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“You need a heat-mate, old man.”
Bruce looked up from the Batcomputer to see Jason standing at the bottom of the staircase leading up to the house. He raised a solitary eyebrow and said nothing. Jason folded his arms, making the most of his muscles and intimidating alpha stature to stare right back. It didn’t work on Bruce. How could it? Bruce remembered when his boy was just a pup; rowdy and defiant and driven. Cute, though he would’ve suffered no one telling him so. So little had changed. So much had changed. He sighed—just to himself, careful not to let it show—and turned in his chair to face Jay more directly. He waited.
“You’re in pre-heat, Bruce,” Jason bit out. “It’s been two days already, and from the smell of it it’s gonna be a real bad one. I know you know, so why aren’t you doing anything? Why aren’t you finding someone to help you through it?”
Bruce grunted. Jay wasn’t wrong—he’d been feeling off the past couple of days. Skin more sensitive, sense of smell heightened. More anxious, more paranoid than was usual even for the Bat. The first day he’d chalked it up to lack of sleep, but by that morning he knew: the dreaded pre-heat. His training regimen and strict diet had the side effect of slowing his cycle, so he hardly ever had heats, but when he did they were bad. However…
“I’m fine,” he muttered. “I’ll be fine. I have neither the time nor the inclination to go trawling bars for some pushy alpha who just wants to get into Brucie Wayne’s pants. It’s none of your b—”
“None of my business!?” Jason snapped, a growl rumbling from his chest with his displeasure, his Gotham street kid accent strengthening as it always did when his blood was up. “I’m the alpha in this family. A’course it’s my fuckin’ business, Bruce!”
Dick and Tim were betas, just as Alfred was, and Damian was still years away from presenting. Bruce was the only omega in the household.
Jason continued, voice still raised. “I take my responsibility to the pack seriously, even if you don’ care about that! You need someone! An’ if any a’the others could smell you right now, they’d be down here tellin’ you the same exact thing!”
Bruce’s mouth turned downward and he glanced at the floor of the cave, sudden hurt welling in his chest. Why was Jay shouting at him? He hadn’t done anything wrong. Did his son really hate him so much? He met Jason’s eyes.
“I—” he tried, and was mortified to hear his voice wobble. It was the damn pre-heat playing with his emotions, he knew, but knowing it didn’t mean he could do anything about it.
“Oh fuck,” Jason sighed, dropping his hands to his sides and coming over to the desk. “Bruce, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I only wanna help, understand?” He dug his phone from his pocket. “You don’t have to trawl any bars, B. There’s an app we can use—alphas sign up and they’re vetted by the company, and you can pick one out to come help you with your heat.”
“Why would they do that?” Bruce asked, furrowing his brow. Jason rolled his eyes, not even trying for subtlety.
“For the money. It’s a business, you pay ‘em. Anyway, Alfie and I set you up a profile and scrolled through a few dozen… ok, hundred alphas, and found you someone we think would be perfect.” He tapped his phone screen and navigated to the app.
Bruce hummed. “My father-figure and my son, conspiring to get me laid,” he grumbled. “Not a thrilling circumstance, but I appreciate the effort.”
Jason gave him a sideways glance at the word ‘son’, and Bruce braced himself for pushback. Instead, Jason thrust the phone at him and the thought melted away as he took it, staring at the photo shining back. He blinked, holding himself in check only by virtue of his training. His eyes didn’t widen, his breath didn’t falter. He didn’t make any move that could be considered a tell—didn’t touch his nose or his neck, didn’t bite at his lip or shift his feet. He just continued to look down at the photo of the alpha with dark, curling hair and glasses and the bluest eyes and squarest jawline and sweetest smile he’d ever seen, while Jason continued to talk.
“His name’s Clark Kent, he’s a reporter from Metropolis. He’s your height, and a few years younger than you. He’s probably met you as Brucie a couple of times at press conferences or interviews… do you remember him?” Bruce grunted. “Well, I got Tim to run a background check. We knew you wouldn’t blindly trust the app’s vetting. He’s originally from Kansas, no criminal history, no major debts. He was in a relationship with another alpha at his newspaper for a while, Lois Lane, but they broke up last year. He seems… nice, Bruce. He’s what you need. Will you let him help you?”
Bruce swallowed. What the hell. What the hell? What was Superman doing on a heat-mate app?
Bruce had deduced Superman’s civilian identity years ago, but had never divulged it, not even telling Kal himself that he knew. (His disguise was just a pair of glasses and a slightly different hairstyle, and it always floored him how no one else ever seemed to recognize him.) Neither Alfred nor his children knew Clark’s true identity, he was certain, but whether they knew of his own long-standing crush on his best friend was another matter entirely. Had they picked out Clark Kent for his resemblance to Big Blue, or was this all just more coincidence than he could handle?
He handed Jason back his phone and stood abruptly. “No,” he growled, pacing a few strides away. Bad idea, bad idea, his thoughts clamored. No matter how much he was tempted (and god was he tempted) he worked with Superman, he was his friend, and he was 99% sure Superman didn’t know his secret identity. There hadn’t been a hint of it on his face or in his body language when he’d interviewed Brucie. Bruce would never trick him into bed under false pretenses like this. So, “No,” he said again. “Not him. Anyone else, but not him.”
He turned to catch Jason’s reaction. His son looked puzzled. “Why not him?” he wanted to know. “Are you, what, enemies or something? Did the Replacement miss something in the background check?” Bruce shook his head.
“We’re not enemies. We—” But he couldn’t out Clark, Clark’s identity, not even to his family, his pups, his Robins, without clearing it with Kal himself first. “—don’t know each other,” he lied.
“Then why—”
“Jason please. Anyone else.” His tone was flat, but he’d actually said ‘please’, so he was surprised when Jason continued regardless.
“But Clark would be so perfect for you, B. He’s only just joined the app, so he won’t have preconceived notions, and we know he likes alphas too, so he won’t care that you’re not a petite stereotype of an omega.” He’d like how big and strong Bruce was, in other words. Bruce shivered. Could Kal really… like him? No, no way.
“So how do you know he’s even been with an omega before?” Bruce countered. “He may not know what to do during a heat.” Wait, what was he doing, arguing? There was no argument to be had—Clark Kent was off the table, and that was that. This wasn’t a debate.
“He’s an alpha, he’ll know,” Jason scoffed, still undeterred. “And don’t you think he’s handsome?”
Gorgeous, Bruce’s heart thumped, but he growled. Something suspicious was going on. Jay was acting out of character—too innocently persuasive for the normally surly alpha. “Jason,” he said, Batman’s warning tone thrumming through his voice now. “What did you do?”
Jason gulped and took half a step back. “We… I contacted him, already. Through the app. B, you’ve been in pre-heat for two days. You could drop into full heat any minute, there isn’t time to find someone else. He’ll be here in an hour. Will you just meet him? Just talk to him before cancelling. For me? For Alfred?”
“He— he said yes?” Bruce was halted in his tracks. “You told him it was for Bruce Wayne, and he agreed?”
“Well, yeah.”
Clark definitely didn’t know he was Batman then. There was no way he’d have said yes if…
But what if he did know? What if he knew and was coming anyway? Despite. Because? What if he, like Bruce, hoped they could be something more than friends? A quick talk wouldn’t hurt. Would it?
“Hnn. Fine. I’ll talk to him.”
“Yesss! Right, go shower and make yourself pretty,” Jason ordered, pointing a finger sternly at Bruce, though his grin was at odds with it. “I’ll drop the Demon Brat off at Dickwing’s for the week, and Tim’s already headed to my safe house. You’ll have the manor to yourself.”
Bruce sighed, but they’d have left anyway, whether Clark stayed or not. It wasn’t as if he could prevent his heat hitting, and having the house empty would at least prevent anyone seeing him in such a vulnerable state keep things private. And he trusted them to patrol for him while he couldn’t.
“And Alfred?” he checked, noting Jay hadn’t mentioned his whereabouts.
“After he’s prepared your week’s meals he said he’ll make himself scarce. I didn’t ask where,” Jason shrugged. “Now go.” He swung his arm round to point to the stairs instead, expression firm.
Bruce jumped in the shower, scrubbing carefully at his tender skin. He couldn’t afford to expect anything, he told himself, but he was going to be prepared for whatever might happen, no matter how unlikely. The high pressure water that he usually loved stung his skin today, making him wince, and he turned it down, soaping himself with his custom-scented body wash. He’d been told it complemented his natural scent. Sandalwood and sage smoke. He wondered whether his scent changed during heat, wondered if Kal would like it.
Before putting on the Batsuit he always washed with scent-neutralizing soap and wore scent-blockers, to keep his identity and dynamic a secret. But perhaps Kal, with his super-senses, could smell him despite that. Maybe that was how he’d worked out Batman’s identity.
If he had.
Which he probably hadn’t.
Then again, it was Superman; there must be a million ways he could’ve figured it out.
He scowled. He hated not knowing something. His mind tended to fixate on it, working and overworking away until he’d solved the conundrum. Usually he’d investigate: hack or stalk or experiment or simply research until he found what he needed and solved the case. This current question, though, would not be answered until Clark Kent arrived.
Unbidden, his thoughts turned to memories of Kal at the League headquarters, the new space station Bruce had designed and funded. He and Kal sharing monitor duty, chatting over coffee. Kal silhouetted in front of the windows on the observation deck; stars spread out like diamonds behind him while his red cape fluttered softly in some impossible, non-existent breeze. (How did he get it to do that? Was it a conscious effort or did it just happen, a property of the material maybe? He longed to get his hands on that cape almost as much as on Kal himself.)
Their relationship had grown and flourished almost more quickly than Bruce could credit, from their initial wary encounters, through their first few team-ups, learning each others’ strengths, tactics, and fighting styles, and then moving so rapidly into trust that Bruce had for a few months almost convinced himself there was some mind-control at play. Once he’d disproven that to his satisfaction, they’d formed the Justice League together, along with Wonder Woman as their third founding member, and recruited heroes to protect the Earth against its ever-growing list of threats.
Through it all Bruce’s regard (and affection) for Kal had only grown. His warmth and openness was at odds with Bruce’s natural guarded caution, but it drew him in like a moth to a flame. The comparison was apt, in fact, because Kal so often seemed to glow, radiating his positivity like a physical force. And despite his alpha status, he only ever felt like safety to Bruce’s omega instincts. It also didn’t hurt that Kal was entirely gorgeous.
Before he’d realized it, before he could steel himself against it, he’d found himself with an altogether inconvenient crush on his best friend and work colleague. And worse, despite his detective skills, he’d been unable to determine whether Kal felt even a fraction of the same back to him. When he grinned that brightly at everyone, how could Bruce tell whether there was something extra in the smiles sent his way? When he only ever smelled neutral (tea tree hand soap, or beef lo mein from dinner, or smoke and soot from an apartment fire rescue) how could Bruce know what he was thinking, where his emotions lay?
He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the here and now. His hands drifted lower as he washed, and his skin’s sensitivity seemed to increase exponentially until each touch had him shuddering. His pulse pounded so hard he could feel it in his throat. He groaned and fumbled with the shower controls as the bathroom heated up to an unbearable temperature. Twisting the dial to cold, he rested his forehead against the smooth, cool wall tile, panting. He swore quietly, knowing what’d happened and wishing it hadn’t. He’d just dropped into full heat.
Sometimes it was a slow dip, over the course of several hours, and sometimes—as now—it was a heady plunge like the largest drop of a rollercoaster. He felt flushed, sweaty despite the cold water still cascading down. His heart beat faster, his extremities tingled, and his cock stirred. He let out a quiet groan as his belly cramped, a melancholic emptiness washing up through him starting in the tips of his toes and reaching all through his body before he could take a second breath.
Fuck. This was going to make things so much harder. Heat haze, as it was called, would muddle his thinking, letting his omega instincts take the lead during his heat. He’d have to fight it, using every trick he knew, if he was going to have a coherent conversation with Clark when he arrived. And he must.
It was Bruce’s own rules for the League that had prevented any of them divulging their civilian identities with each other thus far—the risks had certainly outweighed the rewards at the start, and the team had agreed with him—but he knew several of them were thinking of sharing now. Flash had even begun complaining about it to Green Lantern within Bruce’s earshot (“You guys are my friends, I want you to know my name at least!”).
Perhaps it was time to relax that rule, now the team was established and they had a good measure of trust between them. It would be beneficial to morale. Plus, he had this personal, urgent reason for it too. He had to tell Kal the truth—both who he was and that he liked him—and let Kal decide where to go from there, before anything else could happen.
He knew it would be difficult for him to let go of two of his biggest secrets just like that. At least the heat haze might help in one way: it should lower his inhibitions, make him loose-tongued…
That phrase, even in the silence of his own head, sparked in his mind’s eye. His thoughts slipped without permission to imagining Kal’s tongue, on him, down there, making him loose for Kal to fill. He shivered, lips parting, breath coming faster, then tensed: No! He had to wait, had to hold out. He turned off the shower and stepped out, drying himself carefully. He performed each step of his preparation slowly and precisely; shaving and applying moisturising lotions, scrubbing his nails clean to rid them of traces of oil from the Batmobile, brushing his teeth, styling his hair. He applied a little cologne—not too much, Kal’s nose was sensitive—and imagined Superman’s hands running up his chest and neck, Clark leaning in close and inhaling his scent, licking it from his skin…
Bruce clenched his fists and wrenched his thoughts back to reality. Wait, just wait. He dressed in his nicest silk pajamas and matching robe, the fabric blessedly cool against his heated skin. He dithered for a minute while picking out the garments—would Clark think it too much, too showy? Would he be put off by expensive items and clothes? But he wanted to look his best for Kal, and the deep navy blue flattered him, the cut of the robe showing off his figure and the wide neckline baring his throat enticingly.
Just twenty minutes left now, according to Jason’s timetable. He winced as another cramp hit him, more painful than the first, and dug his nails into his palm, breathing deeply through it. He was Batman, he could take pain. He’d fought battles with broken ribs, with bullet holes and stab wounds. Cramps should be nothing. But it was different somehow, his pain tolerance lowered with his heat. It disrupted everything, everything he’d trained so hard to conquer, and he felt so empty. He whimpered softly, waves of lust rolling through him, cock hard and aching and hole getting slicker by the minute.
If he weren’t waiting for Clark to arrive, he’d be on his knees by now, reaching under his bed for his box of toys to take the edge off. Maybe he could… just to help him concentrate… He shook his head, disgusted with himself. He couldn’t meet with Kal with a plug stuffed inside him, what was he thinking? He took some more deep breaths and ran through a meditation mantra to clear his mind, fired off a quick lie message to the Justice League to tell them he was busy on a Gotham case for a few days, then headed downstairs.
Bruce stepped into the kitchen where Alfred was portioning out meals into microwave-safe lidded glass containers. The kitchen smelled delicious, and even through his growing heat haze Bruce’s mouth watered. Alfred observed him with a worried look for a moment. Without a word, he pivoted and filled a tumbler with water, handing it to Bruce who downed it in three long swallows, gasping for breath when it was gone.
“Thank you.”
Alfred nodded.
“When Mr Kent gets here, I’ll see him in the parlor.”
“Very good, Master Bruce.”
“I’m just talking to him, Alfred,” Bruce managed. “Don’t think I’ll appreciate you going behind my back like this another time.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t, sir,” Alfred replied dryly.
“I won’t have you turn my pack against me,” Bruce pouted, feeling vulnerable.
“Your pack?”
Bruce bit his lip, breath catching. “Our pack,” he corrected. “Alfred, I…”
“It’s quite alright, Master Bruce,” Alfred relented kindly. “Go and sit down, and I’ll bring your guest through as soon as he arrives.”
“Thank you Alfred.”
Alfred nodded with gentle understanding and Bruce retreated, still feeling guilty for his thoughtless words, striding down the hall to the parlor. He tried to move normally, ignoring his twisting insides and the trickle of sweat he could feel on the back of his neck.
How long left to wait? Would Clark be early? Eager, or anxious? What if he’d already changed his mind and wasn’t coming after all?
Bruce sank down into the most comfortable chair. He didn’t have nervous ticks, he’d made very sure of that, but he almost wished he did right now. He looked around for something to do with his hands, something to pick at or fiddle with or squeeze. The room was vexingly void of such distractions. He stood and began to pace.
The parlor was close enough to the front door for Bruce to hear the conversation when Clark arrived. He stopped pacing to listen. Could Kal hear his bare feet on the carpet? His breathing? His heartbeat? Could he smell him already, from the front doorstep?
The click of the door opening was too quiet for him to catch, but Alfred said, “Mister Kent, thank you for coming. Please, do come in.”
“You’re, uh, actually expecting me, then?” Clark said hesitantly. The timbre of his voice was different from Superman’s, Bruce noted. Less resonant, less confident. Which was the real one? “I’d almost convinced myself I’d been catfished,” Clark explained with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I mean, Bruce Wayne, you know?”
“Indeed, sir. May I take your coat?”
“Oh! Thank you, um…?”
“I’m Alfred Pennyworth, sir, Master Wayne’s butler.”
“Clark, Clark Kent. Well, you already… um, yeah.” There was a pause as they (presumably) shook hands.
“Master Wayne is waiting for you in the parlor. Please follow me, Mister Kent.” Their voices grew louder as they approached, and Bruce forced his breathing to steady.
“Call me Clark, please?” Clark asked Alfred, and Bruce almost snorted at how unlikely Alfred was to honor that request. “Mr Kent is my Pa—well, actually, Pa never likes to be called that either, he… sorry, I’m rambling.” His Midwest accent had become noticeable now, whether due to his nerves or the mention of his father. Oh, god, Bruce thought despairingly. He’s adorable.
The door opened and Alfred showed Clark in. Clark stumbled a little in the doorway, lips slightly parted, eyes fixed on Bruce.
“Mister Kent to see you, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, and his tone sounded like he was smiling a little. Bruce couldn’t tear his eyes from Clark to check. “Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne.” And he shut the door, leaving the two of them alone.
The silence wasn’t absolute. Bruce could hear both of them breathing hard breaths of the stifling parlor air. Clark probably heard his racing heartbeat, the flutter of his lashes as he blinked and the click of his throat as he swallowed. But neither of them spoke. Bruce drank in the sight of his friend, Superman, in casual clothes. He was dressed in a red and black plaid shirt and mid-blue jeans. Bruce had only seen him in ill-fitting polyester suits as Clark Kent—hovering on the periphery of a few galas, and once for a quick fifteen minute interview. The casual outfit suited him so much better, especially as he’d forgotten to slouch his shoulders the moment he’d entered the room.
His hair was messy soft curls just like in the profile photo Jay had shown him, and Bruce’s fingers twitched as he longed to run his hands through it. Would it be as soft as it looked, or was it wiry with its indestructibility? His thick-framed glasses obscured enough of his bone structure to be a barely passable disguise to anyone who didn’t know him. Bruce had no idea how his colleagues at the paper didn’t clock him. He’d been dating Lois Lane, hadn’t he? There was no chance she didn’t know.
All these thoughts passed through his mind in the blink of an eye and were forgotten just as quickly, because the main thing that struck him—struck him like a blow—was his scent. It was a deep, rich, wholly alpha smell, and with every inhale of it the ache inside Bruce calmed further, soothing him even as his mouth watered and his omega instincts clamored for more. Clark’s scent brought to mind summer sunshine, unsweetened hot cocoa, dry desert sand, chirping cicadas, and a thick blanket wrapped around him after a hard day’s work. It was all-encompassing warmth and comfort and safety, and Bruce had never scented anything as good in his entire life.
Clark took a step forward, hesitant, and finally spoke. “Mr…” He had to clear his throat, voice hoarse, and try again. “Mr Wayne. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I don’t know if you remember—I interviewed you once, last year?”
Bruce sucked in a startled breath (still so full of Clark’s scent that he had to physically bite the inside of his cheek to stop from groaning). Clark didn’t know who he was. There’d been a slight chance—maybe he’d figured it out since their interview, or he’d deduce it when he walked in, match Bruce’s current scent to something he’d noticed under Batman’s blockers—but no, it was clear he hadn’t connected Bruce’s two personas. In a way, that was good. If even Superman couldn’t link Batman with Bruce Wayne, his identity was rock solid against anyone else. Yet it made his current situation much more tricky. He’d have to come clean to Clark, now, and he could barely get out a word.
He nodded, trying to breathe in steady, slow breaths to get his heart rate under control. In… out… in… out. “I remember you,” he managed. “The piece you wrote from that interview was well done. You’re a talented reporter.” It was true, and if it buttered Clark up a little before his reveal, so much the better. He wondered if that was too cold a thought, too manipulative, but Kal did deserve the compliment. He let his mouth take over for a moment—small talk was something he rarely needed higher brain function for. “Your series on that LexCorp subsidiary shipping toxic waste to illegal landfill sites was particularly well researched and the writing was engaging.”
Clark’s smile, that had appeared with the first compliment, stretched wider at once, lighting up his face. It was the same blinding smile Superman wore at League meetings on the rare occasion Batman praised his hero work. Bruce had always been weak to it. His knees felt shaky.
“You read my articles?” Clark asked, delighted.
“When I can,” Bruce deflected a little. Truthfully, he read every piece of Clark’s, but he worried that was a bit much to admit at this point.
“That’s very flattering, Mr Wayne, thank you. I… oh!” His mouth rounded into a moue of annoyance at himself. “I’m so sorry! We shouldn’t be talking about me. I’m here to help you out, and you’ve already dropped into full heat before I got here, haven’t you?”
Bruce, his train of thought derailed and slammed back onto his current predicament, froze in place. He was all at once hyper-aware of his own body: overheated, trembling, and slightly nauseous. He tipped his chin up in a half nod, throat tightening.
“I…” His voice came out small, vulnerable, and he hated it. He clenched his teeth.
“Oh gosh, you’re shaking. Come here.” And with no extra warning Clark stepped in close and wrapped his arms around Bruce, pulling him in tight against his chest, hands warm on his back, tucking Bruce’s head onto his shoulder right against his neck. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here, you’re alright.”
Bruce’s brain whited out with the sudden intensity of alpha pheromones. Every ache in his body vanished and his knees buckled, but Clark held him up effortlessly. When he came back online and got his feet under him again, it felt like he’d been reset. He could move, speak, and most importantly think again. Now the only thing holding him back was…
He was terrified.
Kal was his best friend, and he wasn’t only about to reveal his identity to him, but admit to liking him. If Kal didn’t feel the same, would their friendship survive? Would the Justice League survive? Suddenly this all felt like too much. Could the risk possibly be worth it? Was it just his heat telling him to do this, making him think he really had a chance? He needed more time, more data, and fewer damn hormones flooding his system. But he was out of time—it was now or never. He’d already made his decision, and he didn’t want to second-guess himself. He wanted this. He just had to push through the fear. He swallowed.
“I have to tell you…” he managed, wetting his lips and trying to focus on how to say it.
“Tell me what, Mr Wayne?”
“Tell you. But I can’t say. But I must.” Bruce groaned into Clark’s neck and squeezed his eyes shut. He inhaled the alpha’s scent, letting it steady him, steeling himself.
“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine. Please, Mr Wayne, take your time.”
Bruce let slip a little growl. “Bruce. I want… I want you to call me Bruce.”
“Alright. Bruce.” Clark’s hand moved up from his back to rest on the nape of Bruce’s neck. It should’ve been stifling, restricting, someone touching him right there, right by his scent gland while he was in full heat, a large, strong hand right where one would scruff a pup. Instead it was comforting. Grounding. He relaxed into it and let Clark’s voice calm him. Clark continued softly, “I know this is odd, that we don’t know each other, but people use apps like this all the time. If you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to—”
“It’s… it’s not that. The opposite, if anything,” Bruce gritted out.
“The opposite?” Clark sounded confused, as of course he would when Bruce had yet to explain himself.
“Mmn. I… it’s… I’m in love.” That wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but hearing it aloud he realized it was true. He’d been given a momentary reprieve from the heat haze and couldn’t blame his words on lust or hormones. The epiphany didn’t scare him as much as he’d expected.
There was a long pause.
“Mr Wayne… Bruce… why are you telling me that?”
“Because… because I’m in love with Superman.” Clark stiffened against him, muscles going taut. “Kal, I’m in love with you.” And he held his breath and waited.
Only two people called Superman Kal; him and Diana. And he clearly wasn’t Wonder Woman. That left one option, and Kal was smart. It wouldn’t take him long to figure it out.
Clark’s hands reached up and gently clasped Bruce’s head, pulling it away from him so he could stare into his face.
“Batman?” Clark whispered, eyes wide and disbelieving. “B?” Bruce nodded shakily. Clark’s hands moved to his shoulders, pushing him back though he didn’t let go, eyes roving up and down his body almost frantically. “No, no you…”
It was a rejection. Bruce suddenly couldn’t breathe. He’d been so stupid, letting himself believe there could be a chance when all along Kal had only ever seen him as a friend. Now everything would be ruined—
“I don’t believe you,” Clark said, breaking through Bruce’s sheer panic with nonsensical words. “You can’t be him. It doesn’t make any sense.”
Wait.
Wait, he was still stuck on that reveal?
Bruce swallowed and took a breath, his world that had seemed to be tumbling out of control abruptly righting itself. Of course Kal would get sidetracked by the least important part—nothing about his life could ever be simple. Sometimes it took Kal a little longer to think things through, to process unexpected information, despite his superspeed. He knew that. He knew Kal. He knew the man in front of him—Clark was Kal, and Kal was Clark—but he’d almost been taken in by Clark’s disguise, almost forgotten: Kal would never break his heart. Even if he turned him down, he’d be so kind about it, and they’d remain friends. This could never come between them. Everything would be okay.
“Do you really think Batman would ever tell Bruce Wayne your identity if we weren’t one and the same?” he asked gently. “Here,” he brushed his hand over his left side, drawing Kal’s attention, “check my ribs. You remember I broke two last year, and you said the way the fracture healed was very distinctive?” He smiled to himself at the memory while Clark focused on his torso, eyes reflecting the light in that odd way they did when he used his x-ray vision. “It’s really me,” he added.
It took almost a full minute for Clark to blink and switch his focus back up to Bruce’s face. Bruce waited patiently, calmly, his heat all but forgotten. Anything extraneous to this moment was unimportant right now. Clark still had his hands on Bruce’s shoulders, and Bruce felt his fingers twitch just before he finally spoke.
“B.” There was no question in his voice this time.
“Yes.”
“B… hold up, the B stands for Bruce!?”
Bruce closed his eyes and tried not to laugh. He was mostly successful, in that when he opened his eyes again it didn’t look like Clark thought he was laughing at him. “Sometimes,” he agreed. Clark was staring at him with an expression of intensity that Bruce couldn’t quite parse.
“And you said… no, wait, you said you’re… in…”
Before Bruce could say anything else, Clark’s lips were on his, kissing him fiercely. Bruce kissed back instantly, his body responding before his mind had caught up to what was happening. This was… not a rejection, not by any means. Bruce whimpered, pressing as close to Clark’s body as he could even as Clark deepened the kiss. His hands slid into Clark’s hair and, god it was just as silky as it looked, curls twining around his fingers. Clark’s mouth was hot and urgent—the kiss was good, so good, and he wished he could savor it for longer, but his awareness of his body had returned full-force and his heat demanded more. He squirmed and Clark let go at once.
“Please, Kal, I need to know. I’m in heat and… are you still willing to help me through it? Now that you know everything I’ve kept from you?” He wouldn’t, couldn’t, ask for more than that right now.
Clark stared at him, wide sapphire eyes going soft. “Of course, B,” he said gently, running a finger down his jawline, eyes catching on it. The one part of Batman’s face he knew, Bruce realized. Other than his mouth, but his lips felt swollen from the kiss. They tingled like ice mixed with fire. Maybe they were unrecognizable already. “I love you too, B,” Clark said sweetly, lifting his gaze to meet Bruce’s. “I can’t believe you really feel the same. I wish I hadn’t waited so long to tell you.”
It was more than Bruce could possibly have hoped for. Emotions he was far too repressed to be able to deal with clawed at his throat, constricted his lungs. His eyes stung and his mind was almost blank with… shock? joy? but he blinked and licked his lips, drawing on his inner Brucie to push everything down and know what to say next. “My kids are all away for the duration—we have the place to ourselves. Maybe, the bedroom?”
Clark’s face broke into that blinding smile, and he scooped Bruce up into his arms with no effort at all. Bruce’s stomach swooped. He’d never been able to dream of being picked up and carried by his alpha, too big and heavily-muscled for typical Hollywood-style romantic moves. It was thrilling to have it happen after all. He felt weightless in Kal’s arms, relaxing against him with a sigh.
“You’ll have to give me directions,” Clark chuckled as he turned toward the parlor door. “Your apartment’s a little larger than mine, B.”
Bruce snorted. “Kal.”
“You know, today might be the first time I’ve heard you laugh for real?” Clark asked, striding out into the hallway and heading in the direction Bruce indicated. “I like hearing it. And… I really like when you call me Kal like that.”
“I won’t stay this coherent for long,” Bruce admitted after Clark had deposited him carefully on the edge of the bed and sat down beside him to talk. “Your scent took the edge off, but I can feel myself slipping under again.”
“Oh? You like how I smell?” Clark teased.
“I can’t get enough of it. How have I never smelled it before?”
“I don’t sweat,” Clark ducked his head as if embarrassed, “or, well, rarely enough it’s the same thing. Not unless there’s kryptonite involved, or I’m flying into the sun, or if I’m in rut…” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. And I can control my pheromone production. I could ask you the same question,” he deflected.
“Special soap.” Bruce smiled. “And my suit has built-in scent blockers.”
“Of course it does.” Clark’s own smile shifted from shy to fond. “Oh, while you’re still lucid, we should talk about what you want me to do.”
“I wish…” Bruce sighed, looking down at his hands in his lap. “I wish I could learn everything about you before we do this. Everything you like, everything you’ve tried or want to try. Everything you’re capable of. I wish I could make this as good for you as I’ve no doubt it’ll be for me.”
“I’m with you, Bruce. It couldn’t be any better.” Bruce thought he might melt—it was the cheesiest line, but Clark had said it in all seriousness and in Bruce’s current state it was almost too much. “We’ll have time after your heat’s over to discover more,” Clark continued blithely. “Uh, that is,” he stumbled, “if you…”
“I want to,” Bruce assured him quickly. His stomach cramped hard and he curled over with a whimper. “Ahh,” he gasped. “Less time than… ngh.” He gritted his teeth until the pain subsided, and sat back up slowly, supporting himself with one hand on the mattress. “Have you ever helped someone through a heat before?”
“No, but I did the mandatory training course when I joined the app,” Clark said, and Bruce’s expression must have broadcast his curiosity about that. “Last month my parents’ tractor broke down—I guess you know they have a farm in Kansas? I sent them money for parts to fix it, but it left me light on rent.”
“You could’ve come to me,” Bruce objected.
Clark raised an eyebrow, a move Bruce was familiar with—it was a look Superman often gave before he voiced an objection in a League meeting. Bruce thought it made him look unfairly hot. “Go to Batman and ask for rent money? How could I? I had no idea you knew I even have a civilian identity. And I can provide for myself, B, I don’t need charity. It was only a minor setback.”
Bruce nodded, making a mental note to look into Clark’s finances later and see if there was anything he could do.
“Anyway, we were talking about your heat,” Clark got them back on track. “I know what to do in general. But specifically for you?”
“Right. Alfred’s left food in the refrigerator for both of us—meals and snacks. And there’ll be drinks too. Water mainly, some tea and juice. We’ll need to keep our energy up.”
“I’m solar-powered, B,” Clark reminded him. Bruce smirked.
“Say that again once you’ve tasted Alfred’s cooking,” he dared the alpha, and Clark chuckled. “And about the sex,” he took a breath, still not quite believing he was saying this to Superman, “I want you to fuck me. Hard. As hard as… well no, obviously not as hard as you can. But I like it rough. Any position, but especially from behind. And I want you to knot me, and come inside.” Clark opened his mouth to ask a question, but Bruce pre-empted it. “I’m on birth control. And I’m mostly infertile anyway,” he said, his voice staying steady. He’d come to terms with that a long time ago, but it was still a difficult thing for any omega to admit aloud. “Damian was conceived with… special intervention. That’s a conversation for another time.” Clark nodded.
“Right. Anything else?”
“I…” Bruce swallowed, a wave of heat washing up his body and making sweat bead at his hairline. It was his mouth. More than anything else right now, his mouth was so, so empty. “I want to suck you off, first,” he gasped. “Please?”
“Ohh,” Clark breathed, eyes going wide and dark. “Yes, I… whatever you want, B. Anything.”
Bruce slid down off the bed to kneel on the carpet in front of Clark. Clark’s knees spread wide, accommodating him, and he ran his hands up Clark’s thighs, thick and firm with muscle under the denim. Clark removed his belt with deft fingers, dropping it to the carpet, but it was all too slow for Bruce suddenly. He wanted Clark now. He found his hands gripping Clark’s thighs, wishing he could tear his pants right off. The thought struck him: he couldn’t, but Clark literally could.
“You could rip these jeans off like tissue paper, couldn’t you?”
Clark gave a pained expression. “Well, I guess so, but these are my best jeans, Bruce. They actually fit me. I dressed nicely for this—for you.”
Clark… thought these casual clothes were dressing nicely? You did? Bruce almost asked before his heat-addled brain caught up. Of course a farmer’s-son-turned-big-city-reporter whose salary barely covered rent had a different idea of ‘dressing nicely’ than did a born and raised billionaire. Different, and not wrong. Clark’s outfit was clean, pressed, fitted him well, and hadn’t Bruce already thought how good he looked in it?
“You did,” he agreed instead, relieved to have avoided his mistake. “Let’s leave them intact then.”
“Alright,” Clark grinned. “I’ll just…” He undid the fly and gave a little shimmy as he pushed at the waistband. His underwear was Superman blue, Bruce saw, before Clark pushed that out of the way too, helping his cock spring free. He seemed to hold his breath, awaiting Bruce’s reaction.
Bruce made a noise that was half squeak of surprise, half whine of want. Clark’s cock was a masterpiece, already so hard, long and beautifully thick, a ruddy deep pink and, now released from its confines, leaning slightly to the left under its own weight. He glanced up at Clark’s face to see he was blushing faintly red. The tips of his ears in particular had a delicious glow to them.
“I’m sorry if it’s too…”
“It’s not ‘too’ anything,” Bruce denied breathlessly. “It’s perfect, Kal, you’re perfect.” Clark’s blush deepened. Bruce leaned in and licked up the length of it, humming in pleasure at the thick alpha musk. He slipped his lips around the head, swirling his tongue once or twice to get the measure of it, to hear and feel Clark’s reaction (a punched out gasp that no actual punch could elicit from Superman), then sank down, taking him all the way into his throat.
“Bruce!” Clark cried, tensing. Bruce stilled. Clark’s cock was so big he was still able to wrap his hand around the base, even with it partially down his throat. He let his gag reflex relax and remember it wasn’t required right now (it’d actually been a while since he’d done this, believe it or not), then pulled back off and took a deep breath. He reached out and grabbed Clark’s hand, placing it on the back of his head, fingers buried in his hair. Then he met Clark’s eyes.
“Fuck my throat, Alpha,” he begged, and swallowed him back down.
Clark’s hips bucked, his fingers tightening in Bruce’s locks but his strength magnificently controlled as always. He paused, that first thrust apparently involuntary, much to Bruce’s delight. (To think he could have that kind of effect on Superman.) Then Clark began to rock his hips, sliding in and out shallowly at first. He let Bruce break to breathe periodically, just when he needed to but before Bruce thought he’d given any sign. It was as if Clark were inside his mind and not just his mouth, and just this one detail was intoxicating enough in its own, let alone everything else currently overwhelming his senses. And Clark talked, voice low and almost hoarse, a stream-of-consciousness ramble that Bruce could only half hear.
“Christ, Bruce, just look at you, it’s almost surreal. God you feel, ahh, so good, mmn fuck, and I’m so… you have no idea how… your scent just does something to me, worse than kryptonite, no, God, not worse, better, the best, hahh… the second I walked in I thought… I don’t think I thought anything, you were just… ohhh… mmmh… I don’t think I’ve gotten that hard that fast, ever…”
He trailed off, still letting out moans and gasps and the occasional whispered curse or rumbling growl with each slide of his cock across Bruce’s tongue. His thrusts ramped up, a little harder, a little rougher, a little deeper, and Bruce closed his eyes, savoring each sensation, drinking in Clark’s groans. The taste and scent of him, the steel-hard heat of him—apparent even above Bruce’s own fever—was better than anything he could’ve imagined.
“Bruce, I can’t… I’m so close…” Clark gasped after a few more minutes, slowing to a stop and pulling Bruce gently off him. “Are you ok? I’m sorry, was it enough?”
Bruce wiped at his eyes and the saliva dripping down his chin, and cleared his throat, nodding. “Don’t…” he croaked, “don’t apologize.” He’d almost come himself, just from how well Clark filled him, how hot he’d sounded moaning and swearing while he fucked Bruce’s throat. Slick was dripping down the insides of Bruce’s thighs, soaking into his pajama pants. His eyes flicked up to Clark’s face, drinking in the beautiful rosy flush that spread all the way down his cheeks and neck and into the v of his open shirt collar, then he looked across to the bed. Clark caught the hint without the need for words. (Lucky, as Bruce didn’t have any more to spare.)
“Let’s get undressed?” he suggested, offering a hand to help Bruce to his feet. Any other time, Bruce would’ve ignored a hand up, but he was still feeling less than steady, and anyway staying close to Clark kept his omega instincts purring. They stood, and Clark pulled him in for a kiss.
“Glasses on or off?” Clark asked once they parted, pushing the frames up his nose as if shy about them suddenly. Bruce reached up slowly with both hands and took them off for him, placing them on the nightstand behind him without taking his eyes from Clark’s face. His eyes were even bluer with the glasses out of the way—did the lenses have some kind of color coating on them? A question for later.
“Oh, hello Superman,” Bruce couldn’t help teasing a little. He swallowed, throat still hoarse. “When did you get here?” Clark rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched into a smile.
“Just in the neighbourhood. I thought I heard someone in need of assistance.” His voice was somewhere between Clark’s light, earnest, slightly accented tone, and Superman’s deeper, confident one. It did strange and delicious things to Bruce’s insides. Another trickle of slick wet his pajamas. He wondered if Clark could tell. He hoped he could tell.
“Do you have the suit with you?” he pondered aloud, reaching up again and starting to unbutton Clark’s shirt.
“Yeah, for emergencies. It’s, uh, hidden,” Clark said shiftily. Bruce wondered where and how. Another mystery to add to the list. “You don’t, um, want me to wear it, do you?”
“No, no!” Bruce denied quickly. “That’d be…” That might actually be pretty hot, he thought, if quite impractical. (It was all one piece, wasn’t it? Did it open, for access?) But not when he was in heat. He wanted Kal bared for him, smooth golden skin and rippling muscles on show. “I want you naked,” he whispered, reaching the last button and pulling Clark’s soft plaid shirt open.
He swallowed, drinking in the sight—washboard abs and defined obliques and truly unfairly perfect pecs with rosy, peaked nipples—only realizing he’d been staring for too long when Clark tilted his head and asked, “Bruce? Everything ok?”
“Hnn.”
“Alright. May I?” Clark’s hand snaked towards Bruce’s buttons, pausing inches away and waiting for a response. God, he was so damn respectful. Superman wasn’t just an act he put on, he really was just like that. Bruce had known it already, of course, but seeing it again in this new context was so…
“Hmm.” He nodded to make his answer clearer. His usual, barely-verbal replies wouldn’t do when Clark was asking for consent. They’d been working together so closely and for so long that he could usually translate them accurately, but for Clark he’d try harder. “Yes. Please.”
They stripped each other, slowly, Clark helping him when Bruce’s fingers fumbled. (And that was fine, it wasn’t weakness. He was impaired in an expected and entirely natural way, it was… it was fine.) Clark seemed just as dazed by Bruce’s body as Bruce was with Clark’s, despite Bruce’s pale skin and myriad scars.
They expressed their mutual appreciation with more kisses, hands roaming a little, but Bruce was too deep in his heat now to spend long on that. He crawled onto the bed, giving Kal his best ‘come hither’ look over his shoulder as he bent over on forearms and knees. Clark followed, settling behind him and running his hands almost reverently down Bruce’s sides.
His grip tightened and then he lifted Bruce’s hips into the air until his knees were well off the mattress. He scrabbled with his feet for a second, startled, but his inner omega was purring at his alpha manhandling him like that, putting him exactly where he wanted him, so he stilled. Clark’s warm breath on his balls was the only warning he got before the alpha licked all the way up from his sack to his hole, smearing slick all the way. It was vulgar and shocking and breathtakingly hot. Bruce’s mouth fell open soundlessly, his eyes rolling back in his head, and he almost came.
Clark moaned. “Christ, B, I… fuck, that’s…”
“Hmm?”
Clark sighed dreamily. “You taste like heaven, Bruce.” He licked the same path again, lingering at the end this time, then dipping his tongue inside. Bruce startled, shocked by the sudden spike of pleasure and lust that shot through him. A gush of slick rushed straight onto Clark’s waiting tongue, and the alpha’s moan reverberated through Bruce.
“Kal! Clark, Kal, oh god!” Bruce cried.
“B?”
“Put me down and fuck me, you big blue loon!”
Clark snorted, but sounded contrite when he answered. “Sorry, I got distracted. Here.” He placed Bruce down, setting his knees gently back into the indentations they’d made before. “I’m sorry.”
Bruce huffed. “I told you, stop apologizing.”
“Sorry!”
Bruce huffed again, a laugh this time, and wiggled his ass slightly, hoping to entice Clark to get on with it. Instead, after a pause, Clark dipped two fingers inside, testing, gently stretching his rim, though it was loosened already by the heat hormones. Bruce knew, intellectually, what he was doing, but the touch felt too teasing to be satisfying.
“Kal,” he murmured in warning.
Clark’s hands moved to cup his ass, squeezing tenderly, and he felt his face heat in a blush. Tenderness wasn’t… he wasn’t used to that, especially during a heat. Heats were supposed to be hot and fast and frantic, almost transactional if the two partners weren’t actually mates. They were a factor of biology. This was… it was too…
Clark cut through his thoughts with a quiet exhalation like he was laughing at something. It’d better not have been at Bruce, or he could fight Luthor on his own next time the bastard got his hands on some kryptonite.
“What?”
“There’s a joke here somewhere about you letting me into your bat cave.” Clark thumbed at his rim again, making his meaning clear, a grin evident in his voice.
“No,” Bruce groaned, “there isn’t. Don’t make that joke, or I won’t show you the real cave.”
Clark’s hands on his ass paused in their gentle, kneading motion. “Wait, there’s an actual cave?”
“That’s what you’re focused on?” Bruce asked incredulously. “While I’m right here begging you to stick your cock in me?”
“I didn’t hear you beg,” Clark countered. “And my hearing’s pretty good.” Bruce twisted, craning his neck to look up at him with a deep scowl. He was naked, pheromones flooding from every pore, face down ass up, presenting like the neediest, most desperate omega there ever was, and Clark didn’t think he was begging?
“Kal,” he growled again, voice shaking a little. “Stop teasing me.” He had to be angry to stop from crying. This wasn’t funny, why was Clark making fun of him?
Clark bit his lip, looking contrite. “I’m sorry B. I was trying to lighten the mood. You’re so tense.” He leaned forward, running a hand up Bruce’s back soothingly. Bruce closed his eyes and swallowed.
“I don’t enjoy being this vulnerable,” he admitted quietly.
“I know. It’s understandable, Bruce. You’re the least vulnerable person I know.” Bruce preened at that for a moment until it dawned on him that Clark may not have meant it as a compliment.
“Oh.”
“We can work on it,” Clark reassured him sweetly, before sitting back on his heels and giving Bruce a more serious look. “The thing is, B, I have perfect recall. This is our first time together, and I’m going to be replaying it in my mind, probably a lot.” He blushed a bit, but carried on. “I know first times can be awkward, and nothing’s ever perfect, but I want to make this as good as I can, for both of us. I’m not just getting you through your heat anymore—this is the start of something together. Something I’ve wanted for a long time.”
Bruce’s mouth worked silently, lost for words. “Oh,” he managed again, finally. He wanted to thank Clark, or joke back to show he understood. Wanted to say something sweet about them dating or… or something. He just didn’t know how. “Hmm.”
Clark smiled brightly, somehow understanding.
“Come on, you’re gonna crick your neck if you stay in that position.”
Bruce settled back down onto his forearms and elbows, arching his spine instead of twisting it, and the mattress shifted as Clark moved in closer, his body heat radiating onto Bruce’s bare skin with the proximity. He closed the remaining gap and slid his length between Bruce’s cheeks, the glide smooth with all the slick dripping from his hole. A whimper escaped Bruce’s throat. It was already so hot; the skin on skin, the easy slide, Clark so thick and so hard, rocking against him like that.
The head of Clark’s cock pressed against his entrance, and the alpha slowly pushed inside. Bruce’s brain went utterly blank for the second time that evening. There was nothing, nothing, except the pure bliss of Clark’s cock carving him open, pushing deeper and deeper and… oh god he was so big and it was never going to end, he didn’t want it to end, he couldn’t breathe he could only feel. Every nerve in his body was alight and he thought he might burst apart, a supernova of pleasure.
There was a brief moment of relief when Clark was all the way in and stopped, his breath and senses returning in one overwhelming rush. Bruce was back in the room, blinking tear-filled eyes, tasting Clark’s scent in the air, fingers creaking as he clutched the bedding with shaking fists.
And then Clark started the return stroke, pulling back just as slowly as he’d pushed in, and Bruce keened. Heat like magma flooded him, burning him up from the inside out, growing and growing and just when he thought he’d actually catch fire, the head of Clark’s cock popped free and it all stopped. He couldn’t take it, didn’t think he could handle all that again, and simultaneously wanted it back immediately.
“Clark!” he panted.
“You ok?” Clark checked. “You, uh, you said you like it hard. Can I…?”
Bruce opened his mouth to reply in the affirmative, and instead a long, desperate moan escaped. He squeezed his eyes shut, dropping his forehead to the sheet to hide in embarrassment, but Clark didn’t laugh, only swore softly.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, voice lower and rougher than Bruce had ever heard it. Bruce nodded, then gasped as Clark pushed back inside, picking up the pace quickly until he was hammering in, skin slapping loudly against skin. It was less agonising than the slow slide of before, the pleasure not peaking quite as high, but Clark was still nailing his prostate with each brutal slam. He closed his eyes and surrendered to it gratefully, riding the waves as they filled him, building and building. Clark’s rhythm never faltered, and Bruce lost track of time, gradually being pushed closer and closer to the edge of the cliff, until finally he tumbled right over into freefall.
He came, shaking and shuddering, like a lightning strike, like flying through a thunderstorm, dropping out of dark clouds and being lit up in blazing gold.
And Clark must’ve paid attention in his ‘how to fuck an omega in heat’ seminar, because he kept going just like Bruce needed him to. Only the slightest edge of overstimulation caught at him, his heat preventing the rest, and it caused a tremor of aftershocks, the rumble of thunder after the lightning. They curled through his core, making him squeeze Clark tighter, and they both groaned aloud, synchronized in their pleasure.
A different sensation began to tug at him now when Clark sank deep: his knot, Bruce realized. Clark’s knot was swelling, dragging in and out of him, stretching him wider. Clark slowed a little. He obviously wasn’t tired, but he was vocalising little grunts and sighs with every thrust, fingers tightening—blissfully painful—on Bruce’s hips, and he growled so low Bruce felt it in his chest more than heard it.
“Bruce,” he panted, over and over. “Bruce, Bruce, Bruce… mmh… hahh, Bruce, you’re so good, you’re taking me so well, so perfect for me, fuck, Bruce!”
With one last, hard shove, his knot pushed all the way in and caught, tying them together, swelling inside and stretching him, filling him to his limit. Bruce keened breathlessly, Clark’s hips jerking against his ass in tiny aborted motions, grinding hard and deep as he came, ropes and ropes of hot, thick cum flooding Bruce’s insides.
Clark collapsed across Bruce’s back even as he kept coming, his weight a grounding force, his musk enveloping him. ‘Protected, cared for, loved,’ his scent seemed to say. ‘Mine.’ Bruce, only half hard since his last orgasm, gasped and came again, dry, clenching tightly around the huge knot stuffing him to bursting. He whimpered, tears stinging the corners of his eyes at the intensity, and Clark kissed soothingly at his neck until it was over.
Bruce was dripping with sweat, lying in a puddle of his own cum, sore and breathless and totally, utterly sated. Clark rolled them gently onto their sides, onto a clean part of the bed, and they lay quietly, locked together. Bruce drifted and Clark stroked his free hand across his chest, brushing across his nipples every so often and making his toes twitch.
Bruce dozed a little while Clark cleaned him up, still floating in a fog of contented bliss. His omega instincts were purring at having been ‘bred’, having a strong alpha to take care of him. Clark kissed each part of his skin after he ran the warm cloth over it, paying extra attention to his hips after frowning slightly at them. There were no bruises there yet (none visible to Bruce, at least; he wondered what Clark could see there) but that was where Clark’s fingers had dug in, and Bruce could feel the gentle ache. He savored it.
Clark’s knot had lasted almost an hour, and the drying cum and sweat had just started getting itchy and uncomfortable when they’d finally separated. The care and attention Kal lavished him with was enough to offset the disappointment at their parting, and the knowledge that Clark would be fucking him again very soon (though not too soon, he was exhausted) mitigated the hollow emptiness left behind by his absence.
The heat haze was gone for now, his clear analytical thinking (overthinking, Dick might correct him) back in full force until the next wave of his heat arrived in a few hours. Clark finished up and lay down next to him, stretching out as if putting himself on display but grinning guilelessly at Bruce when he turned to face him.
Bruce reached out and stroked a hand down Clark’s stomach, grazing his abs and the narrow, neat trail of dark hair leading lower. He paused for a moment, glancing up and catching Clark’s encouraging smile before sliding his palm further, exploring Clark’s impressive length, letting his fingertips linger over the different texture that was Kal’s knot. Kal’s cock twitched under his fingers.
“Kryptonians really are just like us?” Bruce mused to himself in barely a whisper. Of course Clark heard him clearly.
“As far as sex goes? Yeah, I think so. I haven’t noticed anything abnormal so far, in all my comparisons.” Bruce blinked, struck by his words and worried, suddenly.
“Is that why you sleep with other alphas? Not because you’re attracted to them, but to compare yourself, make sure you’re…” He didn’t want to say ‘normal’. There was truly no such thing as ‘normal’. Human bodies were a whole world of sizes, shapes, colours, responses to stimuli; trying to classify anything as ‘normal’ was folly. But Clark replied before he could think of the right words.
“No, no!” He smiled softly, not looking offended at the question, to Bruce’s relief. “I, uh, I’m pansexual. Gender and dynamic, they don’t matter to me. I won’t pretend looks aren’t a factor but I’m attracted to the whole package, no matter what dynamic it’s wrapped in.” Bruce let out a silent, relieved breath, a little tension leaving him, but Clark was Superman, and his considerable attention was focused solely on Bruce. He noticed.
“Were you worried? You’re not an alpha, B, why would you care if…” He frowned, staring at Bruce’s form splayed out beside him. Wide shoulders, bulky muscles, the height of him, not to mention the scars. A traditionally alpha build on a weak, hormone-driven, heat-sick omega. All the downsides of an omega dynamic without the lithe little form, without being pretty or fun. He couldn’t even bear pups, except for the miracle that was Damian. He swallowed and avoided Clark’s eye, resisting the urge to curl up and hide.
“Oh, B,” Clark breathed, as if he could read all these thoughts. “You are the whole package, Bruce. Even hidden behind kevlar and the cowl, even wreathed in shadows, I’ve always been attracted to you.”
Bruce snorted at the florid description and looked up, despite himself. “‘Wreathed in shadows’?”
“I’m a writer, I can’t help it,” Clark shrugged one shoulder unapologetically, knowing what Bruce meant without him having to specify, as usual. “Don’t change the subject. I was trying to tell you how beautiful you are.”
“But—”
Clark’s lips met his, cutting off his protest in the best possible way.
“You’re the bravest man I know,” Clark murmured against his mouth. He obviously wasn’t dropping this now he’d started, stubborn as always, so Bruce gave in and just enjoyed stealing more kisses between phrases. “You’re incredibly smart, so kind, your strength of will is amazing… honestly I could go on for hours. There are a million things I love about you, Bruce. Even how you’re sometimes kinda terrifying in the suit. That growl you do, it sends shivers through me. How do you do that?”
Bruce opened his mouth to answer but Clark kissed him back into silence. “That was rhetorical—for now. I’ll ask again some time. I just… I need you to know. I fell in love with you, piece by piece, and all those pieces add up to something more than their sum. And now I know what you look like, what you feel like—it’s yet more pieces to add to the whole. You are beautiful, Bruce, and I can’t bear you thinking otherwise.”
Bruce bit his lip. Clark was very much an idealist, and a romantic, and he was obviously laying it on a bit thick, but knowing Kal liked how he looked was nice. That other stuff… he’d put off thinking about that until later (much later if possible). He hummed noncommittally and tilted his head to bite at Clark’s lip instead of his own. They made out for a few long minutes; slow, deep kisses that soothed something in him more than Clark’s words had. Actions always spoke louder. He dug his fingers into Clark’s hair to pull him even closer and felt him smile. It was way too soon when Clark broke off and told him to get some sleep.
“We’ve got several more days of this, and you need to keep your strength up,” he explained primly.
Bruce disagreed. He wanted to keep kissing. “Hnn.”
“Rude,” Clark chuckled. “Don’t argue, sweetheart, you know I’m right.” The pet name surprised Bruce, especially to find he actually rather liked it. And his eyelids were feeling heavy. He sighed and rolled over, conceding to his alpha’s whims, and was fast asleep before he knew it.
Bruce woke, keeping his eyes shut for a minute, face pressed into his pillow. He was hard again, the familiar ache beginning to radiate through his body; his next wave of heat was on him sooner than he’d expected, unless he’d slept for a lot longer than it seemed. He rutted his hips a few times, grinding his cock into the firm mattress to try and take the edge off, taking a few slow, deep breaths.
The room smelled deliciously of mixed alpha and omega pheromones, of sex, but there was a silence and lack of warmth that made him turn to see the empty space on the bed beside him. Clark was gone. He froze, breath stuttering, but before he could reach out a hand to the rumpled sheet, or even start to feel the illogical welling of loss he was certain was about to come next, a gust of wind buffeted into the room and Clark was standing by the bed.
“Sorry B!” Clark exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to let you wake up alone! I was just fetching you a drink.”
Bruce blinked, looking up at him. Clark had his briefs on and nothing else, and was indeed holding a glass of water that had miraculously not spilled with the superspeed. He wore an expression of guilt and concern.
“It’s ok,” Bruce assured him. He must’ve been keeping a very close ear on Bruce to zip back like that before Bruce had even said anything. Bruce gave him a tentative smile and Clark relaxed, waiting until Bruce sat up with a slight wince, then handing him the glass. He rounded the bed and sat down next to Bruce, shimmying back into the thick pillows with a little wiggle that made Bruce’s heart squeeze tight in his chest. “I thought maybe there was an emergency,” Bruce added. “That would’ve been fine, you know. I don’t take priority over the League.” Clark rested one large, warm hand on Bruce’s thigh and met his eyes.
“You do for me,” he said softly. Bruce frowned, but Clark clarified. “The rest of the League can take care of things while we’re busy. They can handle it. If it were something only I could do, of course I’d go, and I know you’d fight through your heat if you had to. But we don’t have to. That’s one of the reasons we formed the JL in the first place, isn’t it?” Bruce nodded.
“Have there been any incidents?” he had to know anyway.
“Factory fire, in Mexico,” Clark relented, knowing Bruce would only fret unless he told the truth. “Flash went, no casualties. It’s been out for an hour already.”
“Hnn.”
“Diana’ll make sure he writes up the report properly,” Clark chuckled. “Forget about the rest of the world for a bit longer, Bruce, and let me fuck you through your heat.” His gaze flicked down to Bruce’s stiff cock, and Bruce knew he could also hear his elevated heartbeat, smell the slick already gathering at his entrance, feel the extra warmth radiating from his skin. “You’re ready for more, aren’t you?” His voice was a low growl, almost a purr, and it made Bruce tingle all over.
“Hmm.”
Clark laughed. The sunshine in that laugh had Bruce smiling back like a fool, and he didn’t even care. They still had a lot to talk about, much to discuss and decide, but that would all come in due course. He leaned in for a kiss, Clark meeting him halfway, and sighed in utter contentment.