Chapter Text
“Hhgnn–Clark, fuck–”
While Bruce is certain Superman mostly operates under the same rules as him on not killing anyone, he's not sure if Clark's trying to actively end his life at the moment.
“So wet for me, god Bruce, you're perfect,” he's babbling, awestruck even as his fingers keep disappearing inside him.
Bruce's cunt absolutely throbs, his slick covering his thighs and the sheets beneath him. His heat soaks into his bones, the dull ache of not being filled satiated only slightly by the thick fingers pressing against his walls, but otherwise he needs more. Clark needs to fuck him now. Instead, the alpha takes his time, his thumb rubbing over his clit as his fingers pump in and out on their own accord. Bruce tries to tip his hips up to chase the feeling but it's not enough.
The alpha parts his thighs further to seat himself between them, the tent in his boxers twitching as he inches closer. Bruce smacks his head back into his pillow at the sight, the thought of taking his massive cock almost enough to bring him to his first orgasm of the night. Almost, almost.
“Fuck, Kent, if you don't fuck me soon I'm going out there and find some other sorry alpha piece of–”
His words are cut off by the force of their lips meeting in a brutal kiss and he's almost worried Clark will chip one of his teeth. The thumb that was once smoothly gliding over his clit is now a force to be reckoned with, pressing and punching out all the air in his lungs. Bruce absolutely keens, back arching up as his orgasm hits him like a freight train. He all but sobs into Clark's mouth, riding it out with a grind of his hips into the bruising force.
Embarrassingly, more slick oozes out in response, eagerly awaiting the thick cock that's mere inches away.
Clark pulls away with a dazzling smile, his curls unruly with the way Bruce's fingers combed through his hair as they kissed. Bruce feels his cunt pathetically clench around Clark's fingers, trying and failing to suck them deeper.
“I can't believe you chose me, Mr. Wayne,” Clark sighs against him, retracting his fingers from Bruce's pussy and taking off his boxers. The omega whines at their loss even as he sees the alphas' thick cock finally free.
He's, to put it simply, huge. Bruce feels his mouth water and the heat inside him turn to the max, a whole new round of slick leaking from his cunt.
Choosing Clark was easy. Wanting Clark was easy. Finally asking him to spend his heat with him was more difficult, but when Superman is kind enough to save him from an alpha trying to take advantage of his heat, it's actually pretty easy to ask him to bed. Well, Clark doesn't technically know that Bruce knows his identity, but he can't exactly argue with what his eyes can so plainly see.
They were at a gala, because where else would Bruce be around people during his heat?
Brucie Wayne had a bad habit of attending galas during his heat. The mess of need and slick and want that omegas normally turned into wasn't Bruce's reality because of the way the monks had trained him to hone his body–he still felt the same, but his years of training allowed him full control of himself. He could, realistically, go an entire heat without needing to show that he was going through one.
However, maintaining an omega playboy personality was far easier if he showed up in heat and leaking alluring pheromones everywhere. Rich donors came far and wide to catch a whiff of his sweet smelling heat pheromones and try their chance at bedding the omega Prince of Gotham, and his charities skyrocketed with donations. It really was a win win.
Bruce should've known Clark would be here–the charity has to do with underprivileged youth in both Gotham and Metropolis, so of course the daily planet would send someone. Why Clark, he isn't exactly sure. Surely Cat Grant could've come instead?
The temptation to smother the meek reporter with god awful Midwestern manners was too much to ignore–who could blame him, really? The one reporter who didn't treat him like a walking taboo just also happened to be one of the hottest, most well built men he's ever seen. Superman probably had him beat, but Kal was an unattainable goal.
“Kant!” He chirps, all but falling into Clark's arms. Diligent, sweet Clark catches him of course. His cheeks redden with their proximity. “You're here! My favorite reporter–”
“Mr. Wayne,” Clark says, a tense smile on his face. His own pheromones are concealed like always but Bruce would put money on him having to wrangle them into submission with an omega in heat so close. “You've brought quite the crowd today.”
Bruce turns in his arms to look behind him, a sea of alphas watching his every move. Some try to feign disinterest by busying themselves with talking to other patrons, and some stand idly by sipping from their champagne, waiting for the ideal moment to strike up a conversation. Others stare blatantly, licking their lips and all but inching closer to the omega. Either way, all of their eyes are focused on his exposed neck and the swollen scent glands present there.
“Silly me, I must've left my collar at home,” he sighs, standing up straight in Clark's arms after leaning nearly all of his weight on him. The alpha releases his grip, his fingers hovering over Bruce's arms before they drop down to his sides.
“You never wear a collar, Mr. Wayne,” Clark corrects. He's right of course–Bruce Wayne has never worn an omega collar. It's about as taboo as he can get.
“Oh, hush,” Bruce says, adjusting Clark's tie with messy movements. He's being more sloppy, both with his moves and his pheromones. Soon he should be able to excuse the party by feigning the fact that he's so far into his heat. Maybe he can trick an alpha into leaving with him and somehow ditch them before they make it to the car. Surely a photographer will catch them leaving together, right?
When he looks up into Clark's eyes he can see that his pupils are blown wide, a bright flush covering his cheeks and making them splotchy. It's adorable. Bruce bites his lip and rubs his wrist against Clark's tie, covering him in omega heat pheromones. Distantly, he hears another alpha growl. “Ta ta, Curt!”
While his meditation and training does wonders for him being able to control himself, his cunt still reacts as it would any other omega. He can feel his thighs absolutely drenched and he thanks his lucky stars he wore black slacks tonight. His sex throbs, especially after being in such close proximity to Clark as he was–god help him, Clark was clueless–so he really should be leaving soon.
His most important benefactors have already had their fill of entertainment from him and the usual suspects who would call him an abomination of an omega have already turned their noses up at him. It's been a successful night, all things considered.
On his fifth glass of champagne (sparkling water–lemon flavored, today), he can feel a presence at his back. Before he can leave he has to entertain one more alpha–fine. He can do that.
“Wayne,” the voice says, “you smell divine today.”
Bruce whirls around, feigning surprise at the alpha's presence. He thinks his name is Phil? Phillip? There are too many prestigious families in attendance to keep up, but no one expects him to remember names anyway. He knows the man isn't from a particularly special group, so he's free to shrug him off as fast as possible.
“Frank! How are you?” He smiles a bright Brucie smile and doesn't miss the way the man blinks at him, pupils blown.
“Phillip,” he corrects, “perhaps you've had too much to drink, Bruce. Could I help you to your car?” He grips Bruce's arm in a steadying hold, however it just feels stifling. The man is trying as hard as he can to pump out his awful alpha pheromones and it just makes Bruce feel sick.
“Oh, you know me,” Bruce grins, testing the man's grip. He pulls, and the man holds tighter. Playing the part of a drunk, heat ridden omega means he can't really get himself out of this predicament without showing his hand.
People know better than to do such a thing when he's at galas in heat. The optics of forcing themselves on a prestigious omega in front of the elite is not lost on those in attendance, and as Bruce takes in the semi secluded area they've found themselves in he can see why Phillip thought it to be the perfect time to strike. Damn, he was so close to the exit too.
“This was wonderful catching up, but my heat seems to really be getting to me now,” he huffs, a slight sweat breaking out across his forehead. The heat really is getting to him, but not in an uncontrollable way. He just needs to get away before he has to break this alphas nose in self defense, and that's not exactly the news he wants to be breaking tomorrow.
“I can be a wonderful partner for you,” the alpha pushes, his pheromones soaking into the air around them. He's pulling Bruce closer now and while Bruce is broader than this alpha, he plays along and sways closer. “I'll fuck your tight little pussy till you scream–”
“Is there a problem here?” Clark asks, his pen and notepad out and at the ready. “Mr. Wayne, I believe we have an interview scheduled soon. Should we postpone it for later?”
Bruce could kiss him. He probably will.
“Karp! Of course, of course,” his words are slurring and at this point it might be genuine exhaustion. As he pulls away, Phillip holds tight onto his arm and stops him from leaving.
“We were in the middle of–” before Phillip can continue, Clark cuts him off.
“Should I document your inability to consider omega consent with my coverage of your families dealings as well, Mr. Simmons?” Clark asks, and Bruce thinks then and there that Clark is the one who's going to be fucking him tonight.
With a huff, Phillip drops Bruce's arm and stomps away–thankfully, his disgusting scent washes away with his departure.
Clark clearly takes a glance around to make sure no one can hear him before he speaks, “Mr. Wayne, it's dangerous coming here so deep into your heat. Please be more careful.”
This close, Clark's blue eyes staring at him, his world narrowing down into just the two of them in the hallway, Bruce understands how Clark was able to find him when he was so secluded from the party. Fuck, he can't believe a pair of glasses fooled him for so long.
“Fuck me,” he says, and Clark–Kal blinks. “Spend my heat with me. Fuck me.”
It didn't take much more convincing from there.
Now here Clark was, rubbing the head of his cock against the wet folds of his dripping pussy. His scent deepens with the touch, a shaky breath escaping his parted lips.
“Tell me to stop if you need it,” Clark says and Bruce can do nothing but watch as he finally, blessedly pushes in.
The stretch is wonderful. Bruce can feel every inch of Clark slipping in–inch after inch after– “fuck, how fucking big are you?”
Clark can't speak, his jaw clenched shut as he slowly pushes in, almost as if he's holding himself back. After what feels like an eternity, he's finally seated into Bruce's hot cunt. His hips grind between the omega's legs, his control slipping. He slowly ruts into the heat as Bruce adjusts, both of their breaths labored.
“Go, Clark–fuck,” he gasps and clark pulls out and snaps back in, the air in his lungs punched out of him.
Clark takes a few steadying thrusts before he grabs Bruce's legs, pushing one nearly against his chest for a better angle. His hole stretches obscenely and he swears Clark slips in even further, his cock scorching hot against his walls. Every slam of his hips has their skin smacking against skin, his grunts of exertion causing heat to pool in Bruce's belly.
“It's so hard for me to smell you like this,” Clark says, his thrusts sharper, a punctuation mark in and of themselves. “When you're around people. Anyone else can–can smell you.”
Bruce groans, the possessive hint in Clark's voice almost enough to tip him over the edge again even so close to his last orgasm. He had no idea Clark could even sound like that–not in their years of friendship. Of course, he'd seen him protective of Bruce, protective of the bat and their cities. The civilians they saved, their mission–
“Gonna fuck you full,” Clark continues, effortlessly slamming deep inside to the spot that lights Bruce up, “would you like that, Br–Mr. Wayne?”
Christ, hearing Clark curse was the hottest thing he's ever heard. Calling him Mr. Wayne? Definitely not up there.
“B-bruce,” he gasps, his fingers tangling themselves up in Clark's curls. “You're–hhng–balls deep in me, Kent–”
Somehow, that made a growl rip through Clark's chest. The full body vibration through the alpha's body had Bruce gasping through his second orgasm.
“You're so tight, Bruce,” Clark says into his neck, hips ruthlessly pounding him through his climax. His name sounds like sin in Clark's mouth–not to mention the way the alpha grinds into him as his cunt clenches around his cock as he comes. It's all so much, his senses overwhelmed in so many delicious ways he's not sure how he's kept from jumping Kal's bones before. “Taking my cock like you're made for it–” he punctuates that with another slam of his hips, “you'd take my knot so well, right?”
“Holy shit,” Bruce squeezes his eyes shut, the idea of Kal of all people talking dirty like this has him digging his fingers into Clark's shoulders. His pussy squeezes involuntarily, his mind floating far, far away from his body.
Clark all but fucks it back into him, the wet slap of his hips brutal against Bruce's cunt.
“That sounds fucking amazing,” Bruce gasps, “but, don't knot me.” Clark's pace stutters against him, clearly taken by surprise. Maybe if he had more time to find a proper form of protection against an alpha knot he can soon–he files that thought away for later.
He nods against Bruce's overheated skin, “o-of course, Bruce.”
Bruce sinks his teeth into Clark's shoulder, growling again. It obviously doesn't leave a mark, but it must be enough for Clark because he pumps his hips twice more before releasing thick, hot ropes of cum into the omega's cunt. His body trembles with the force of his orgasm, every part of him all consumed within it as far as Bruce can tell–the omega keens with the force he's pressing their hips together with, the added pressure against his clit rocking an exhaustive, half baked orgasm out of him.
After a moment, Clark is quick to slip his still hard cock out of him. Bruce grunts at the loss, his inner omega crying out at the fact that he isn't being plugged with a knot at the moment. Once Clark's knot is removed from the warm embrace of Bruce's cunt it deflates some, even as thick spurts of cum splash against his belly.
It takes Clark some time to calm down, except in the meantime he just smears his cum into Bruce's abs. It's filthy, and honest to god a tacky show of scent marking–but Bruce thinks it's the hottest thing he's seen. Kal's eyes sweeping over him, the view he seems to make to him.
“Um–” Clark's fingers pull back, his eyes widening like he finally realizes what he's been doing. “Are you okay, Mr. Wayne? I–I wasn't too much, was I?”
“What did I say about calling me Mr. Wayne, Clark?” Bruce tilts his head to the side, his legs falling open to put his leaking pussy on display. He can feel Clark's cum slowly leaking out of him and making a mess on the sheets but he couldn't care less.
Clark gulps at the sight. “To call you Bruce,” he says, his brilliant blue eyes sparkling in the low light of the bedroom. His eyes were so much more vibrant without his glasses on, his face so chiseled and cut–he was a wet dream come true, the most unattainable goal for an omega like him. He felt his gut burn with the second wave of his heat just looking at him.
“So,” Bruce grabs Clark's chin with his thumb and pointer finger, easily dragging him closer. “Call me Bruce when you fuck me again, Clark.”