Chapter Text
7 WEEKS LATER
The sun was shining over Gotham that morning, instilling Clark with a profound sense of deja vu as he flew toward Wayne Towers, his red cape streaming behind him. Hopefully, there would be fewer fireworks this time, but it was anyone's guess how this conversation would go.
It had been an overwhelming few weeks since his last trip to the city of perpetual shadow. After his heat had ended, Clark had returned to Metropolis and abided dutifully by the terms of his deal with Bruce, resuming active duty as the Man of Steel after one last night as weary omega, Clark Kent.
In the days and weeks that followed, Bruce/Batman had been true to his word, giving Clark ample mental and physical space when they saw each other in the Hall of Justice or worked together in the field. Staff meetings resumed as normal, except that Batman had taken to seating himself beside Green Arrow grumpily but penitently, though Clark had not asked him to. Everything seemed fine for all intents and purposes.
On the surface, at least.
Clark's memories of his heat had only gotten hazier as time passed. So much so that Clark might have begun to believe it had all been some weird lucid dream if not for the expense report he'd been two weeks late completing—a dream he kept having late at night, which was starting to become supremely inconvenient. Honestly, it was like being a teenager again with how often he felt inclined to masturbate these days. Clark had tried to keep Bruce and Batman out of his thoughts and usually succeeded, but some days, his will was not that strong. On those days, he'd light a candle he'd found that smelled of wood smoke and leather and ride his fingers and fractured memories to the kind of orgasm that left him breathless for an hour afterward.
Clark knew this situation was not sustainable; however, he hadn't figured out what he wanted to do about it about a week ago.
…
It had been a slow day in the Hall of Justice, for which the entire team was grateful. It seemed like every bad guy had spent the week that Batman and Superman were MIA, preparing to unleash unholy hell because life had been one crisis after another.
That day had been different—quiet—and it gave everyone time to divest and decompress, both from work and each other. Green Arrow, Hawkgirl, and others had withdrawn to the gym. Wonder Woman was just out, who knew where. Flash and Aquaman were busy eating all the discards while Jon worked on perfecting the twice-fried Choco recipe he'd found online.
As usual, Batman was alone, lazily swiping at his tablet in one of the big comfy chairs in the library while Clark was engaged in his newest hobby, bat watching.
Clark considered himself a GREAT journalist and always had. He might not have the tenacity and killer instincts of Lois or Perry, but he was observant, thorough, and compassionate in his reporting. So it was driving him up a wall, knowing how categorically wrong he had been about Batman's secondary gender and interior life. But what felt even worse was being unable to recognize the man beneath the mask when Bruce was in Batman mode—even though Clark KNEW exactly who sat behind that damn, lead-lined visor barking out orders or skulking about in shadowy corners of the Hall of Justices like a spider. It was maddening! No one was that good of an actor, no one. They just weren't!
The problem plagued Clark night and day when he was not occupied fighting his rogues' gallery, exposing OSHA violations at Luthor's new warehouses for the Daily Planet, or moaning into his fist at night trying to remember the feeling of Bruce's silk sheets across his skin or the warmth of his breath even while his memories grew more tepid and faint.
Meanwhile, the mystery of BatWayne remained.
Thankfully, after several weeks of careful and stealthy observation, some progress had been made in the investigation into where Bruce Wayne went during Batman's awake hours.
Answer: nowhere.
Clark first noticed that even though Bruce took great pains to hide it, Batman and Bruce Wayne moved the same way. After weeks of fighting at Batman's side with a reporter's eye trained on his partner's movements, Clark had begun to see a similarity in the mixed martial arts style the Dark Knight had developed for himself and the dancer's grace Wayne commanded. Batman was more circumspect about it when hanging around, holding himself in a more rigid and physically intimidating manner if people directly looked at him. But he betrayed himself as soon as he was in motion if you knew what to look for. Fortunately for him, his suit did much to hide his sins. The heavy floor-length cape, which swirled around him constantly like liquid night, hid the artful glide of his gait. Additionally, the plate armor and hawkish visor he usually wore into battle completely changed his frame and the angles of his face, obscuring the swimmer's body that looked so fine in Wayne's expertly tailored suits in addition to protecting his vitals.
That was a watershed moment in the investigation, leading Clark to Observable Fact Number Two: Batman and Bruce Wayne were clothes hounds. Nitpicky? Maybe. Trivial? Not even a little bit. Oh sure, Batman's many suit designs all served a practical purpose, ostensibly, but there was a strong aesthetic and POV there, too—a tool no less effective than a Batarang. Flash and Green Arrow teased him often about needing a private walk-in armory twice the size of the communal kitchen, which Batman ignored in his usual stoic way. He had a reason for every wardrobe choice he always claimed, but there was also a certain amount of vanity in his suit designs that Clark had never noticed before, a very Bruce Wayne style of vanity—showy, moody, and just a touch over-dramatic at times.
Today, Batman wore what was jokingly referred to behind his back as the "Leisure Suit," which was made of simple spandex and lacked any of the plate armor he'd wear into a fight. Brighter than his standard, more gray than matte black, with yellow accents around his emblem to match the bright yellow utility belt, the Leisure Suit did not inspire fear like his battle suits did. Batman looked quite comfortable, almost approachable, if a little bored, as he sat reading with one leg slung over the other and his tablet balanced on his knee. It was well known that if you wanted to ask a personal favor from Batman, you waited until Leisure Suit Day to petition His Highness. Wayne used his fashion similarly to communicate his mood or inspire an emotional reaction from his audience. The playboy, the politician, and the Byronic hero all served a different purpose and suggested a strong, stalwart POV— dominant POV you could even say.
Unfortunately, that was the sum/total of the observable facts, but Clark felt undeterred. If he had learned nothing else from his recent experiences, it was this: understanding BatWayne and predicting whether he would zig left or zag right came down to the intangibles—the things you didn't see because he couldn't or wouldn't tell you. Batman was like an iceberg in that regard. What wrecked you was everything below the waterline.
"If you're going to keep staring, it would be polite to buy me dinner first," Batman said without looking up from his reading.
Clark jumped.
He'd expected to be caught. He hadn't expected to be flirted with. Or was he projecting too much? Honestly, if not for their recent sexual history, that comment would not have registered as more than typical Batman banter back in the old days. But now, things were different.
You can do this, Clark told himself. Someone had to break the stalemate, and he knew he couldn't rely on Batman to be the one. The distance had been necessary in the beginning. Sharing your cycle with someone was a profoundly intimate act, even without the complexities that had brought them together. Clark had needed the time to process his feelings about the secrets, both cold and tender; his friend had hidden from him. But as usual, Batman had taken it three steps too far in his 'eagerness to prove that he could behave.' Now, they never talked at all, slowing Clark's investigation and making him sad and lonely.
"What are you reading?" Clark asked, not ready to go down the flirtatious road yet. He feared that day was coming soon, but he needed to reconcile the disparities between Batman, Bruce Wayne, and Bruce before asking BatWayne out for drinks and line dancing after work.
"Data from a citizen science group called the Riverkeepers, who have been very dutifully keeping a record of the salinity, acidity, oxygen levels, and amount of fecal bacteria in Gotham's waterways for the last twenty years, give or take.
"Riveting," Clark said, sitting in the chair across from him with the oversized ottoman. "Can I ask why?"
"I don't know. Can you?" Batman said, managing to sound petulant without any inflection in his voice.
Clark shook his head and put his feet up on the ottoman. Real mature, Bruce. But he held back his complaint to avoid satisfying Batman's apparent desire to avoid this conversation by starting a fight. Besides, he already had a hunch why the Dark Knight was subjecting himself to such a study. Clark had written three pieces for the Planet leading up to the Wayne Enterprises vote, and one of them had involved the Wayne Foundation's new environmental initiative: a clean-up of Gotham's waterways. "I'm betting this has something to do with seahorses returning to Gotham Harbor. Eh?"
Batman stopped scrolling and finally looked in Clark's direction. The opaque white lenses of his visor made it impossible to discern his mood. "Is there something you need to discuss with me?"
Clark heard Batman's pulse hitch, certain this was an invitation to talk about…them. "No, not yet. Just making conversation."
He heard Batman grunt at a volume that would have been inaudible to most humans before he rose to his feet, tablet in hand. "Then I'll be going."
"Hey, wait!" Clark reached over and grabbed Batman by the wrist before he moved out of arm's reach. "Can't we just talk? We never talk anymore, and I miss it."
Batman curled his fingers into a fist, then slowly released them. Was he mad or just releasing tension? This conversation would have been so much easier if Clark could still smell him, but Bruce's scent signature was just...gone. Completely. At this very moment, he presented as nothing more than a recessive omega or a beta.
"Of course, we can," Batman said. "League business is League business, but this is something different, as you know."
Clark knew, but that didn't make him less mournful for the days when he could talk to Batman about anything. "Pretend that I don't." You're so good at it anyway, he nearly added. The ease and speed with which Batman had slid back into the role of Clark's avoidant friend and battle leader was genuinely hurtful. But Clark had asked for the space, which left the ball firmly in his court if he wanted to close it back up. "We would have talked about it before. Be vague. I don't care. Tell me about the seahorses, Batman. Please?"
From this angle, Clark could see Bruce's nostrils flare at the sound of his chosen name, though the rest of his body posture remained loose and unbothered.
After what seemed like an eternity, Clark felt something in the air shift between them and knew instinctively that their Cold War had ended.
"I'm looking for patterns in specific years and seasons when the pollution levels exceeded expectations to see if those dates align with any significant building projects or notable corporate scandals," Batman explained. "Companies, who were likely dumping waste into the harbor in the past, might still be at it today, which would explain why our water quality has not improved. The municipal government passed a lot of new environmental restrictions in the last two years. Things should be better, but they're not."
"Bet that's why the coffee sucks too. I knew it was the water."
Batman stayed silent, but his hand closed back into a fist and remained that way.
"So you're building a suspect list of Gotham's biggest polluters?" Clark asked. It sounded like a great news story, but he doubted Batman would give him the scoop on this one. "Why don't you check court records?"
"Unreliable. Judges come cheap in Gotham."
That is some city you got there, buddy. But insulting Gotham any further than he already had was a one-way ticket to Batman's shit list and at least a week of the silent treatment, which was the opposite of what Clark wanted right now. "How are you going to—"
Batman snatched his hand back. "The ones that can't be intimidated into obedience will be bought out by an interested third party."
Bought out by Bruce Wayne, in other words. Damn. Clark had overstepped, but this was a start. He and Batman were sitting here in uniform, conversing about one of Bruce Wayne's projects. That felt like progress. "So, no seahorses yet?"
"No, and I should be going. I'll let you know when I see one." He started walking away but paused in the doorway. Another thing about the damn Leisure Suit, it was very flattering to his natural musculature, which Clark suspected was no accident. "Superman, I have a prior engagement, or I would stay," Batman hastened to add.
"It's not you, it's me," Clark winked. "Wonder how many times you've used that one before."
He heard another noise out of Batman, slightly louder than the last but still barely audible—a low, involuntary little rumble, the unmistakable growl of an alpha who did not enjoy being teased.
Clark waved him off but with a smile to show that there were no hard feelings. "It's okay, go. Have fun."
Batman turned on his heel quickly, flourishing his cape behind him as he departed with speed. Clark heard the snap of his utility belt and the uncorking of the small, little tube of moisturizer he kept on his person—his scent blocker.
Clark got up, hurried to the doorway, and scented the air. There it was, that acrid, burning scent he only half-remembered. It was faint, no more potent than that of a single extinguished birthday candle or a cigarette butt, but it was enough to stir Clark's memories. He thought again about Batman and icebergs and all the things that made him dangerous lurking just beneath the waterline, where a dominant, charismatic alpha hid in plain sight.
I still want him, Clark finally admitted to himself, heat or no heat. It was selfish and stupid and might put more than just Gotham and Metropolis at risk, but his heat had taught Clark a lot about himself, including a capacity for selfishness he had not realized he possessed.
But that left Clark with one major problem: how the hell did one catch the Batman!?
…
Below him, Bruce sat reading the morning paper while having breakfast on the terrace of his penthouse. Clark had suspected he might be out enjoying the excellent weather and was relieved to be proven right since it meant he wouldn't have to break in or go in through the lobby in civies. He wanted to do this in the red and blue since it affected their futures as Batman and Superman.
Clark descended toward the alpha slowly, holding two milkshakes and a paper bag containing a piping-hot cinnamon roll. "A physical paper, Mr. Wayne? I'm surprised. You don't strike me as a low-fi kind of guy."
"Me? I think you have me confused with someone else," Bruce grumbled without looking up. "I couldn't even set up an iPhone without one of my assistants holding my hand." He turned the page and fluffed his paper, ignoring the very famous superhero hovering above him.
"Really? Don't you have a degree in engineering? From Yale?" Technically, it was Yale's satellite campus, but the point was to show Bruce that Clark had been doing his research.
"And business. And criminal psychology, forensic science, chemistry, computer science, flunked out of theater though." Bruce licked a finger and turned a couple of pages, skipping over the sports section. He wore a white sweater that morning, rolled up to his elbows, with a pair of red stripes around the cuffs and crew neck over white linen pants. It was a very American Ivy look. "I only took all those classes to impress some hot nerds. Faked and bribed my way through most of them, you know, but in the end, I was only a C student."
Clark didn't doubt that Bruce would have gone to any length to appear only average while vigorously applying himself to every discipline he enrolled in as he collected the necessary skills to build a Batman. "Still, that is quite the accomplishment."
"You sound impressed."
"I am," Clark said and landed on the terrace.
Bruce clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
"Hah! I still got it. Now, what are you doing here?"
Clark placed one milkshake and the paper bag in front of the alpha. "I brought you breakfast!"
Bruce folded a corner of the paper and looked at the styrofoam cup with its bright pink straw, suspicion reading loud and clear across his features. "Milkshakes?"
"Vanilla," Clark said proudly. "Your favorite!" Batman's favorite, actually.
"Hrmm. Is it? I don't recall telling you that. My favorite flavor is—"
"Walnut Maple!" Clark cut in and switched the cups out, feeling very pleased with himself. "I did my research, Mr. Wayne." For years, he had suspected Batman was lying about his milkshake preferences to hide any identifying information about himself. Who liked PLAIN vanilla? With no toppings! It was safe, boring, and not at all in line with the psychological profile of a man so emotionally damaged by the traumas of his past that he'd turned to a life of high-profile vigilantism.
Bruce snatched the milkshake up and disappeared behind his paper again. "Isn't that just ducky?"
Clark sat in the chair opposite him and picked up the other milkshake. Anticipating that Bruce would have difficulty accepting Batman's order, Clark had asked for about an inch and a half of hot fudge and brownie batter at the bottom of the cup in case he got stuck with the vanilla. "So...nice weather we're having."
Bruce loudly slurped at his milkshake, purposefully ignoring Clark's attempt to draw him into civil conversation. What had gotten into him today? They had been fine last week. Almost back to normal even. He'd expected him to be a little prickly about dropping in on his alter ego unannounced, but the pepper scent on the air suggested that the alpha's anger was close to boiling over. Then Clark saw the paper.
'Edgar Templeton Arrested! Wife Turns State's Evidence Against Crime Lord Husband'
Edgar Templeton, former board member of Wayne Enterprises, was arrested at his Hamptons home last Friday on evidence turned over to the state by his estranged wife, Candace Templeton. Mrs. Templton had records of criminal bribery, tax fraud, and embezzlement...
Beneath the headline, a familiar face looked back at Clark from the steps of the Gotham Court House, much more finely dressed than when Clark had seen her in Bruce Wayne's penthouse bedroom two months ago wearing a leopard print micro skirt.
"Oh, so this is about Candy, is it?"
The alpha grunted.
"Was that your big plan? Sleep with the wife to get the evidence you needed to remove an opponent from the field of play before the vote? Makes sense. I've been thinking a lot about your plan to use public goodwill to influence your board's decisions, and the more I thought about it, the weaker it seemed."
"And yet you fell for it."
"I was in heat!" Clark said defensively. "And this is Gotham, as you're so fond of telling me. Goodwill doesn't seem to get you very far in this city. What happened?"
"I'll have you know that the people of Gotham are largely wonderful and caring except for a few notable psychos," Bruce snapped from behind the paper wall he'd erected between himself and Clark with the Monday Issue of the Gotham Gazette. "Also, just so you don't think I'm a complete cad, Candy and I have been seeing each other recreationally for a year this Saturday. She is a lovely woman with experience and an absolute she-devil in bed. I DON'T appreciate the implication that I was using her for personal gain," he paused for another long, loud slurp from his milkshake. "Sticking it to Ed was just a fringe benefit of the affair."
Clark snorted. Of course, it was. "Well, I'm sorry the timing didn't work out. So this thing with Candy...is it serious?" In his many dress rehearsals of this conversation, Clark hadn't counted on Bruce Wayne confessing to being in a serious and committed relationship already. Every weekend, he seemed to be photographed by the tabloids with a different bottle blond.
"Oh, no, no, no. It's nothing like that. Noooo. Candy and I are just having a bit of fun, and we agree on that. I am only a temporary amusement to her. But she makes me laugh when I have to wear this ridiculous costume, and I need that sometimes. She'll tire of me eventually. They always do," he sighed performatively. "Besides, she is also sleeping with her twenty-four-year-old tennis instructor, and he is GORGEOUS, mmm-mmm. I can't compete with that at my age."
Clark doubted anyone could compete with Bruce in the looks department, but there was no need to tell the alpha that if he was going to shrug off any of Clark's attempts at being complimentary and friendly. "So, where are you two kids going?"
"None of your business," Bruce growled, turning another page.
Clark sighed and looked toward Earth's yellow sun, praying for strength and patience to get through this next part. "I thought you weren't going to do this anymore, the whole driving me away thing? You said if I ever needed anything to come to you. Well, I need you."
Bruce set the milkshake aside and slammed his paper shut. "I made that offer in good faith, which is something YOU cannot claim to be operating under right now! I know you've been talking to Alfred, and I want to know why," he hissed, as angry as Clark had seen him as either Batman or Bruce Wayne. "I don't like being toyed with, Superman. I thought you, of all people, would know that."
Oh, for the love of everything…was that what this was about? "ONE phone call does not a conspiracy make! Stop being paranoid."
The alpha leaned across the table, his hackles raised and pheromones pouring out of him. They were so much fainter than before, working with and not against the smell of his expensive shampoos and body wash—a rich and comforting blend of smoke, apples, mahogany, and malt, with just a hint of leather that smelled identical to Batman's carapace. "Are you sure about that? Convincing him to forward you my daily calendar feels like a conspiracy to me! HAH! That's right. I caught you!" Bruce said, continuing to roar and rage. "Who's the World's Greatest Chump now, Cl— Kal-El ?" His voice remained in the higher registers of Bruce Wayne, but his stumble over Clark's secret identity was surprising. While Bruce hadn't quite broken character, he'd come pretty shockingly close. Geez, he must be pissed. "I swear if you and he are planning some sort of misguided attempt at a birthday surprise now that you know who I am, I will end you both.
Clark's stomach lurched. Craaaaaaap. It was his birthday? Shoot. No wonder Alfred had sounded so amused on the phone when Clark had rang to inquire about Bruce's schedule this week. Batman's disdain for surprises was legendary. "Calm down, Detective. It's nothing like that. This alien comes in peace."
Bruce huffed and postured indignantly for a few seconds before regaining his calm, uninterested composure. "Good," he said as he slumped back into his chair, glaring at Clark like an angry Doberman. It was a tense moment, but the sight still put a smile on Clark's face. He enjoyed seeing Batman riled up and expressive like this, even if he was still masked behind his playboy persona.
"What about my schedule then?" Bruce continued.
"I wanted to confirm we'd have time to talk. Alfred said you didn't come home last night and must have stayed here. He also said you tend to skip meals when you're off his apron strings and asks me to remind you that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so I thought I'd bring you some!"
A muscle above Bruce's left eyebrow twitched, and Clark could hear the alphas' back molars grinding against each other as Clark delivered Alfred's message.
"Did he? How kind of you both," Bruce forced out through clenched teeth, wearing a fixed, fake smile.
Clark nudged the paper bag toward the alpha, who angled himself slightly away and stubbornly refused to take it.
"Come on. I got your favorite."
Bruce snatched at the bag and peeked inside. "A cinnamon roll? Sorry, sweetheart, you were given some bad information; I prefer a custard filling in my pasteries."
Clark frowned. That couldn't be right. He was sure he remembered that part correctly. "But you said I smelled like all your favorite things when we," he coughed, "were together."
The alpha's head tilted to the side like a confused dog as if to say 'and?'
"Lois always said I smelled like cinnamon rolls. Or fresh sourdough bread if I was cross with her," Clark said, flustered.
Bruce's eyebrows lifted. "You mean you don't know?"
"Know what?" Clark asked hesitantly. He suddenly had a horrible feeling that the conversation was about to get away from him.
"Huh, I guess scent signatures aren't a polite topic of conversation in Nowheresville, Kansas, population Clark. Interesting." Bruce placed his hand over his heart and bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. "And I get to tell you? Oh, happy birthday to me!"
"Actually, I'm good. I don't want to know." He really, really did not like the expression on Bruce's face right now.
"And spoil my fun? On my birthday? How rude. Let's talk inside," the alpha said, rising to his feet and collecting his milkshake, morning paper, and untouched breakfast. "Besides, it would be bad for my image if someone were to see us out here together. I wouldn't want anyone to think I was cheating on Batman," he winked.
Clark rolled his eyes. Of course, NOW Bruce was interested in his birthday. Regardless, Clark had come this far. Delaying the talk wouldn't make it easier down the line. He followed the alpha downstairs and sat on a barstool at the island in the kitchen area on the main floor.
Bruce, meanwhile, set an electric kettle to boil, threw away his now empty milkshake, and placed the cinnamon roll on a small, round plate. "Do you mind?" he asked, pointing to the pastry.
"You know, a microwave works just as well," Clark said as he warmed the cinnamon roll with his heat vision until the vanilla frosting was soft and glistening.
"Yeah, but you look hot with a bit of red in your eyes," Bruce said in a low and sultry purr as he rummaged in the fridge for something. It was strange. The more time Clark spent with Bruce, the more like Batman he sometimes began to sound.
"How do you do that with your voice? The Brucie thing."
"Vocal training." Bruce emerged from the fridge with a small box of the most perfect-looking strawberries Clark had ever seen, which was saying something. His mother had won prizes for her strawberries back in Smallville.
"What's your natural voice sound like?" Clark asked.
"You know, I honestly don't remember. It was somewhere closer to Batman's, though. I doubt I could even do it anymore, not on purpose, anyway."
"And none of your friends questioned why your voice changed after you returned from overseas?"
Bruce shrugged. "I went abroad and returned with an annoying affect. It's a remarkably pedestrian story among the rich." The alpha cut the cinnamon roll into six pieces and took a small triangle. "Mmm, this is good. Damn. And this is what you smelled like to Lois? Lucky woman."
Clark sighed, preparing himself. He was sure he would hate whatever Bruce was about to tell him. "What are you talking about?" He asked, resigned.
"WELL, based on what I've observed, your scent signature is not a fixed thing!" Bruce said excitedly as he licked his fingers clean. "You smell like something different to every alpha you meet! I think it has something to do with your alien biology. Some carnivorous plants have a similar ability, but their scent signature differs across species, not within the same one."
"WHAT!??" Clark blurted out. Impossible. That was impossible. Why was he hearing about this now? At his age? As impossible as a dominant alpha successfully hiding as a recessive omega for over a decade?
"I KNOW! Fascinating, right!? It is pretty unique." Bruce's eyes sparkled, delighting in the scientific merits of his discovery. And this man had the gal to call him a nerd all the time. "The thing about you, though, is how rarely you release pheromones in an amount that most alphas register because your omega traits are so recessive. Do you know I never once caught your scent until you fell head-over-heels for Lois? And even then, I only smelled your pheromones if you were thinking or talking about her. I believe this is why we had that brief kidnapping spree when you and Lois first got together. Remember?" Bruce continued. "That year that every alpha on Santa's Naughty List got it into their heads to try and make your theirs? It happened because you suddenly began smelling like everything they had ever desired. Damn, I was glad when that cooled down. As funny as it was watching Lex present you with literal roses, I was at my wit's end by that point."
Clark remembered that time. There were about five different, very bumbling kidnapping attempts in the space of ten months. Two by Luthor alone. "Roses dusted with Kryptonite powder!"
"Hey, I intercepted them!" Bruce said, sounding put out that Clark had even mentioned it. "I would never let an inferior alpha like Lex Luthor lay his tacky little paws on you. He didn't even shell out for the Juliet roses. Disgraceful. Anyway, what I'm saying is this: you, Kal-El of Krypton," Bruce slapped his hand down onto the counter like a judge pronouncing a sentence, "are simply irresistible ."
Clark laid his head on the countertop. "I don't believe this," he groaned. From cinnamon roll to carnivorous plant. Great. Perfect. This day was going swell.
"Believe it, sweetheart. It's not your milkshakes that bring all the boys to the yard. Tasty as they are."
Clark forced his head up and glared. "That isn't funny."
"A matter of opinion," Bruce shrugged and pushed the bussel of strawberries toward him. "Want a strawberry? They are out of season, you know. Had them flown in special."
"You know I could be in Peru before your jet cleared the runway, right? This stuff doesn't impress me."
Bruce reached across the island, holding a big, fat strawberry to Clark's lips. "Uh-huh, but my jet has a jacuzzi, so I win," he said patronizingly. "Besides, weren't you the one just talking about how important breakfast is? Now, open wide, darling."
Clark felt the brush of an alpha's command against his skin, too faint to have a compulsory effect, but Clark had not come here to disobey. He'd come here to win himself an alpha. He held Bruce's gaze as he sucked on the tip of the strawberry and then bit the fruit cleanly in half.
There was a low, hungry rumble of arousal in Bruce's throat before the alpha downed the remaining half himself, leaves and all.
"What do I smell like to you?" Clark asked.
Bruce picked up the largest triangle of cinnamon roll and plunked it into his mouth, preventing himself from answering. He chewed slowly, pointing at his mouth and making a lot of pleased eating sounds while keeping Clark on tenterhooks until he'd swallowed Jerk. "You smell like Gotham at the end of the day in the last few minutes before full dark. You smell like the feeling of bone breaking beneath my fist when I've laid out a goon with one punch. You smell like sex. You smell like thunder. You smell like victory over my enemies. Clark, you smell incredible."
"Of course, those are your favorite things. Couldn't have been something normal like mangos, now could it?" How did one smell like broken bones?
Bruce frowned, clearly annoyed that his overture was being received so poorly. "No, they're Batman's favorite things, and I'm allergic to mangos," his voice had gotten huskier, his good humor ebbing away like the tide. "So, now, imagine what it felt like having you march into my home smelling like the only things that have ever made ME happy the moment you laid eyes on him! You, who brush off every alpha's previous advances like the dust beneath your boots. I was out of my mind with jealousy."
"On YOU," Clark corrected. "When I laid eyes on YOU, you dummy."
The alpha rolled his eyes. "On 'me' whatever. Anyway, it was my worst nightmare and every fantasy rolled into one. I had to TRY at least to warn you off. Clark...," Bruce massaged the back of his neck, his confidence slipping, "all jokes aside, I have to ask: what are you doing here? If you're not here to torment me on my birthday, can I assume you're ready to talk?"
"That was my intention. But first, there is something I need you to do for me," Clark croaked, his palms sweating. Was he ready? No. Could he languish any longer in the ambiguity between them? Also no. "Will you humor me? I want to try something."
With his hand over his heart, Bruce bowed his head. "I live to serve," he said unconvincingly.
"Okay. Good," Clark inhaled deeply, gathering his courage to do something supremely embarrassing. "I want to start over with a proper introduction this time," he announced, sticking his hand out across the island. "Hello, I'm Kal-El of Krypton. I'm ALSO Clark Kent from Metropolis."
Bruce looked at Clark's hand apathetically. "This is stupid. We've known each other for almost a decade."
Clark smiled as sweet as apple pie. "I really don't care. I can't move forward until you do this." He hadn't even gotten to the embarrassing part.
Bruce groaned but returned the handshake. "Hi. Bruce Wayne. Rich asshole."
"AND?" Clark promoted, tightening his grip on Bruce's hand so the alpha couldn't pull away.
Bruce narrowed his eyes, appearing like he was going to hold firm, but then sighed, accepting the second chance Clark had extended to him. "And Batman. Happy?"
"I'm on my way to happy." Clark released Bruce's hand and hopped clear over the countertop, landing at the alpha's side. Then he laid his hand on Bruce's waist, on top of the old scar he had given Batman so long ago. "Now, I'm happy."
"What are you doing, Superman?" Bruce asked, pushing back verbally on Clark's attempt to cross the demarcation zone.
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm trying to seduce you. Some of us aren't content to waste away pining from a distance." Clark slid his hand to the small of Bruce's back and pulled their bodies closer.
"I wasn't wasting away! I was busy leading Earth's strongest defense force against some of the most powerful enemies this planet has ever seen." Bruce countered calmly, but his campfire scent blazed just a little hotter.
Clark shrugged, reflecting his best Brucie ambivalence at the alpha. "And acting as arbiter of the gym's Spotify station when Flash and Green Arrow are bickering about it. Yes, very important stuff, BATMAN.
Clark felt the muscles beneath his hand tense as Bruce's temper flared even brighter.
"I…you... you! Grrr, I'm going to...I'm going to—" Bruce sputtered angrily, but the light in his eyes now made Clark's insides churn expectantly.
"What? What do you think you could possibly do to me ." Clark let a little heat into his eyes, just enough to make his pupils flash red for a second. "Alfred says you can't even dress yourself in the mornings."
"YOU!" Bruce growled, laying his hand on Clark's cheek. "You," he repeated more gravely while brushing his thumb across Clark's bottom lip. The air in the penthouse had grown heavy with the heat and scent of Bruce's desire.
Clark turned his head and nuzzled at the pulse point on Bruce's wrist, letting himself get lost in the fractured memories of his heat, which he knew would flood the room with his omega pheromones, edging the dominant alpha to bolder action. He should have known that gifts and flattery would never be the way into Batman's heart. A fight, on the other hand…how perfectly predictable. "If you have nothing intelligible to say, Mr. Six Degrees, maybe shut your mouth and put it to better use."
"Fuck," Bruce said, breathing hard now. "God, I love it when you're rude. Didn't know you could even be this rude."
Clark turned his head back and brought his lips close to Bruce's, stopping just shy of kissing him. "Bet you did know I could be this filthy either," he murmured and brought his free hand up to cup the alpha's balls.
Bruce grunted and lurched forward in surprise, but instead of drawing Clark into a passionate kiss, the alpha began to cackle against Clark's lips.
"Too much?" Clark asked, feeling deflated as he watched the alpha pull back.
Bruce turned away, nodding as he choked on his laughter and grabbed the kitchen counter for support. "I'm sorry," he wheezed. "You were doing so well being rude, but the dirty talk, I can't. It's just...so not you! I can't breathe! Oh god, sorry."
"So much for being irresistible," Clark pouted.
"Hey, no, none of that," Bruce said. He wiped tears from his eyes and extended his hand, palm up. "Truce. Now, give me your hand again, and tell me what this is really about. Are you in heat again? Already?"
Clark frowned, growing annoyed, but he took Bruce's hand regardless. "No, I'm not in heat. I'm just trying to show you that I...I like you—all of you. Sorry, I don't have as much game as America's Playboy."
Bruce's amused grin shrunk, his blue eyes turning sullen and moody as he regarded Clark. "You have all the game you have ever needed to gain my attention."
Clark gripped Bruce's hand a little tighter. "I know how it must have appeared to you when I seemingly got all hot and bothered for Bruce Wayne. But I've been thinking a lot about that week, and I don't think that's what happened. That's not me, Bruce. I've only ever felt attraction for people I fall for on an emotional level, and yet, here we are. It should be obvious how very attracted I am to you."
"It does smell a little like a summer storm in here."
'You smell like sex. You smell like thunder,' Bruce had said earlier. Clark blushed. "Right. And I don't believe in that fairytale garbage about fated mates."
"Good. Neither do I."
"Look, deep down, I think some part of me knew it was you. My body did, at least, even if my brain was slow to pick up the breadcrumbs you left out for me. Do you know how much I missed you that week, Batman?"
There was a satisfied, involuntary grunt deep in Bruce's chest at the sound of his name, which gave Clark some of his confidence back.
"I miss you NOW that we barely even talk outside Justice League missions. I don't want that. I want you: Bruce, Batman, whatever you want to call yourself. I don't fully understand this separation between church and state you've erected for yourself inside that thick skull of yours. It's not like that for me. I'm Superman. I'm Kal. I'm Clark. And right now, I'm hoping you'll choose me, all of me because I'm choosing you...if you'll have me."
The sun had disappeared behind a cloud bank, dimming the natural sparkle of Bruce's penthouse, an ominous sign. Clark felt Bruce pull his hand back and let him go, holding back a sigh of loss and longing.
"Have you thought about what it would look like between us? If we acted on some of these feelings." Bruce asked as he began anxiously picking the leaves off the strawberries on the countertop.
Despite the turn in the weather, Clark's mood began to brighten. That wasn't a no! It wasn't a yes, but Clark knew this would be a hard sell. "I have, and I want us to date as civilians. Our work as Batman and Superman is too important, and I don't want to trouble the team if this doesn't work out." He thought that might reassure Bruce, who had made it clear his mission came before everything else, including his own life.
Bruce nodded, seemingly unfazed by the suggestion that this wouldn't work out. "So you thought about it? Really thought about it? How unlikely it is that we would make it?"
"I have, although 'unlikely' is not the word I'd use."
"Fabulous," Bruce said gloomily, but there was relief in his sad expression, too.
Clark wanted to hold him as he worked through his insecurities. One night in Wayne Manor was one thing. What Clark was proposing was something much more significant and consuming. "Tell me what you're thinking."
"I think it's absurd!" Bruce's hand stopped picking at the strawberries and suddenly balled into a fist. "Us. Dating. Like normal people. I don't NOT want it. I just don't have a lot of hope for us—not with being me and all. I'm not like you! I'm not...good. I'm bitter. And spiteful. I wasn't lying when I told you I was a real bastard."
Clark wordlessly tapped the emblem on his chest, signifying 'hope' in his mother tongue.
"HAR-HAR!" Bruce laughed sarcastically as his smile turned into a snarl. "I'm serious! I'm not exactly the kind of man you bring home to your parents, especially not YOUR parents. What about exclusivity? Did you think about that? I'm not the marrying sort, either, and I have never really done monogamy before. I don't think it's something I even want despite what I feel about you. If you are looking for an alpha to replace Lois, I'm not it!!!" he growled, throwing up his defenses against a perceived threat. "I can't give you a white picket fence, Clark, or a child that I'll only end up abandoning when I..." Bruce rocked on his feet and grabbed the countertop, the heady dose of adrenaline and emotion making him momentarily unsteady.
'...when I die,' were the words unspoken. Given his past, it was logical that Bruce would have hangups about orphaning a child of his.
Clark closed the distance between them and took both of Bruce's hands in his. He was not surprised to find that they were stiff with tension or that Bruce had, in typical Batman fashion, leaped to the most extreme outcome on any possible dating scenario between them. Clark wished he could take ten minutes to kiss every knuckle and joint until Bruce was at peace, but they had to get through this first. "If I had wanted a picket fence, do you think I would stay with Lois for so long? Bruce, it's me. You know me."
Bruce was quietly studying the symbol on Clark's chest, worldlessly plotting his next counter-attack, but Clark didn't intend to give him that opportunity.
"And I don't want you to stop seeing your other partners, although I would like to know a bit about them. If things go well, maybe I could meet them someday. When we're both ready, of course."
Bruce's head shot up, looking at Clark like he'd grown a second head. "Really? You'd be willing to try polyamory?"
Clark had done A LOT of thinking about this part and had come to some surprising revelations about himself. "Having multiple partners is not for me. I have difficulty making room for even one between all my duties." Clark searched for the phrasing he'd read about when the was preparing for this talk. "I think I'm poly-saturated at one, yeah that's it, but I am glad there are several people in your life with whom you feel comfortable sharing some part of yourself. You, Bruce, whose natural instinct is to shut out everyone, need as much intimacy in your life as you'll allow. If there are people in your life who care for you, I don’t want you to cut them loose. I just want you to let me in. I also think we'd be better off living independently outside of a traditional alpha/omega nesting arrangement. You in Gotham with your fast cars and galas. Me in Metropolis, where I have my own life and friends. We'll still be partners in crime-fighting, you and me, World's Finest, but now there will be kissing. Questions?"
"I was so cruel to you before all because I felt threatened." Bruce's hands clenched around Clark's fingers, his blue eyes dark and cloudy with concern. "I break things. It's what I'm best at. What if I hurt you again?"
Clark's heart shattered for him, confirming Bruce's fears, but Clark kept quiet about it. Batman broke things, true, but Bruce Wayne was a builder. Clark had grown irrepressibly fond of that part of him and wished Bruce could learn to love and honor that aspect of his nature, too. But Clark understood. The look in Bruce's eyes right now reminded him of the shame and fear he'd felt waking up in Wayne Manor to the bruises he'd left on Bruce's body. "Hey, hey, shhh," Clark said soothingly, "believe me, I get it. I'm scared of hurting you, too, but I'm bulletproof, and you're Batman. We're strong enough to survive a little friendly fire, but I know we'd be stronger together."
The alpha swallowed, looking down at their hands, his eyes blank with confusion. "I don't know what to say."
'Stop the presses, Bruce Wayne is speechless!' is what Clark wanted to shout from the rooftops, but he managed to restrain himself—barely. "Kiss me before you say anything."
Bruce slowly brought his lips to Clark's for a sweet, nervous little peck, like the kiss Clark had given his date at their first barn dance at thirteen.
"You can do better than that, Alpha," Clark whispered into Bruce's mouth, calling to the alpha's primordial self to rise and claim the omega presenting himself to be devoured.
Their second kiss was more heated. Bruce's tongue lapped at his lips, demanding to be let in, so Clark acquiesced and opened his mouth and throat to his alpha.
It was unclear who moaned first, but the wanton sound of pent-up longing brought the action to a screeching halt.
Bruce pulled his hands free and stepped out of Clark's reach, then slid his sweater over his head and tossed it at Clark. "Okay, if we are doing this, I need to make you mine NOW. Don't think it escaped my notice that you managed to submit to YOURSELF instead of to me the last time we did this, hrmph. My pride remains bruised."
Had he? What was the difference? Submission had always been something of an abstract concept to his superpowered self and Clark's least favorite aspect of alpha/omega sex. "If you say so," he said with only a quarter-cup of condescension. Clark might struggle with submission, but alpha appeasement was an area he was quite skilled at working in the bullpen of the Daily Planet. Journalism was one of those fields overrun with pushy alphas and inflated egos.
Meanwhile, Bruce had already run off and was bounding up the clear acrylic steps two at a time, shedding articles of clothing and accessories as he ran.
Clark fell easily into the alpha's wake at a much slower pace because he could. Clark was learning he enjoyed being a little bratty with Bruce Wayne. As Superman, he was required to be a paragon, modeling good behavior to inspire others. As Clark Kent, he was required to be mild-mannered, unassuming, and non-threatening to avoid drawing attention to himself. With Bruce, he was finding that he was becoming someone new, connecting with his secondary gender in a way he had not thought possible or necessary. Could this be what Bruce got out of his Brucie persona? "Are you sure you have the time? I can come back if you're busy, Mr. CEO."
"You know I do, which is why you conspired with my meddling butler to steal my cursed schedule!" Bruce called back from down the hallway. "But ho-ho! The joke is on you, sweetheart! Suspecting some double-cross, I already asked Jackie to move my meetings back by two hours! So now I have double the amount of time to fuck you until you beg for mercy."
"You are a ridiculous man," Clark tutted
"FINALLY, he gets it! Thank heavens for that!" Bruce waited in the doorway of his bedroom, naked, with his arms raised over his head, grasping the lintel. "I was worried Bruce Wayne would have to crash his helicopter into the Daily Planet to make understand the mess you are inviting into your neat and orderly life."
Clark put his hands around the alpha's waist, far more interested in Bruce's body than this 'Who's On First' comedy routine the alpha was so fond of. "Bruce Wayne can shut up now," Clark said, drawing the alpha in for another open-mouthed kiss.
Bruce lowered his hands to Clark's shoulders before Clark heard a double click and felt the weight of his cape fall from his shoulders, both figuratively and literally.
"Come to bed, Clark, and let's see how quiet YOU can be with my knot inside you," Bruce said in Batman's baritone, all softness and uncertainty gone from his voice. The alpha stood aside and ushered Clark into the room.
Clark took three steps forward before he felt Bruce's hand fall on his neck, stopping him. There was a draft of cool air on his skin as Bruce unzipped his suit and helped him out of the armholes.
He'd be lying if he said it didn't feel strange letting 'Batman' undress him. It wasn't unpleasant, just different, and it made Clark feel incredibly vulnerable. Maybe Bruce was right. Perhaps he still needed to submit to Batman. After today, everything would be different, but it would be different because they had chosen this, not because their biology had demanded it of them.
Behind him, Bruce dropped to his knees as he pulled the spandex of Clark's suit over his thighs, which were already damp with slick.
"Excited?" Bruce mused and ran a finger through the viscous liquid, drawing a shiver from Clark.
"A little. I'm nervous, though," Clark confessed. His attraction to Bruce was not in question, but he'd be lying if he wasn't slightly intimidated by Bruce's experience. Clark was no vestal virgin, but the gossip rags considered Bruce Wayne a sex god.
"Good. It would be a mistake if you weren't," Bruce said devilishly.
Before Clark could clock the danger, Bruce had wrapped the sleeves of the Superman suit around Clark's legs, tying his thighs together tightly.
"Bruce? What are you—"
"I'm opening my birthday present, silly," Bruce said and spread Clark's asscheeks apart before dragging his tongue up the cleft.
"BRUCE!" Clark yelled, but his complaint fell on willfully deaf ears.
Oh, damn, damn, damn. Clark moaned and wrapped his arms around his own body, not knowing what else to do with his hands as Bruce proceeded to eat him out as if he hadn't eaten in a week. Technically, Clark could have gotten loose if he genuinely wanted to by ripping through his outfit, but Bruce had built a pretty little mental mousetrap for him. Clark really did not want to have to sneak back into Metropolis bare-ass naked, which he was sure Bruce had already considered.
"Oh, fuck! I'm going to fall!" Clark shouted when Bruce's tongue began to press past the tight muscles of his outer rim. His hips wanted to buck and take Bruce in deeper, but his center of gravity was off.
"I warned you. This ends only when you say mercy," the alpha murmured into Clark's flesh before he returned to spearing Clark's hole with his tongue.
The desire to yield and the desire to wreck himself on his alpha's silver tongue warred within Clark. He'd planned to cum on Bruce's knot the first time he orgasmed to show Batman how deeply and thoroghly he desired him in the absence of his heat. But what Bruce was doing to him was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. To be restrained. To be completely unable to move. No one had ever done that to him without using Kryptonite or magic, and the temptation to let Bruce bring him to orgasm like this was so strong. Could he do that? Cum while bound? Him? Superman?
"FUCK! Mercy! Mercy, already!" Clark shouted. A minute longer, and he'd be coming onto the carpet, whether he'd made a decision or not.
Bruce chuckled as he drew back and untied him. "Did you like that? I thought you might. It's always the quiet ones who are the kinkiest."
Clark's face was as red as one of those darn strawberries. "Yeah," he whispered, embarrassed, and wiped at the red in his cheeks. At the same time, he already regretted not going for it. His dick hurt with the need to orgasm, but it had felt like something he shouldn't want. Not Superman. Not the Man of Steel.
Bruce rubbed the backs of Clark's calves and helped him remove his boots and the rest of his clothing without further provocation or teasing. "You have nothing to feel shy or embarrassed about, darling. You look beautiful when you are receiving pleasure. Please, believe me."
Clark whirled around, hands on his hips, of a mind to lecture Bruce on common decency and pacing, but he stopped when his eyes fell on the alpha.
Bruce sat on his heels like a dog at the feel of his master looking at Clark with such earnest devotion and obedience that it brought Clark up short.
Why did he look like that?
Alphas didn't lower themselves like this, and Bruce was a dominant alpha.
Clark's thoughts began to whirl. What he had always hated about the traditional alpha/omega narrative was the requirement that an omega MUST submit to their dominant counterpart and what that submission conventionally entailed. It had never made much sense to Clark why submission should be necessary or how it would improve the sex between the alpha and omega. Clark had always believed his lack of interest in that part of his biology related to his status as a recessive omega. Sex could be enjoyable without submitting. Clark's first heat was proof enough if Bruce was correct and Clark had submitted to his own desire to be filled and knotted by a prime alpha companion instead of to Bruce as HIS omega. Yet here was Bruce Wayne, the Dark Knight himself—every inch of him a dominant alpha, sitting at an omega's feet waiting for an order like the hierarchy was reversed.
Oh...wow...
Clark finally got it.
Dominance had nothing to do with this thing evolving between them, and submission wasn't about who topped or who knotted whom. It was not about control or losing control. It was about trust. It was about giving more than receiving. It was about love and living.
No wonder Bruce was so afraid of letting himself have this with Clark.
Clark didn't have those same reservations. He felt ready, now.
"Make me yours, Bruce." His voice did not have the power of an alpha's command, but Bruce shuddered in response as if it did. The alpha then started to rise, but Clark put his hand out and made a stopping motion.
"I want to cum on your knot, ya hear?" A bit of his midwestern accent slipping through due to nerves. "Which means I need a minute to calm down. You're very good at overwhelming me, so cool it, okay?"
Bruce leaned forward, still half-crouched on all fours, and butted the palm of Clark's hand with his forehead. "I live to serve," he said, his voice as smooth and deep as aged molasses, and this time, unlike before, Clark believed him.
Clark ran his fingers through Bruce's hair and scratched him behind the ear like a dog. Bruce sighed with his eyes closed, looking content and confident. "Get on the bed, Clark. I want to hold you before I fuck you."
Bruce made a pit stop at his dresser and grabbed a fistful of condoms while Clark made himself comfortable on the bed.
"You're awfully confident we'll be needing ALL of these," Clark said when condoms began raining down on him as Bruce straddled his hips.
"I like to be prepared. Put one on me. Play if you like. I was unforgivably selfish the last time we were together and monopolized all the fun. Sorry," Bruce smirked, not sorry at all.
Clark put his hand around the shaft of Bruce's thick cock and drew circles around the tip until a bead of pre-cum appeared. As expected of a dominant alpha, Bruce was large, but so was Clark's body. Clarked liked them a bit bigger anyway for a perfect stretch.
Bruce, meanwhile, stayed perfectly silent, looming above Clark at a soldier's attention while Clark got acquainted with his dick. Occasionally, the alpha exhaled sharply when Clark hit a nerve that felt particularly good. And he watched, too. Clark could feel Bruce's eyes committing every inch of him to memory.
Clark had, up to this point, been avoiding the base of Bruce's cock, since the purpose of this gamebreak was to calm down. But eventually, his willpower faltered. Clark moved to fondle the fatty patch of skin and soft muscle that was Bruce's deflated knot. He kneaded it gently between his thumb and forefinger, reveling in the way the alpha flexed his cock and abdominal muscles as Clark stoked his arousal into a small flame.
Playtime didn't last long, though. In too short a time, Bruce grasped Clark's wrist, the message clear: stop.
"You're making it hard for me to behave, sweetheart. You can be a brat or have it your way, but not both," he lectured. "Now, put the condom on, and let me prep you."
Clark stuck his tongue out as he put the condom on Bruce as if to say he could have both if he wanted to. Bruce opted to indulge rather than punish and settled down on top of him to lick and kiss at the scent glands in Clark's neck.
"I wish you could bite me," Clark breathed as he clung to the alpha's broad shoulders.
"A mating mark?" Bruce said, surprised. "That's a pretty serious step, Clark. Usually long-term if you're human."
"It's just a fantasy," he explained as he stroked the long, stiff muscles of Bruce's back, urging him on. Stupid , Clark reprimanded himself. He shouldn't have said anything. BatWayne didn't do commitments, duh. "Besides, it wouldn't take. I would heal up even if you could bite through my skin, so don't even try.
"Believe me, I won't. I've lost enough teeth as it is, and implants hurt like a bitch. I wonder about the bond, though." Bruce had pulled back somewhat, lost in the science of the problem while strumming his fingers along Clark's abs. "Would it weaken faster as a result? Even a bond between two humans decays and breaks with time and a lack of intimacy. Much faster than those soap opera romances would have you believe."
"Do you watch a lot of daytime television?" Clark asked, eager to change the subject.
Bruce smiled, mischief sparking in his cool, blue eyes. "Alfred does. The man is obsessed with them across three languages."
"I would never have guessed."
"Damn, you have no idea how good it feels to have someone to share THAT secret with, finally. It's been driving me nuts for over a decade. Give me time to think about the mating mark. I'm not ready for it now, but I promise to figure out a way if I ever am." Bruce kissed Clark tenderly on the lips, then slid one hand beneath his ass and pushed two fingers up into him.
Clark arched in response to the sudden but welcomed intrusion. He was so wet already that Bruce did not meet much resistance until he began to scissor him open. "What about you? Any fantasies?" he asked and rubbed the arm attached to the hand inside him, encouraging Bruce to give more.
"Just this. Just you. Wanting me. There has never been anything else."
Clark pulled Bruce back down into a deep and passionate kiss, hungry to show his alpha exactly how much he wanted him, but he felt Bruce holding himself back. There were lines of worry in his brow and the corners of his eyes, a clear sign of an unspoken worry. "What is it?
"You know I never meant to trap you into an arrangement like this by forcing a heat on you, right? It really was an accident, I swear. I wouldn't have flirted with you so hard if I had known what it would put you through."
Bruce's eyes were one of the most marvelous things about him. Perhaps it was because he didn't have to guard them in the same way as the rest of his body when he was beneath the cowl, but they expressed every hurt and emotion he felt even when he couldn't use his words exactly as he wanted. Right now, they were frightened, which tugged at Clark's instinctual desire to comfort the alpha as an omega. It was a desire that had been there for much longer than the knowledge that Batman was Bruce Wayne. And because of that, Clark already knew that what qualified as comfort in Batman's book could not be further from Webster's definition. "How very vanilla of you," Clark teased, providing comfort by offering Bruce another target to tilt at with his razor-sharp wit."
Bruce laughed. "Do you have any idea how much I despise vanilla? I have since I was a child. Sorry for lying about that, too, I guess."
"Would you stop it already? You've got a lot to apologize for, but that's not one of them. I'm glad it happened and ready for it to happen again." Clark rolled his hips downward, driving Bruce's fingers toward his neglected prostate. "Now, would be good, in fact."
Bruce bit his lip. "Um, are you sure? I'd prefer to open you up a little more."
Clark shook his head with finality. "Go slow to start. It'll help me relax and adjust. I don't want to bruise you again.
"I'm not a flower, you know." Bruce pulled his hand back and spread Clark's legs wide as he lined himself up. He started to push past Clark's rim in short, shallow thrusts. "And maybe I like bruises. Did you think about that?"
"They won't be mine," Clark insisted and focused on relaxing as Bruce pressed deeper and deeper with each thrust. The stretch felt terrific, and Bruce's control was divine. Clark's past experiences with more dominant alphas (i.e., several members of the Bulldog's offensive and defensive lines) had been sloppy, quick affairs and the reason Clark had sworn off the pushier alphas after college. But Batman's complete mastery of his body extended beyond the battlefield. "Besides, I've already marked you," Clark purred and pawed at the burn mark he'd left on Batman's side.
"You did. But I think I was yours for longer than I am comfortable admitting." The alpha's pace stuttered as Clark continued his caresses, not entirely desensitized to soft touches despite being back on his suppressants."Clark...can I? Want you...so badly," Bruce groaned, starting to pant.
"Another day," Clark agreed."Fuck me harder, Bruce. I'm ready.
Bruce got an arm under one of Clark's legs and lifted it. When his path was unobstructed, he slammed into Clark's hole, completely bottoming out with one thrust.
Clark whimpered as he grabbed the pillow behind his head. "Yes! More!"
There was nothing soft or gentle about the pace Bruce set after that as he pistoned into Clark's ass, growling now and then with his own need.
Clark felt his orgasm building and began to fret. "Knot me. Claim me. Make me yours!" he whined, desperate to cum on Bruce's knot.
Then he felt a twinge of pressure, like the start of his climax but different. Discomfort followed the pressure as Bruce's knot swelled and caught on his rim. Yes, yes, yes! Clark screamed internally or maybe externally. Heck, if he knew anymore. What Clark did know was that his walls were expanding, stretching wide to accommodate the considerable knot of his alpha. He felt so full and well-used. If only they didn't have to use the damn condom. Clark knew he wasn't fertile right now and wasn't even sure he could get an STD because of his biology, but Bruce seemed to prefer them.
Bruce's thrusting got shallower and shallower until, at last, there was nowhere further for him to go.
"Ngggh, Clark, can't. Fuck!" Bruce's climax reached him first, but Clark was close enough behind that it hardly mattered. They were together, locked in and together, sharing a kind of intimacy more profound than just sex.
"Bruce, shit, Bruce," Clark whimpered as he lightly clenched around his alpha's considerable knot milking it for everything Bruce had. The full condom was a strange sensation in his body but not altogether unpleasant. It just made Clark feel fuller.
"Mmm, aren't you a greedy one?" Bruce mused and continued to pump his hips in small little jerks because there was no room for anything else until Clark's orgasm, which felt like it would go on forever, finally subsided.
"How are you feeling?" Bruce asked.
"Feels like I've just gotten laid by Gotham's Sexiest Man," Clark crowed as Bruce carefully moved their bodies to a position that would be slightly more comfortable as they waited for the swelling in his knot to go down.
"Seven years running," Bruce added, then lifted Clark's hand to his lips, kissing the back of it with kingly grace.
"Eight years soon, I'd wager."
"Your confidence in me is gratifying."
Clark inched closer, wanting more. More of Bruce's scent. More of his kisses. Just more. Well, maybe less of his Bruce Wayne peacocking, but even that was starting to become amusing. "You sure Candy is going to be okay with this?"
"Are you kidding me?" Bruce snorted, slipping back into his Brucie voice. "She's been begging me to invite you over for a play date since you walked in on us. She'll be thrilled we've finally done the deed. She knows I've been mopping about you for weeks even though I haven't been forthright about the context. Do you want me to ask if you can join us in Vienna for the ballet? You can check out the jet's jacuzzi."
"Not for me, I think," Clark said, relieved that Bruce having multiple partners meant someone else could enjoy the Viennese ballet with him. "But maybe we can have…luncheon sometime? Is that what they call it at the country club?"
Bruce barked a laugh that sounded genuine and not put on. "Look at you, sliding right into Bruce Wayne's world like a fish to water. You'll have to give me an afternoon to visit my tailor first. I'm not taking you anywhere until you have some decent shirts that fit."
Ah, shoot. That was one thing Clark hadn't considered: Bruce, with his deep wallet, would be unable to resist trying to pamper and provide for his new omega partner. "Um, we can talk about that later."
"Fight about it, you mean? I look forward to it, darling," he said and kissed Clark's forehead. Bruce's hand and eyes began roving, not erotically, but as if he were checking to ensure Clark was all there.
"Hey, what are you thinking about?"
Bruce was tracing a small figure eight across his deltoid, or maybe it was an infinity symbol. "All those years at your side….I never thought this would happen between us. That you would be here in my bed. That you would be mine. You are, right? Mine?" he asked, looking into Clark's face with an expression Clark had seen only in brief flashes and never long enough to categorize: hope.
Clark brushed Bruce's sweat-slicked hair away from his forehead, then let his hand rest on the back of Bruce's neck. "Now and forever," he answered, referencing the poem Bruce by Dickinson had quoted the last time they'd held each other like this.
Bruce's eyes grew suddenly glossy with tears. "Oh, damn," he cursed and face-planted into the nearest pillow before they started running down his cheeks. Clark comforted the alpha, his alpha now, with soft touches and wet kisses on his neck while Bruce's shoulders shook with the occasional silent sob.
Clark closed his eyes and opened himself up to the sound of Bruce's heart thundering against his chest, allowing himself to memorize it and claim the memory of it for his own. He didn't know how long forever would last. Bruce's war took no breaks, and Superman's responsibilities were legion. But what did that matter? The future held no significance when held against the standard of this one perfect moment. For now, they had this. Bare skin. Salt kisses. Love requited. Let the never-ending battle throw what it liked against them. For now until the end of forever, they had each other.