Chapter Text
Bruce’s lips felt sore, pleasantly bruised. His clothes were definitely rumpled by Clark’s warm, eager hands. He bearly felt his icy fingertips. They had been kissing on that balcony for, God knows how long. Long enough for Bruce to forget the noise of the gala, the flashing lights, the press. The whole outside world.
It felt like everything they’d been holding back for years, every look, every touch, every silent ache, had finally found an outlet. All of it poured into their kisses, into the desperate pull of mouths and mingled breaths.
And even Bruce’s patience had its limits.
“How long do you have to be here?” he asked, pulling away just enough to take air into his lungs.
Clark looked absolutely wrecked in the best possible way. His glasses had slid halfway down his nose, barely hanging on. His curls were a complete mess, tangled because of Bruce’s fingers. His lips were glistening, swollen and red. His tie was even more crooked than before. The only thing still in its place was his press badge, hanging between them like the last remaining sign of professionalism.
“Um… not sure.” Even his voice was messed up. Bruce wanted to jump him like a tree. “I’ve got everything I need for Perry, my boss. So I think I’m good to go.”
“Good.” Bruce smirked. He straightened Clark’s tie and stepped back. His body shivered, no longer sharing Clark’s warmth. “Meet me by my car in fifteen minutes. You’ll know which one.”
Clark only smiled, slightly biting his swollen lip. He leaned in and left a soft peck on Bruce’s cheek.
“Sure thing, B. Don’t be late.”
And he indeed wasn’t late.
Bruce was the first one to quietly slip out of the charity gala, and Clark joined him soon after, making sure he wasn’t caught getting into Wayne’s car. During the ride they exchanged only glances, while the chauffeur drove them toward the manor. Bruce’s hand settled possessively on Clark’s thigh, his fingers tightening slightly. Clark only smiled at that, placing his own hand on top of Bruce’s, fingers slowly caressing his skin.
Maybe jumping into bed right after their first kiss wasn’t the wisest idea. Bruce knew that. But the months they had spent quietly pining after each other left them with an undying, burning hunger. A fire they both tried to smother for far too long, now finally given oxygen. And nothing could stop it.
Clark’s wet lips felt like liquid gold against Bruce’s sensitive neck, leaving small, heated bites just above the collar of his shirt. Each touch sent sparks through his skin. Clark’s warm hands were burning through the fabric, gripping his waist, sliding up his spine, making Bruce’s breath catch in his throat.
“Fuck,” Bruce muttered when Clark bit harder, right on that fragile edge between pain and pleasure. They had barely stepped out of the car, the manor doors hadn’t even fully shut behind them.
“My bedroom,” Bruce hissed, grabbing Clark’s tie, pulling him close and forcing their foreheads together. “I don’t want my butler to meet us like this.”
That sobered Clark only slightly. He pulled back just enough to breathe, offering a small, apologetic smile.
“Sorry,” he whispered. ”I’m just… too excited.”
Bruce let out a dark, short laugh, pushing the door behind them fully closed with his heel.
“So am I,” he said, his voice already half a growl. Then he hooked two fingers under Clark’s tie and jerked him forward again, lips brushing Clark’s ear. “But we’re not doing this in the foyer.”
Clark swallowed hard, his breath shaky.
“Lead the way.”
Bruce didn’t need to be told twice.
He let go of Clark’s tie, taking his hand instead. He realized quickly how smooth and delicate Clark’s hands were. Bruce’s own felt wrong next to them, no amount of neat manicure could hide the callouses, the rough edges of skin earned through years of brutal work. Hands of a man who worked, fought, bled. But Clark didn’t seem to mind. His thumb traced the entire structure of Bruce’s hand, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing every line.
When they closed the bedroom door behind them, it was Clark who found himself pinned against the dark wood. Bruce kissed him desperately, hungrily, his tongue teasing along Clark’s bottom lip before pushing past it, tasting him as deeply as he could. His skilled fingers made quick work of the red tie, already crooked and rumpled beyond saving, loosening it in one smooth pull before tossing it carelessly to the floor.
Bruce’s skilled fingers made quick work of Clark’s buttons, sliding the white shirt off his shoulders along with the wrinkled navy jacket. When Clark stood there shirtless, chest bare, breath unsteady, a deep blush rising across his cheeks, Bruce felt a dizzy rush of disbelief. He had imagined this before, in dark hours and unguarded dreams, but seeing it in front of him felt unreal.
Clark’s skin was impossibly smooth in the soft light, warm and golden, unmarked by scars or imperfections. It shouldn’t have been surprising, nothing had ever left a lasting mark on him, but up close, it carried a kind of softness Bruce never expected. A quiet vulnerability.
The body the world compared to a god was trembling under Bruce’s hands.
Clark’s breath hitched when Bruce’s fingers traced slowly over his chest, just enough pressure to test boundaries. Bruce wasn’t gentle, Clark didn’t need gentleness, but he wasn’t cruel either. He explored, learned, mapped every shift of breath, every tightened muscle, every sound Clark tried (and failed) to swallow. He pinched hard his pink nipples.
“B…” Clark whispered, voice frayed at the edges.
Bruce stepped closer, chest to chest, feeling the warmth radiating from him like a living sun. He could feel Clark’s heartbeat, steady, strong, but just a little faster than usual.
Untouchable to the world. But soft under Bruce’s hands.
Bruce knew, he didn’t deserve this.
Clark’s fingers curled against Bruce’s hips, grounding, wanting, asking without words. Bruce leaned forward until their foreheads touched, breath mingling, the space between them humming.
“Is it okay for you?” Bruce asked, hating the thin crack of vulnerability that slipped into his voice. “Aren’t we moving too fast?”
Clark cupped Bruce’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing his cheekbones, pressing soft, fluttering kisses across his temple, his jaw, the corner of his mouth.
“I want everything you’re willing to give me,” Clark whispered between the kisses. “I’ve waited so long for a moment like this. Probably since our first meeting.”
Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself.
“Tell me if you want to stop at any moment,” he murmured. “I’ll leave you alone and we’ll forget about tonight.”
Clark stilled. One hand slid to the back of Bruce’s neck, the other holding his jaw gently, but firmly enough that Bruce had no choice but to look up.
“Bruce,” he said softly. “Look at me.”
Clark’s gaze hit him like a warm shock. Full of something so open and steady that Bruce’s breath stuttered and his heartbeat tripped in his chest. The shadows in Bruce’s mind, the doubts, the fear, began to thin, dissolving one by one beneath the sheer certainty in Clark’s expression.
”I love you. Trust me, when I say it.”
Then Clark leaned back a little, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he reached for Bruce’s shirt, fingers fumbling messily with the buttons.
“Besides,” he added, looking up at Bruce through long, dark lashes, “I want the full Bruce Wayne experience. Your bedroom is bigger than my whole apartment. We might as well put it to good use.”
Bruce’s shoulders finally dropped, tension easing out of him as he let out a disbelieving huff. He leaned in, brushed a soft kiss against Clark’s lips, then stole his glasses and set them gently on the table beside them.
“I’ll buy you a whole building if you want one.” A faint smile curved his lips. “And feel free to destroy things. I can afford new ones. Including this shirt.”
Clark laughed, breath catching, and pulled Bruce in for a hard kiss. His hands fisted in Bruce’s shirt, and with one sharp pull, the fabric tore open, buttons skittering across the floor. He set a trail of kisses from Bruce’s mouth down along his jaw, neck, collarbone, and finally to his shoulder, right where the laser burn was still visible on his skin.
Seeing the sudden tenderness in the other man’s touch, Bruce let out a quiet chuckle.
“Another scar for my collection.”
Clark didn’t react to the joke. Instead his hands slowly slipped the ruined shirt off Bruce’s shoulders and arms. His mouth stayed hot and wet against Bruce’s skin, leaving a shiver of goosebumps in its wake.
“You’re beautiful,” Clark rasped, something dark and possessive curling in his voice.
Bruce had to bite down on his lower lip to swallow a moan. Heat coiled low in his stomach, and his cock strained against the tight fabric of his fitted pants.
He’d had plenty of shared nights with different lovers. Sex was nothing new to Bruce. People lusted after him all the time, hungry eyes tracing every inch of his body, and he was used to it. One night, no strings attached, and that was it.
But with Clark it was something entirely different.
The way Clark’s hands carefully mapped his body. The way his mouth placed small kisses on each scar like he was memorizing them. The way those blue eyes darkened with lust, yet watched him with so much passion, so much tenderness, that Bruce actually felt like the most beautiful person in the world.
Without warning, Clark picked him up. Bruce’s breath caught, a startled sound escaping his throat. And as if he weighed nothing, Clark walked them to the bed and gently lowered Bruce onto the mattress.
“Shit- can you fuck me mid-air?” Bruce panted, feeling the tips of his ears burn. He had never been this aroused in his life.
Clark nearly lost his balance, tripping over his own pants as he tried to kick them off.
“Uh- yes? I think I can?” His face went bright red. “You want- like, right now?”
“Next time,” Bruce said, grabbing him the moment Clark stood naked before him. His voice dropped into a hungry growl. “Right now, I need to devour you.”
Clark slowly came up on bed, embarrassment clear on his face. Bruce sat up on his elbows, watching Clark flushed, breath unsteady, pupils blown wide, and God, he looked perfect like this.
Strong enough to tear steel apart and trembling under Bruce’s gaze.
“Come on, let me look at you.” Bruce’s voice dropped.
He let his fingertips trail down the center of Clark’s chest, over the defined ridges of muscle, then lower, across the flat curve of his abdomen. Clark’s breath hitched. His stomach tightened under the touch, a tiny involuntary twitch that made Bruce smirk. His hand traveled further, following the faint line of dark curls on Clark’s lower stomach until it reached his cock, big, flushed red, twitching, a bead of precum forming at the tip. When Bruce wrapped his hand around it, Clark’s head dropped forward with a strangled sound, a groan slipping from his lips. He hid his face against Bruce’s neck, not delicately at all, his mouth finding skin and sucking hard enough to leave marks.
Bruce began to stroke him slowly, gathering the wetness at the tip with his thumb and spreading it along the rest of the shaft for a smoother glide. Clark shuddered, hips jerking despite himself, breath hot against Bruce’s throat as he bit down again, losing control. Bruce was mesmerized by the cock in his hand, how hard it was, how the veins pulsed visibly beneath the skin. His mouth watered.
In one fluid motion, Bruce switched their positions, pinning Clark down against the mattress. Grabbing him by the hip, Bruce leaned down and pressed a little kiss to the side of Clark’s shaft. Clark’s hips moved forward despite Bruce’s hold, his cock dragged across Bruce’s cheek, leaving a wet trail on his skin. Bruce only smirked. Looking directly into Clark’s eyes from beneath his dark lashes, he took Clark’s cock into his mouth. His lips closed around the tip, hot and slick, tongue circling slowly beneath it. Clark’s entire body jolted, every muscle in his abdomen tightening at once, fingers clawing at the sheets in a desperate attempt not to thrust.
“B-” Clark’s voice cracked, deep and breathless.
Bruce slid his mouth down just a little further, hollowing his cheeks, letting the heat and weight of Clark rest on his tongue. His hand moved from Clark’s hip to his thigh, fingers dipping into strong muscle, keeping him pinned exactly where he wanted him. The faint tremble under Bruce’s palm made him smile around the length in his mouth.
He pulled back slowly, letting the head slip free with a soft, obscene sound. A thin string of saliva stretched between his lips and Clark’s flushed tip before it snapped, glistening on Bruce’s chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, then went back in, slow, deliberate, moving his tongue.
Clark’s breath stuttered. His head fell back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut, jaw slack and helpless. He placed one hand on Bruce’s head, not to grab his hair, but rather to stroke it gently, fingers trembling.
Bruce moaned, sending vibrations through Clark’s entire body. He pushed deeper, relaxing his throat and adjusting his angle. Bruce knew how to swallow a dick, but Clark had a monstrosity in his pants, which made everything difficult. Saliva and precum pooled in his mouth, tears slowly gathering in the corners of his eyes as he forced Clark’s cock deeper down his throat. Then he swallowed, the muscles of his throat contracting around the length. Clark moaned loudly, hips bucking up, forcing himself further.
Bruce struggled for breath, tears spilling from his tightly shut lids.
“Come here, babe.” Clark’s voice was broken, low and rasped with need. He gently tugged Bruce’s hair, urging him up. Bruce shivered at the endearment and let Clark slip free of his mouth, breathing hard as Clark wiped the tears from his cheeks. ”Let me taste you now.”
The kiss they shared was messy and breathless, more panting than kissing. Bruce let the thick mix of saliva and precum pool on his tongue, he hadn’t swallowed it on purpose, then pushed it deliberately into Clark’s mouth. Clark didn’t flinch or pull away. He groaned and kissed deeper, tongue curling into Bruce’s mouth to taste him, to take everything he offered.
They switched positions again, this time Bruce was the one pinned to the mattress. Clark leaned down and pressed a little kiss to his nose before reaching toward the bedside drawer, rummaging inside.
“Did you use your x-ray vision in my bedroom to search for that?” Bruce quirked an eyebrow, unimpressed at the grin Clark flashed while holding the lube.
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” Clark shrugged, though the answer was obvious. Bruce rolled his eyes, but the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Clark lifted Bruce’s legs onto his shoulders, leaving soft kisses along his calves. Bruce felt the tips of his ears heat up under the other man’s gaze, that look of raw hunger, sharpened by affection. Eyes that could burn through steel were now warm, soft, impossibly full of love.
Clark leaned, his mouth closing on one of Bruce’s nipples, when his hand covered in lube searched lower, his fingertips touching the tender skin around his hole. Bruce shivered at a sudden coldness, almost bend in half. Clark was careful, his big, strong fingers moving with deliberate gentleness. He stretched him slowly, patiently, constantly watching Bruce’s face for any sign of discomfort while his lips continued their trail over flushed skin.
His free hand wrapped around Bruce’s leaking cock, trapped between their bodies, stroking in a steady rhythm that made Bruce’s breath stutter. When Clark’s fingers pressed just right into his spot inside, Bruce’s back arched, a hoarse moan ripping past his bitten lips.
“Clark-” he groaned, but then a stray thought cut through the haze. “Do you… prefer me calling you Clark or Kal?”
Clark laughed against his chest, eyes bright, though his hands never faltered.
“I cannot believe you’re asking me that while I have three fingers inside you.”
“Better now than never-” Bruce tried to joke, but the comeback dissolved into a curse when Clark brushed that spot again. “Shit-”
“You can call me however you like, babe,” Clark murmured, kissing him softly before speaking again. “Kal-El is my birth name, Kryptonian. I associate it with my powers, with being Superman. And Clark is the name my Ma and Pa gave me… so it feels closer to being human. Normal. If that makes sense.”
”Then,” Bruce could feel how his whole body was on fire. ”Kal in work, Clark when we’re like this.”
Clark then started scissoring and wriggling his thick fingers inside him, stretching him further and earning another curse word.
“Enough,” Bruce barked, pushing at Clark’s chest with his foot. “I don’t want to come like this.”
When Clark set his legs back down on the mattress, Bruce shot him a quick smirk and flipped them over again. Bruce settled comfortably on Superman’s strong, very solid thighs, his gaze immediately drawn to Clark’s big, glistening cock. The poor thing was practically throbbing under the intensity of Bruce’s hungry stare.
Bruce could feel Clark’s eyes on him in return, the way he sat on top of him, red cock leaning slightly to the side, pink, hard nipples visible on his sculpted chest, hips rolling slowly. He felt beautiful under Clark’s deep blue gaze.
He had the almighty Superman trapped beneath his thighs, pinned to the mattress. The Man of Steel, the most powerful being on Earth, right there under him, trusting him, wanting him, loving him.
What did I do to deserve this, Bruce thought.
“Want a condom?” he asked instead, refocusing on Clark. “It’s totally up to you. I’m clean.”
Clark bit his swollen lip, his hands gripping Bruce’s hips, helping him grind down against him.
“Actually… it’s more up to you,” he admitted, a new kind of blush creeping onto his face. “Because I’m not human, there are some… things that are different.”
“Such as?” Bruce raised an eyebrow, tracing the pink bud of Clark’s nipple with his fingernails.
“Um- I’m more… messy? Wetter?” Clark swallowed. “And- uh- there’s also a lot more of my cum.”
Bruce smiled, pressing a reassuring kiss to his nipple as his fingers tugged gently at the other one.
“Good,” he murmured. “I like it messy and wet.”
They kissed, slowly this time, lips brushing against each other, savoring the warmth. A careful touch to a cheek, fingers threading through messy hair. Bruce felt like he was drowning in feelings, but this time, he wasn’t scared. Clark was there with him.
Then Bruce leaned back, his eyes never leaving Clark’s face as he carefully reached down towards his cock, guiding him, aligning with his entrance. Clark’s breath hitched when the tip was swallowed by a greedy, hungry heat.
“Babe, please,” Clark moaned, fingers tightening on Bruce’s hips hard enough to bruise. But he didn’t push, didn’t move, he stayed perfectly still.
And Bruce liked that very much.
He rewarded him with one smooth motion, taking him fully in. They both groaned at the same time. Bruce felt full, breath ragged, eyes fluttering shut as he tried to adjust to the sensation. It stung a little, Clark was big, and even the careful stretching earlier hadn’t completely prepared him. He placed a hand on Clark’s abdomen, steadying, grounding himself, before he moved again, slow and cautious at first.
His hips found a gentle rhythm, and Bruce felt overwhelmed, not by pain, not by fear, but by the sheer intensity of it all. He had forgotten how good sex could be with the right person. With someone he could be comfortable with. When he didn’t need to pretend to be somebody else, when there wasn’t a constant nagging voice in his head.
Because Clark knew him. Knew Bruce. Knew Batman.
His scars, hard muscles, crooked bones were all visible, and he didn’t need to come up with stories explaining how those souvenirs had appeared on his body. It was refreshing. Bruce could finally focus entirely on the sex itself, nothing else clouding his mind.
Clark helped him move, steadying him with his hands on Bruce’s hips. The tempo was steady, fast. Bruce could feel his thighs aching, a dull pain beginning to bloom in his not-so-young knees. He felt a small trail of sweat roll down from his temple. But it was all worth it.
The way Clark reacted, soft, quiet moans escaping his lips every time Bruce dropped down on his cock. Glossy eyes devouring Bruce’s body. One of his hands mapping Bruce’s stomach, thighs, abdomen, fingers pressing into his skin to feel his own cock moving inside him. And his breathing, ragged, heavy, like he was out of breath, even though Superman didn’t need to breathe at all.
The room was filled with their gasps, the sound of skin slapping against skin, and that wet, dirty noise coming from where they were connected. Clark practically drowned Bruce in his precum, it spilled slowly over Clark’s hips, thighs, and stomach, trailing down onto the mattress.
Bruce was getting tired, his muscles screaming, his rhythm faltering. Seeing that, Clark began to help, thrusting up powerfully from the bottom, hitting Bruce’s prostate directly.
Bruce choked on his own breath, stars exploding behind his closed lids.
“Rao, B-” Clark rasped, his movements never stopping. “You feel so good. You’re so good, babe.”
And his voice, god. Bruce could drown in it, get drunk on the sound alone. Clark wasn’t quiet. Every time he drove his cock deep inside Bruce, soft, broken ahs spilled from his lips, helpless and uncontrolled. The little whimpers, the glassy haze in his eyes, the relentless pressure right where Bruce was most sensitive made his toes curl hard enough to ache.
Clark noticed immediately when Bruce’s legs finally started to give. He flipped them over without warning, never once slipping free. Bruce’s head hit the pillows, and the world tilted, he barely registered the change before Clark was over him, messy curls falling into his face. Clark held himself up on one arm, the other sliding through Bruce’s damp hair, pushing it back from his forehead with surprising tenderness.
Then he snapped.
He drove into Bruce hard and fast, reckless and relentless, fucking him like he meant to ruin him for anyone else. Bruce clawed at Clark’s back, nails digging deep, not caring if it hurt, he was Superman, after all. His mind dissolved into heat and pressure and need, thoughts scattering completely as pleasure overtook him, his eyes rolling back, vision white at the edges.
“Come on,” Clark breathed against his neck, mouth dragging hot and wet over skin already bruised and marked. “Come for me. Come on my cock. Oh, Rao- look at you. You’re so beautiful.”
And Bruce shattered.
His back bowed off the mattress, head pressed deep into the pillows as his cry tore out of him, raw and broken. His release spilled between them in slick, pearly streaks, smeared across heated skin and tangled sheets, mixing with the mess of Clark’s precum. Clark bit down hard on Bruce’s shoulder, keeping the punishing rhythm as he chased his own end, breath stuttering, control slipping. He murmured something incoherent against Bruce’s skin, already lost.
Bruce felt it more than he saw it when Clark came, felt the flood of it, hot and overwhelming, spilling deep inside him, filling him completely, leaving him trembling and hollowed out. Warmth spread through his body, heavy and dizzying. If Bruce had any strength left at all, he would have lifted his head just to see if his stomach had started to swell from the sheer amount of it.
But he couldn’t move. He was gone.
He was still drifting somewhere between consciousness and sleep when Clark started cleaning him up with a damp towel. Bruce barely registered the movement, only the careful touch, unhurried and gentle. Clark probably used his super speed at first, then slowed deliberately, as if refusing to rush this part.
The fog in Bruce’s head thinned gradually, pulled apart by soft kisses pressed to his temples, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.
“Ugh,” Bruce grunted weakly, eyes fluttering open.
Clark was hovering above him, smiling wide and warm, looking unfairly fresh, skin still faintly glowing like he carried the sun under it.
“Hi, B,” he said softly. “Welcome back.”
Bruce stared at him for a long moment, blinking slowly. His body felt heavy, pleasantly wrecked, pinned to the mattress by exhaustion and warmth.
“How are you feeling?” Clark asked, immediately more serious, thumb brushing along Bruce’s jaw. “Anywhere hurt?”
Bruce tested his limbs and gave up instantly.
“You destroyed me, you bastard,” he muttered hoarsely. “I physically cannot move.”
Clark laughed, low and bright, the sound vibrating right through Bruce’s chest. “That sounds like a success to me.”
He carefully shifted Bruce higher against the pillows, arranging him like something precious, then slipped in close, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him against his chest. Clark’s warmth seeped into Bruce’s bones, grounding him completely.
Bruce let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and, almost unconsciously, curled into him.
“Stay,” he murmured, barely audible. “Stay the night.”
The vulnerablility in his words surprised him even as they left his lips.
Somewhere along the way, Bruce realized that his love for Clark had already begun to change him. Had changed him. Long before he’d named it, long before he’d understood it, he had been bending, softening, doing things he would have sworn he never would. Letting himself want.
And yet, he was still Batman. Still himself. The darkness hadn’t vanished, the edges hadn’t dulled, but somehow, impossibly, there was space now. Space for Clark’s warmth to exist alongside the cold, to settle into the cracks without breaking him apart.
Whatever had started between them had been in motion long before Bruce had the words for it. Long before he was ready.
So he stopped fighting it.
He surrendered.
Clark tightened his hold immediately, pressing a gentle kiss into Bruce’s hair, grounding and sure.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered against Bruce’s ear, his breath warm against his skin. “I love you.”
Bruce smiled, eyes slipping shut, the tension in his body finally easing.
Maybe love wasn’t so bad after all.