Chapter Text
Bruce had no idea how they made it back into the suite from the balcony, but he simply didn’t care. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of how their mouths were tangled together. He relished the velvety softness of Clark’s lips, taking a moment to admire them with his tongue before ruining them with his teeth. Strained noises left Clark at every nip. He was a lot more sensitive to pain on Zurrath since he had no powers under the red sun. He was able to bruise and mark, and Bruce wanted to take advantage of that while he could.
They moved together across the suite, bodies brushing with every step, lips never parting for more than a heartbeat. Bruce’s hands went to work on Clark’s shirt, peeling it away while Clark’s own fingers tugged urgently at the fabric covering him.
In the small pauses between kisses, Bruce drank him in. All broad, sculpted shoulders, arms that flexed beneath sunkissed skin, the subtle rise and fall of his abdomen, each ridge of muscle a roadmap of power that was temporarily locked up. The heat radiating from Clark’s skin was almost suffocating in its intensity, every shiver under Bruce’s touch making his pulse jump. He traced along the V of Clark’s abdomen, over the faint dark hairs along his chest and navel, brushing fingertips over sensitive skin. Each touch drew soft gasps and shivers that made Bruce want to memorize every inch with lips, teeth, and hands.
Clark’s hands were doing their own exploration of Bruce’s waist and hips, and when his shirt finally came off, they traced faded scars that told stories of violence. His touch was tender but lively, as if desperately seeking more knowledge of what this body had endured through battles lost and won.
Step by step, guided by the heat between them, Bruce led Clark toward the edge of the bed and with a firm palm on his chest, pushed him to sit. Knees straddling Clark’s lap, Bruce leaned down again, lips finding the hollow at the base of his throat, teasing, nipping lightly, alternating between soft kisses and sharp little bites that made Clark shiver and writhe in his grasp. His mouth was leaving a trail of red welts and bite marks while the sound of Clark’s whimpers vibrated through him, feeding the heat coiling in his core. He was already straining against the fabric of the slacks holding his legs hostage. Now, in the precarious position he’d trapped himself in, he also felt Clark grow harder under him.
Clark’s large hands gripped him firmly, kneading circles over the softness of Bruce’s ass as if to both steady him and feel him. His hands pressed down, forcing their hips flush into each other. A low groan escaped Bruce’s lips at the sudden friction.
Clark admitted, almost in a whisper, breaths ragged, “I can’t stop touching you.”
“You don’t have to stop.” Bruce’s voice was just as rough, low with desire. “We don’t have to hold back anymore.”
Bruce’s lips captured Clark’s earlobe, teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh before sucking gently, drawing a sharp, ragged gasp from him. Their hips pressed flush together, grinding in slow, deliberate circles that sent heat spiraling through both of them. Clark’s hands were everywhere, pushing, tugging, exploring, while Bruce’s own fingers tangled tightly in his hair, tugging just enough to make him tilt back into his mouth.
Clark’s fingers dipped into the waistband of Bruce’s pants, brushing and probing, emboldened by Bruce’s words. Bruce’s hands found every clasp, belt, and fastening, working with slow, deliberate precision to remove the obstacles of fabric between them. Clark’s own fingers tugged at Bruce’s waist and hips, stripping away the layers with equal urgency.
Finally, now completely naked, Bruce pressed Clark fully onto the bed. Clark’s back hit the mattress, a small chuckle escaping him.
Bruce paused for a brief second, letting his gaze roam over Clark’s upper body. His shoulders were wide and strong, and his broad chest was rising and falling with each breath. One of Bruce’s hands trailed down with a gentle, tantalizing touch, brushing over the coarse dark hairs nestled between Clark’s hips. His hand and eyes met Clark’s cock at the same time, putting into perspective how impossibly big and hard he’d gotten. His fingers wrapped around it firmly and started pumping. Clark’s head craned back as a shattered moan escaped him at the sudden pressure.
“Bruce—” he started, voice breaking over every other word, “Turn around. I want to— ah— touch you too.”
Bruce considered it for a second, then let the Kryptonian have his way as he took a comfortable seat on his chest. A sharp intake of breath could be heard from behind his back as Bruce adjusted to have his face level with Clark’s erection.
“Jeez, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
That was the last thing he heard before two broad hands were spreading him apart and a tongue started lapping his entrance. Bruce almost collapsed at the intrusion, hands trembling at the new, wet sensation probing him open. His lips parted in determination, taking the head of Clark’s cock deep in one swift motion. He wanted to show him what he’d been wanting to do all of these years.
Clark was a lot more vocal than Bruce could have ever imagined, vibrations sending shocks through his body as the man under him moaned against his rim. They quickly became a mess of obscene sounds, Bruce pushing back into Clark’s face while Clark grinded into the back of his throat. Bruce tried his best to not choke, grateful that he was experienced enough to not die by the sheer intensity of it sliding in and out of his mouth.
A finger probed his entrance, trying to join the tongue that was still swirling inside of him. The intrusion had Bruce recalling a memory of those same fingers two nights ago.
The pillows muffled the open-mouthed moans that reverberated through the bed. He was face down, hips propped up, while Clark pumped four thoroughly lubed fingers into him. He kept brushing his prostate enough to elicit a reaction, but never enough to bring full satisfaction.
“Clark. Don’t you want to fuck me instead?” Bruce’s voice came out strained and muffled.
“I need to make sure I won’t hurt you.”
“Please,” Bruce pleaded, patience worn thin enough to make even Batman beg. Clark had taken his sweet time prepping him, and there seemed to be no end in sight. Bruce wasn’t sure if it was out of concern or if Clark was just enjoying the show that much.
Eventually, he relented, fingers retreating with a loud gasp from Bruce. Clark had lined himself up and inserted his cock into Bruce at a brutal slowness; but it was appreciated, as taking Clark proved to be a lot more difficult than he thought despite all the careful preparation.
In no time, they’d become a symphony of pants and loud moans as Clark righted himself fully inside the other man, his hips now snapping hard enough that Bruce’s face pressed further into the mattress. It didn’t last long. They both came with each other’s names in their mouths, overwhelmed by the first taste of their bodies merging.
The memory coupled with the sensation of Clark’s tongue, had him cumming onto Clark’s chest with a loud groan. Clark must have been in a similar predicament with the memory thrumming deep within his bones because soon after Bruce’s mouth was full. His hips rolled as he rode the aftershock, eyes fluttering shut. He swallowed around Clark, making sure he lapped at any remnants of release. Surprisingly, Clark’s hardness didn’t seem to subside. It sat just as heavy as it had in Bruce’s mouth.
When Bruce looked back to gauge the other’s reaction, Clark was busy reaching towards the nightstand for the remaining lube they had left. He seemed too preoccupied to notice that Bruce was watching him coat his fingers in it. When their eyes met, Clark gave Bruce a sheepish smile and pushed two fingers inside him. A startled cry left Bruce’s lips.
“Damn it, Clark. I just came.”
“I know. I already want to watch you do it again.” The words came with a spread of the two fingers.
Not everyone has superhuman refractory periods is what he would have said if his mouth hadn’t been busy forming broken moans. After a while of being stretched, Bruce’s cock started twitching back to life. He’d busied himself teasing back, calloused fingers thumbing what he couldn’t reach while he licked Clark’s cock all over, chin wet with saliva. It was obscene and messy, but Bruce couldn’t spare the thought a singular fuck.
Growing impatient and not wanting a repeat of the memory they’d both just recalled, Bruce took control. He straightened up, pulling away from Clark’s eager hands, and turned to face the man sprawled beneath him. Clark looked wrecked with his curls damp and plastered to his forehead, skin flushed from his cheeks down to his chest. His breathing came fast, uneven, and his half-lidded eyes were hazy with need. A wave of pride surged through Bruce at the sight, knowing this unraveling was something he’d caused. Clark was stripped of invulnerability, open and human in ways he rarely could be, and Bruce took a second to drink it all in.
Bruce took Clark in his hand and lined himself up, suddenly grateful with how diligent Clark had been at making sure he was thoroughly prepared. Even then, it was hard to take all of Clark. He sank down slowly, inch by inch, bottom lip caught between his teeth to suppress sounds.
“You feel so good,” Clark let out a loud groan, a shudder running through him with faint tremors of muscles fighting for control, willing his hips to not push up and enter all at once.
Bruce finally sank down completely, skin meeting skin, the heat between them almost unbearable. For a moment, neither of them moved. There was just the sound of their ragged breathing and the charged silence that hung between heartbeats. Clark’s chest heaved beneath him, every breath sharp and uneven, his hands gripping Bruce’s hips hard enough to leave faint crescents behind. When Bruce finally moved, slow and deliberate, the sound that tore from Clark’s throat reverberated straight through his bones.
No technique whatsoever was needed to have Clark’s cock rubbing insistently against his prostate every time he sat back down after letting it almost fully slide out. It was big enough to hit every inch of his insides, making him feel impossibly full. He clenched every time the spot was grazed, his own cock leaking precum onto Clark’s stomach as it bounced between them.
Clark’s body tensed, then shifted beneath him, sitting up so their chests were pressed flush together. The movement brought them even closer. No distance left, no barrier between them, trapping his aching cock between the heat of their two stomachs. Bruce’s hands slid over Clark’s shoulders, gripping tight for balance, while Clark’s arms wrapped around his waist, holding him steady. Each thrust now came from below, pumping into him harder, and Bruce met them with equal rhythm, their breath catching in sync, the air heavy with sound and heat. Bruce’s head fell against Clark’s shoulder as they moved together, the closeness dizzying, unbearable in its intimacy.
“Bruce,” Clark whispered, voice raw and cracking. “I—” The rest broke off into a strangled breath as Bruce moved again, taking him deeper this time, and Clark’s hands clutched at him like he might come apart if he let go. “I love you.”
Bruce was caught off guard by the sudden tender words. His breath shuddered out against Clark’s mouth, low and uneven. “Say it again,” he murmured.
“I love you,” Clark repeated, but in Kryptonian, and this time Bruce kissed him through it, swallowing the words like oxygen.
It changed something between them. The movements became faster, unrelenting, weighted with meaning. Clark’s arms tightened around Bruce’s back, fingers digging in, pushing him down as his own body arched instinctively, pressing upward in particularly desperate snaps of his hips. Ragged noises tore through Clark’s throat as he spilled inside of Bruce, thick and hot. Bruce’s insides clenched around Clark’s sputtering cock as his release also hit, thighs trembling. Muscles clenched and relaxed, hands fisting into each other’s shoulders and hair, breaths mingling in gasps and quiet moans.
Time blurred into a haze of breath and warmth. The world outside the suite vanished. Their bodies shivered as they rode their orgasms together, moving as one, every press and tilt sending waves of sensation that neither could stop or slow.
When it passed, the tension melted slowly, leaving them panting and pressed together, skin still flush, hearts racing. Clark, still trembling slightly, buried his face against Bruce’s shoulder, a soft sigh slipping past him.
“I love you too,” Bruce whispered, voice raw, trembling, and completely unguarded.
It was a truth that had always existed, and one that would never waver for the rest of his life.
Two days had passed, and Bruce had almost lost track of time entirely. The world outside the suite barely existed; the hours had been filled with laughter, quiet conversations, and exploring every inch of each other’s bodies. Every night had ended the same way, tangled together, breathless, marked, and satisfied. For once, Bruce hadn’t worried about missions, the League, or the endless calculations that normally ruled his mind.
Bruce woke slowly on the final morning, the alien sun casting a soft red light across the suite. His chest was still warm from the night, and the faint stickiness of sheets clinging to him reminded him of how close Clark had been. A rare, easy smile spread across his face; he’d slept better than he had in years, maybe decades, and he knew it was because Clark had been there, in every sense that mattered.
Clark stirred beside him, blinking up with a lazy, affectionate smile that made Bruce’s chest tighten. “Morning, B,” he murmured, leaning forward to press a soft, lingering kiss to Bruce’s cheek. Bruce felt a tug of fondness in that simple gesture.
Bruce let out a low, half-grunt, half-murmur of contentment, and Clark immediately understood. Without a word, he slipped out of the bed, moving with the ease of someone who knew Bruce better than anyone else.
A short while later, Bruce stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, to find Clark returning with a tray of breakfast. Trailing behind him was the goat he had won during the arm-wrestling contest. The hotel staff had taken it downstairs, apparently charmed by the creature as much as Clark was. Clark knelt to scratch behind the goat’s ears before setting the tray on the table. “Breakfast, and our friend came along to say goodbye,” he said softly, meeting Bruce’s gaze.
Bruce’s eyes immediately went to the cup of coffee, just the way he liked it. He lifted it, inhaled the aroma, and took a slow, deliberate sip.
“You really know me too well,” Bruce murmured, a soft smile tugging at his lips, warmth and amusement threading through his voice.
Clark’s lips curved into a slow, teasing smile as he stepped closer, looping his arms around Bruce from behind. His chest pressed against Bruce’s back, and he rested his chin on Bruce’s shoulder. “Years of practice,” he replied, voice low and playful, “and a lifetime of paying attention.”
Bruce let out a small, amused chuckle, tilting his head slightly back into Clark’s embrace. The warmth of Clark’s body and the familiar, confident presence of him made the morning feel impossibly easy. Clark’s fingers traced idle patterns along Bruce’s forearms, and Bruce felt the familiar tug of connection that had built between them over years of unspoken words.
A little while later, they were dressed in their hero gear, the weight of their identities settling over them once again. Side by side, they stepped out onto the shuttle landing pad, the alien city sprawling beneath Zurrath’s red light.
Bruce had grown unexpectedly fond of the place. Not because he particularly liked it. It was strange, loud, and full of colors that hurt the eyes, but because of the memories he’d shared here with Clark. For all its chaos, Zurrath had given him something he didn’t realize he’d been missing: stillness. Now that he remembered every hour of it, he knew he wanted to keep them for the rest of his life.
Bruce glanced around, brow furrowed. “Who the hell is going to pick us up?” he muttered.
Clark grinned, the hint of mischief in his eyes already returning. “We’ll find out soon enough. But… master of vengeance, shall we pass the time plotting just a little?”
Bruce gave a curt nod, voice low but sharp. “Yes. They won’t see it coming.”
The flight back to the Watchtower had been uneventful—on the surface, anyway. Wally West and Roy Harper had drawn the short straws, ferrying two silent, unreadable heroes home.
Wally had tried to fill the silence once.
“So, uh… good trip?”
Bruce didn’t even look up from the datapad in his lap. Clark’s polite, diplomatic smile said everything: Don’t push it.
After that, they flew in silence.
When they stepped onto the Watchtower, the air felt different. It was buzzing with quiet amusement. Conversations paused just long enough for eyes to follow them down the corridor. Whispers passed like ripples through water. A few smirks, a few chuckles. Bruce ignored them all, every step measured and calm. Clark’s expression never wavered, though there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth that gave him away.
They found their quarry almost immediately. Three familiar domino masks peeked from around the corner—Dick, Tim, and Damian stacked in descending order of guilt. From another corridor, two Kryptonian silhouettes—Jon and Conner—hovered behind a wall, whispering.
Bruce didn’t bother with pretense. “You can come out,” he said flatly, his voice cutting through the unusually busy hum of the Watchtower.
Five guilty faces emerged, shuffling into a half-circle in front of them. Dick fidgeted, Tim looked ready to start apologizing for everyone, and Damian glared as if defiance alone could save him. Jon and Conner were stiff, wide-eyed, clearly wishing they could phase through the floor.
Bruce let the silence stretch until it was uncomfortable. Then, quietly, dangerously, he started, “You stranded two League members in space.”
Tim winced. “Technically, you weren’t in danger—”
“Don’t,” Bruce said, sharp as a blade. “You don’t get to qualify a crime with technically.”
Clark’s tone was calm but edged with steel as he stepped in. “It was reckless, and it could’ve gone wrong in a hundred ways. You thought you were helping. You weren’t.”
Dick tried for diplomacy. “Look, we just thought you two needed—”
“Needed what?” Bruce cut in, eyes narrowing. “To be humiliated? Manipulated? Stranded on a foreign world under the pretense of a kidnapping?”
Clark’s jaw tightened, stepping forward right on cue. “Maybe if you weren’t so insufferably paranoid, Bruce, they wouldn’t have felt like they had to trick you into relaxing.”
Bruce turned to him slowly. “You’re defending them?”
“I’m saying they had good intentions,” Clark shot back, voice sharpening. “You think I liked being trapped for a week with someone who can’t go five minutes without analyzing the air pressure in the room?”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed, the performance razor-sharp. “Someone has to take over and do some of the thinking. You don’t think—you just act, emotionally, damn the consequences.”
Clark scoffed, incredulous. “Maybe a little emotion is what’s missing around here—knowing you don’t seem to have any.”
The air in the corridor went still. The younger heroes froze, the silence thick enough to choke on.
Clark finally exhaled hard and turned away. “Forget it,” he muttered, then looked toward his sons. “Jon. Conner. Say goodbye to your friends. Because after this stunt, I don’t see you all spending much time together.”
Dick’s face fell. Tim pinched the bridge of his nose like he’d just watched a world peace summit crumble. Damian crossed his arms tightly and muttered, “Tch. I told you, Father never did like the alien.”
For a few long, uncomfortable seconds, it looked like the end of an era.
Then the Watchtower doors hissed open, and Jason Todd’s unfiltered voice rang out like a thunderclap. He wore no red helmet, smug face on full display.
“Don’t believe a damn word they’re saying!”
He strolled in, phone in hand, smirk in place. “Roy just sent me this,” he said, waving the screen for everyone to see.
The photo filled the display: Superman, face full of affection, with his arms wrapped around a very unamused Batman, both clearly mid-flight aboard the shuttle. The caption beneath it read: Power Couple of the Year.
Bruce’s jaw flexed once. “Jason.”
Jason grinned wider. “Yeah, B?”
“Delete that.”
“Can’t,” Jason said cheerfully. “Already in the League group chat. Flash added heart emojis.”
Clark sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Of course he did.”
For a moment, the tension broke, like the air itself remembered how to breathe again. Clark finally gave in, chuckling as Jon bolted forward and threw his arms around him. Clark caught him easily, lifting him off the ground with an affectionate squeeze.
Bruce just shook his head, resigned. “Don’t think this is over,” he said, though the edge in his voice had dulled. He sighed, patting Damian’s head in passing before drawing Tim in with one arm.
Dick watched it all from the side, the faint smile tugging at Bruce’s mouth, the way Clark looked at him with that familiar warmth, and felt something twist pleasantly in his chest. After everything, Bruce looked… happy. Not just calm or composed, but genuinely, quietly happy. And Dick couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen that. Finally.
As the chaos of laughter and bickering resumed, Bruce pulled out his communicator, no longer hacked by Tim, thumbed the line to Alfred, and said, “We’ll be bringing a few extra guests for dinner tonight. Make it… three.”
There was a pause, brief but weighted. Then Alfred’s voice came through, warm and knowing in a way only he could manage. “Very well. It’s been long overdue.”
Bruce’s lips softened into something rare and unguarded. He glanced toward Dick, who was watching him intently, then back at the comm.
“Thank you,” It was for both Alfred and Dick, who had been the longest standing witnesses to his longing.
“Welcome back, Master Bruce. "