metropolis in the clouds, or laid out on the California king in the master bedroom, soft and slow or rough and quick, it was one of the few times that Bruce would fully let go and enjoy himself. Today, though it was an unusual case, it was no different. There was an unspoken agreement between them, they would always give the other what they needed, it was the most important gift that they could give each other in a world that sometimes took them for granted if not in an outright hostile way.
-
Though Bruce was trained in stealth, he was never quiet when they fucked, unless absolutely necessary and even then he took liberties. Every lick, every suck and kiss and nip and thrust drew out an obscene noise or a prayer of just one word: Clark. He was clinging to his alien lover like it was life or death and, in some ways, it was.
Every thrust in felt like it might rip him apart, the strain pushing against the walls of his inside too much but each time Clark pulled out it was like he was being emptied of everything good in his life. Bruce didn’t have to worry. He never had to worry when it came to Clark, Clark would always come back to him, always catch him when he jumped off the cliff, always make sure that he had his good back.
Bruce’s hand slid down Clark’s back, his fingers tingling at the feel of superhuman muscles moving under impenetrable skin as it moved lower and lower. He grabbed a handful of Clark’s ass, moving with him as they fucked until he dipped even lower, fingers pressing at his tight ring of muscles, making slow circles over the ridges and the smooth taint just behind his balls.
-
His mouth fell open in a silent scream, pressed hotly against the crook of Bruce’s neck, his eyes dark beneath his lashes, and Clark trembled with excitement as he bucked against those teasing fingers. He wanted to bury himself in his lover, to carve out a space for himself inside him, claim him in every way he knew how. Too many people had seen Bruce like this, lost to rapture and high on need, keening and begging, but Clark wanted to be the last one who saw.
He worked a hand between them, pumping Bruce’s cock against his washboard abs, his fist just above the water. Bruce’s body arched beneath him with every thrust, sliding down the tub, water sluicing between them. He was so close, every push wrecking havoc through his strangled nerves, and he could feel his control slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.
“Want you to come,” he hissed, leaning up so he could tug Bruce’s ear between his teeth, tongue slipping out to sooth abused skin barely a second late. “Want you to come when I’m inside you.”
-
Bruce’s edge was quickly lost when Clark took hold of his erection. “Oh f-….” his hand slipped as his body jerked at the feel of Clark’s hand, “Fuck, Cl-ark…” he gasped out his lovers name when he bit his ear, hands scrambling with the dilemma of wanting to keep himself close but wanting more room for Clark’s hand to move.
Their bodies moved together, Bruce pushing down onto Clark’s cock and then up into the man’s hand, his muscles starting to burn from the workout while pleasure started to build low in his belly. As the intensity grew, his mouth demanded something to do and he grabbed a fistful of Clark’s curls, yanking his head up and kissing him roughly. It only took one more well-placed thrust, Clark’s dick hitting his prostate just right, and Bruce came hard. His body tensed up as he shoved up into Clark’s hand, cum spurting out into the water between them.
Huffing a single breath, against Clark’s mouth, Bruce’s body relaxed though he forced himself to keep his ass tight around Clark, his leg slipping off the edge of the tub and splashing into the water as he tried to catch his breath.
-
Clark groaned, feeling the other man writhe beneath him, around him. All he could think about was Bruce, how the touch of Bruce’s skin made him feel breathless, how everywhere they touched how his tight clench left him keening. Bruce trembled around him, tightening so sweetly, and Clark couldn’t help but sob. He fucked him through his climax, tension building in the pit of his stomach and spreading across his body.
Bruce sounded absolutely sinful, soft wet sounds pressed against Clark’s mouth, and Clark swallowed them down greedily, until Bruce was pliant beneath him. He buried himself in Bruce’s body, fucking him as he was boneless, filling him up and using him until Clark couldn’t take it anymore. He spilled deep inside his partner, streaking hot cum deep inside his lover before collapsing on top of him.
He wasn’t sure how long they stayed their, pressed against each other before Clark found the strength to move. He brushed his knuckles across his mate’s cheeks, offering him a tired smile. “Thank you.” He whispered, another secret to add to all that they hid together, all that the rest of the world would never know. “I love you.”
-
The feel of Clark’s hot cum inside of him made Bruce purr and, as Clark collapsed on top of him, he wrapped his arms around him carefully, letting his eyes close with a sigh. These moments were precious to him. Just the two of them together, bodies thrumming with mutual pleasure, enjoying being with the other without the worries of the world pressing down on them. It was a respite.
Bruce’s eyes opened when Clark moved and thanked him, his expression softening as he smiled, one hand moving gently over Clark’s shoulder while he leaned in to give him a chaste kiss, “Come on, the water’s cold and you need rest…”
Somehow they managed to get out of the tub, dried off, and into bed without too much trouble, Bruce helping Clark as much as the man would allow. He flicked off the lights, the moonlight streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows, illuminating the room with a silvery glow, and sunk down into the comfortable mattress, making room for Clark to cuddle in if he wanted.
“Clark?” he asked quietly as they settled in for the night, waiting for the sleepy hum before murmuring in his best Kryptonian, “[I love you, too…]"
-
Clark felt like he was floating, but his feet never left the ground. There was warm water and impossibly soft blankets then downy pillows and fluffy blankets, the transition almost seamless.He let himself be lead, the frustration and desperation from minutes ago bleeding away. What it left behind was hopeless adoration, and the relief of coming home.
He collapsed into bed, tucking his face into their sheets before he tried to tug Bruce closer to him. Tried was the operative term. He wasn’t operating anywhere near full strength, and if he wasn’t so tired that would have irked him. It took some negotiating, but they pressed against each other, Clark tucked in behind his lover, his face hidden in Bruce’s shoulder as he slung an arm around his waist.
No one would know how close he’d come to losing himself. No one would learn what a failure on his home turf cost. No one except Bruce, and Clark trusted Bruce with all his secrets.
He let sleep take him, drifting away with exhaustion that no longer felt tainted, only to catch the familiar lilt of a long dead language before he went. When consciousness slipped, Clark was smiling.