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It wasn't often that the Watchtower gym was empty, or that he and Bruce had so much free time.
So, Clark might have made a mistake. A very small one, but one Kara must never know about.
"Superman..." Bruce growled, as the Kryptonian began leaving soft kisses on the back of his neck. He smelled of musk and sweat, and just breathing him sent Clark into ecstasy. Sometimes he wondered if Bruce was truly human, and didn't have fae or succubus or siren blood in his veins, given how easily he found himself, even without wanting to, wrapped around Bruce's finger.
The man was out of this world, and if he said so, it had to be believed.
"Mhm?" he muttered, rubbing his cheek against Bruce's neck and began licking himself. He felt shivers of pleasure run through the other man.
“Stop, Kal,” Bruce said again, wriggling, like a hooked trout.
It was all show. Bruce was perfectly capable of breaking free from that embrace, and Clark would have let him. But he felt how he was leaning into his touch, how he, just like him, craved more. He knew him as he knew himself.
It took just a little more work to get him to say it out loud.
“We haven't had any time together in two weeks,” he murmured, sucking the side of the man's neck, “I've missed you.”
“We haven't had sex in two weeks,” Bruce corrected, annoyed. “You haven't left my side since Sinestro came to Earth to settle scores with Jordan.”
Settling the score was a nice way of saying that Sinestro had tried to get Hal to join his group again, for reasons that certainly didn't involve feelings. Clark felt a little sorry for him. Less sorry that he'd caused so much chaos and stress that he and his boyfriend hadn't even had a moment to themselves.
“But I couldn't touch you! It was torture!” he complained, leaning down and kissing his partner's exposed shoulder, leaving a very faint bite mark that would be visible as soon as Bruce raised his arm.
“And your solution is to molest me in a public place?” Bruce's voice trembled as he asked, burning with desire, the secret will to want more, Clark's hands lower, just below his belt, and then lower.
Clark would gladly give it to him. But only if he asked.
"We're alone," he pointed out, his hands hovering over the man's waist, one step away from the real goal, and they both knew it. "No one's coming here, not when they know we're here. Especially Ollie. You're always fooling him with your workout routine."
"It's not my fault he doesn't follow the routine I recommended."
“But that's an advantage, because no one wants to train with you around, and it means…”
“That we could be alone for hours,” Bruce murmured, and Clark felt the man's heart stutter with excitement. He'd come to the same conclusion. They could do whatever they wanted, and no one would find out.
That in itself helped excite them both even more, and he was sure Bruce could feel it.
The human, in one fluid motion, turned, grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, and kissed him. It was a fierce kiss, a fight Clark wasn't about to lose. He explored Bruce's mouth meticulously, pulling him closer with one arm.
It was only the lack of air that forced them apart, Bruce's eyes wide as he looked at him.
“You're a bad influence, Kal,” he accused, and he laughed heartily. “Want to see how bad I can get?”
“If you don’t fuck me in two seconds, I’m going to use a kryptonite knife to gut you.”
Clark's laughter rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating against Bruce's lips as they crashed together again. This kiss was hungrier, less controlled, Bruce's teeth scraping against his bottom lip in a way that made heat coil tight in his stomach.
Clark barely registered the sharp pain before Bruce's tongue was in his mouth, possessive and demanding, and he groaned, pressing him harder against the gym wall.
The metal panels dented slightly under the force, but neither cared, not when Bruce's hips jerked forward against his, friction sparking between them like live wires.
Bruce's fingers twisting tighter in Clark's hair as they kissed with the kind of desperation that came from two weeks of stolen glances and near-misses. The gym's fluorescent lights flickered overhead, reacting to the surge of energy Clark barely kept contained, and Bruce didn't even flinch when the wall behind him groaned under the pressure of Superman's grip.
Clark's fingers hesitated at the waistband of Bruce's pants, the fabric damp with sweat where his palms had been pressed against Bruce's hips moments before. Bruce's breath hitched before he tilted his head back against the wall, exposing the long line of his throat.
"Go on," he ordered, voice rough. Clark didn't need telling twice. He hooked his fingers into Bruce's waistband and tugged, peeling the fabric down in one slow, deliberate motion until his pants pooled around his ankles. Bruce's underwear followed, the elastic snapping lightly against his thighs before Clark's hand wrapped around them both, his grip firm and already moving.
Bruce swore under his breath, hips jerking forward into the contact. Clark smirked, adjusting his grip to accommodate the slick drag of skin against skin, his other hand sliding up Bruce's chest to thumb at a nipple.
"Quiet," Clark murmured, though he knew Bruce wouldn't obey.
Not when his breath was already coming in short, uneven bursts, not when his fingers dug into Clark's shoulders hard enough to bruise a human. The gym's air was thick with the sound of their breathing, the wet slide of Clark's hand, the occasional creak of the wall behind Bruce as he arched into the touch.
Clark's fingers traced the damp waistband of Bruce's sweats, the fabric clinging stubbornly to his hipbones. He paused there deliberately, letting the anticipation build: because Bruce might act like he hated theatrics, but Clark knew better.
The sharp intake of breath when his thumb dipped beneath the elastic told him everything. "Keep going, don't you dare to stop," Bruce repeated, but it was breathless now, less command and more plea.
Clark grinned against the curve of Bruce's shoulder as he obeyed, peeling fabric down in one excruciatingly slow motion. The pants sagged to the floor, followed by Bruce's underwear snapping lightly against his thighs before Clark's hand closed around them both.
Bruce's hips jerked forward with a bitten-off curse, his cock hot and already leaking against Clark's palm. Clark tightened his grip, stroking them together at a deliberately measured pace, savoring the way Bruce's breath hitched when he twisted his wrist just so.
He could feel Bruce trembling against him, muscles taut as bowstrings, and god, the noises, those ragged, impatient little grunts Bruce tried to smother against his collarbone.
Clark knew exactly how to unravel him: slow, then slower, until Bruce was panting curses into his skin and his fingers were leaving crescent moons in Clark's shoulders.
Bruce came first, a choked-off gasp against Clark's shoulder, his entire body shuddering as Clark's hand worked him through it.
Clark followed seconds later, pressing his forehead into the crook of Bruce's neck as pleasure coiled tight and snapped, leaving them both panting against the gym wall.
The air reeked of sweat and sex, the fluorescent lights still flickering overhead like a faulty neon sign.
Bruce's fingers loosened their death grip on Clark's shoulders, sliding down to rest limply against his chest. Neither moved, too lost in the aftershocks to care about the mess or the dented wall panels, until the gym door hissed open.
Diana stood in the doorway, one eyebrow arched. Her gaze flickered from Bruce's half-undressed state to Clark's disheveled shirt, then down to the undeniable evidence glistening between them. Bruce went rigid. Clark's brain short-circuited. For a horrifying second, nobody spoke.
Then Diana sighed, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind her. "You're lucky it's me," she said, crossing her arms. "Robin came looking for you five minutes ago."
Bruce's expression went carefully blank. "Alone?"
"With Batgirl. And a child." Diana's mouth twitched. "They're waiting outside the cafeteria. Something about ice cream and adoption papers."
Clark made a sound like a deflating balloon. Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dick," he muttered, then, sharper, "Wait...adoption?"
"Robin found the child while he was trying to steal from him," Diana said pleasantly. "Apparently, he was too cute to be left alone in the streets."
"God..."
"Congratulation for another son. You two souldn't be working on having another child so soon, thought. Give him time to adjust, and then you can give him another little brother or sister."
Clark would like to bury himself alive—preferably under several tons of Kryptonite-infused concrete—as Diana’s smirk deepened.
Bruce would totally kill him. He hoped the prospect of having a new son would distract him long enough. But judging by the glares she was giving him, that was highly unlikely. He'd be better off on Oa for a few days. Jl
Hal wouldn't mind the company.