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Bruce was in bed.
He'd been in bed most of the day.
He was having one of those… bad days.
Alfred got nervous on the bad days.
It used to be that Bruce would get up, always rushing and running himself dry. Staying up and up for days. Those were not great, sure. But the days where Bruce didn't get out of bed at all? Something was fucking wrong and oftentimes, Alfred found that Bruce wouldn't budge with him.
He'd learnt a long time ago that there were certain ways Bruce opened up to him, and other ways Bruce closed off. He couldn't be everything for Bruce Wayne, despite how hard he'd tried to fill in the gaps that should've never been left gaping in the first place. He did the only thing he knew to do next. He made a phone call.
~~~
It was dark.
He hadn't turned the lights on.
He was shirtless and had a pillow over his head.
The sheets were a little messy from where he'd tossed and turned all day.
“Bruce?”
Great, now he was hearing things.
“Are you hurting?”
He laughed.
And then he stopped laughing.
And he shrunk into the bed...
Holding the pillow over his head with two hands now, gripping tight.
Fuck.
He could hardly breathe.
He gritted his teeth against the pain, this… dark shit inside him he'd never been able to shake and the worst part was knowing that it hadn't been caused by the night he'd lost his parents. It had been there before… long before. That night only amplified it.
He wondered what they would think of him now…
“Bruce, you aren't breathing. You need to breathe.”
Right, breathing. That was a thing.
He tried but he couldn't.
He shook his head.
His next attempt at an inhale was sharp and wheezy, like his lungs were spent, like his chest had collapsed. It felt like it had.
He could feel pressure behind his face, his eyes, all from his head.
He wondered if he was red with strain.
He wondered if he looked as bad as he felt.
He wondered if he'd ever fucking breathe again.
“Bruce, baby..."
The pillow lifted out of his hands.
Fingers touched the back of his head and a hitch sounded from somewhere in his chest.
He turned his head to the side and he found blue blue eyes staring at him through the tears.
“Take a breath for me, please?”
He managed to heave his chest in, trying to make it start.
“That's it, just one at a time, okay?”
Another.
He managed another.
He closed his eyes when they started to happen subsequently.
It wasn't fully evened out by the time he breathed out his first word in several hours.
His lips were dry.
They split when he said, “Clark?” His voice was but a whisper.
“I'm here, Bruce.”
There was a soft kiss to his temple.
Then another.
Bruce Wayne felt cold all of a sudden. Like some excess skin of steal was shedding under the warmth of another man's touch, and he was left… laying there. All... exposed.
He whimpered.
He wanted the pillow back.
He wanted to hide.
“Oh, Bruce. You're carrying so much, baby. I'm right here, okay? I'm not going anywhere.” Clark levitated, depositing himself onto the bed beside Bruce, softly as to not make any sudden or jarring movements. He leaned against the headboard and Bruce couldn't have asked for a better pillow than the one he got next.
He grasped for Clark's lap, hands shaking.
He pressed his forehead against thick muscle and groaned. There was drool dangling off the bottom of his lip with a little bit of blood mixed in it.
“It hurts.” He rasped.
Clark’s hands were on the back of his head, both running through his hair softly.
“It fucking hurts, Clark. And I can't make it go away.”
“It's part of you.”
“Yeah,” his voice broke, his shoulders shook now too. “Yeah, fuck… it… I… I don't deserve this. Any of this. This house, this money, this empire. I don't deserve Alfred and I sure as hell don't deserve you and I wish it would've been me, the night my parents died, it should've been me…”
“Oh, Bruce.” Clark bent down, kissed Bruce's forehead. His lips stayed against his hairline for a long long time. Until Bruce’s entire upper body was trembling against the compassion he was being embraced with.
“You should leave me. You should go. You should find someone else, Clark. Clark… are you really here right now? Am I… am I imagining this again?”
Again…
Sometimes, on the worst days, he pictured Clark right beside him. It made even the hardest moments feel all the more bearable.
But was he really here?
“Yes, Bruce. I'm right here. And I know what's happening, when the fog clears, so will you. It's happened before. This is the illness talking.”
“I'm sick?”
“Not in the way it feels right now, baby. You know your mind can be a tricky place, Bruce. It has a condition, remember? Makes you think things that are… unkind to you. That aren't true.”
“Like what? How can it not be true? Just look at me, Clark. I'm fucking useless right now.”
“Would you blame me? If I dealt with the kind of pain you deal with here?” Clark’s hands stroked Bruce's head again, fingers ever brushing through black hair. “If I fought the kind of demons you fight on a daily basis, and occasionally, I took a knee to them before I could find my footing?”
“No…” Bruce’s voice cracked.
“I don't blame you, Bruce. There's nothing here that's your fault. You're doing well. You're doing okay. You stayed in bed because your body was tired, your mind was tired, you needed rest. You're allowed to rest.”
“I have so much to do…”
“I know, Bruce. I know.”
“I have so many people to save…”
“I know that too.”
“I can't save everybody, Clark. I try. You try. We try and we can't and what do we do? We do all this over again and—” he stopped himself, he felt like he was sputtering nonsense. “Fuck!”
“Hey, can you open your eyes for me, Bruce? I'd like to see them… your eyes. I like seeing them.”
Bruce managed, slowly, to open his eyes, to tilt his head up just a little.
Clark met him halfway, leaning down and shifting until they laid side by side.
Their legs tangled together.
Bruce was still in his boxers. He felt the denim fabric of Clark’s jeans against his bare skin.
“There we go. How is this?” Clark’s thumbs brushed over his cheek idly. He leaned his forehead in and Bruce worried about the smell of his breath but it didn't seem to deter anything. “Bruce?”
“It's…” He could feel Clark’s heartbeat, steady beneath his hand. Clark was wearing one of his flannels that stretched across his chest and Bruce traced a hand over a button. “Better.”
And Clark's smile truly made it so. “Come here.”
His arms folded around Bruce and Bruce finally let out a breath that felt close to normal. He breathed Clark in deep, nose buried in the crook of Clark's neck. Clark hadn't shut the door again, but this time it was on purpose. Bruce's back was to the door, but Clark could see the little bit of light casted in, disrupted only by the shadow of a man who watched over the big bat.
“There you go, sweetheart. Keep breathing.”
“I'm sorry—” Bruce shuddered and let out a small sound, something akin to a sob but muted, like he was trying to hold it back.
“There's nothing to be sorry about, baby.”
“I feel so stupid. I feel so useless, Clark.”
“I know, I know you do right now. But this isn't going to stay forever, okay? I'm going to stay with you tonight. Alfred is here too, he can bring you something to eat in a bit. Something small. We have all night to get some food in your belly and then we can lay like this, okay? Side by side. I'm not going anywhere, Bruce.”
“When will it go away?”
“I don't know, baby. I wish I could tell you. But however long it takes, you won't have to wait it out alone, okay?”
Bruce wasn't sure why that felt harder than laying here by himself. Maybe because being vulnerable to care meant opening himself up to feeling. And he felt so much. So goddamn much. He didn't feel like he had anywhere to channel it. Usually he did. Usually it was training, fists, meditation, patrol, something… but sometimes, even the darkness caught up to him.
~~~
He cried into Clark for a long time.
So long that his head was pounding by the end, his sinuses were a fucking mess, and he worried about Clark's flannel being soaked by snot and tears but Clark really didn't seem to care. He'd grown up on a farm, a bit of snot and salt was the least of his worries.
His fingers brushed idly along Bruce's side. Crossed over scarred flesh and he leaned down to kiss his wet nose before he got a tissue from the box on the nightstand and started to clean Bruce up.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?”
Bruce felt numbed out. Twitchy from crying so heavily.
Drained.
He shrugged.
“That's okay,” Clark was so good to him… he heard that little voice in his head saying you don't deserve this. And he shut his eyes against it. “How about we sit in the bath together, you don't have to do a thing. I'd like to… sit with you. Hold you. Clean you gently. Take care of you the same way you take care of me when I need it. Is that okay?”
Bruce nodded.
“I think Alfred is coming.” He said, and Bruce kept his eyes closed. Afraid of the old man seeing him this way. He sensed Alfred pause but his footsteps drew away a moment later.
When Bruce opened his eyes there was a glass of water in Clark's hand.
Fuck, Bruce was thirsty.
“Can you sit up?”
He sat up. His head felt fucking worse.
But he drank deeply, and sighed as the water dripped a little down his chin. It felt good. He really needed it.
“Good, Bruce. I'm going to take us to the bathroom now, okay?”
Bruce nodded again and held his arms out. Clark tried not to chuckle but failed a little. He was glad Bruce was accepting the help at least. He'd been a hell of a lot more stubborn the first couple times this had happened.
He scooped his boyfriend up out of his bed and levitated them to the bathroom.
He set himself down gently, holding Bruce with the support of one arm, and starting the water with the other.
“Might not be as good as Alfred's baths but.” He had gotten used to the temperature settings by now.
Bruce nuzzled into Clark's neck, he started to undo the buttons on Clark's flannel slowly. And he found himself kissing Clark's tan skin. Soft, petal-light kisses.
“Ah… Bruce,” Clark made that soft pleased moan he always made when Bruce kissed him and Bruce felt like he was going to fall apart again. His eyes filled with tears and they left before he could hold them back. “Oh, baby.” Clark held him with both arms, tightly now, snuggly. Front to front. Bruce’s legs wrapped around his waist, Bruce's arms wrapped around his neck. He pressed his face back into that warm crook, that safe place, and tried to breathe through the next wave of grief.
~~~
By the time it waned, the bath was ready.
Clark drew back just a touch to wipe Bruce's tears. It took a bit of maneuvering but he managed to undo his jeans, tug them off, shrug off his socks and Bruce helped with getting the flannel off before he floated them both above the water and he set them down slowly, ever so slowly into the warmth of the bath.
Bruce groaned. Clark shuddered. He straddled Clark in the water, head resting on Clark's chest. The bigger of the two used one arm to keep Bruce secure by the waist, the other resting on the back of the fancy tub.
“How's that, baby?”
“Mm…”
Clark let out a small chuckle and kissed Bruce's forehead again. Whenever it looked like Bruce was about to fall asleep, Clark woke him up with one of those forehead kisses. "Can't have you getting used to falling asleep in the tub.” He explained, softly. And Bruce was of no mind to complain, especially when Clark's kisses were involved.
When the water began to cool a little, Clark began to bathe them slowly, adding a little more water back in. Bruce complied with every movement, helping quietly where he could. He stayed in the water while Clark got them towels. Bruce managed to stand and get out on his own, but Clark held his elbow anyway. He was wrapped up in far more towels than necessary as Clark cleaned him off.
“I brought you one of my hoodies. I wasn't sure if it would help, but I know you like the grey one…” Clark shuffled around in his duffle bag and took it out.
Bruce didn't know what to do. For a moment he just stood there. And then he just... blushed.
Which made Clark blush. And then he shook his head and walked over with it, a grin on his face.
"Dammit, Wayne. You're cute when you blush like that."
Bruce didn't protest. He lifted his arms up and felt sheepish but he wasn't doing words well right now. Clark kissed Bruce's chapped lips before tugging the hoodie down over his boyfriend's head, beaming at the way it looked on him.
“You look so cute in my clothes too."
Bruce flushed again. He found a pair of sweatpants to shove on in his own room. Clark put his jeans back on but left them undone and Bruce was not about to complain about that.
There was a tray sitting on the nightstand, two bowls of soup and a simple but immaculately made grilled cheese to split between them. And more water, thank fuck. Bruce was parched.
~~~
They ate on the couch in front of the window.
Bruce leaned on Clark's shoulder and he couldn't finish it all but he had enough to eat that Clark stopped asking to spoon feed him. What a brute. A lovely, lovely brute.
Bruce started kissing Clark's bare shoulder, then his collar. He kissed his cheek and then he moved, straddling his boyfriend and grinding down against him slowly.
“Ah,” Clark's hands went to Bruce's waist, “Bruce—” Clark said it like a warning.
“I want…” What did he want? To feel something?
“We talked about this. Not… not like this. Okay?”
“But I…”
“I know you want to thank me, make me feel good, and to feel good yourself but your mind, Bruce. Your mind deserves space to rest without any action.” Clark's hand brushed his damp hair aside. Bruce leaned into the touch.
“Can we… can we still do something? Small? Please? I… I feel vulnerable but I want to, I want you Clark, I really do.”
Bruce had never been able to say anything like that before. Not while he was like this. Clark debated what to do, but the steadiness in Bruce's eyes was different than the way they'd been so in pain and lost before. There was clarity here that hadn't existed earlier. And clarity was the only way he could consent.
“Are you sure, Bruce? Are you sure?”
Bruce nodded, he started to press himself down against Clark again but Clark held his hips steady.
“Wait.” Gently, Clark wrapped his arms around Bruce's back and lowered him to the couch. He knelt, and Bruce's butt was placed down on those powerful thighs gently. Bruce's hands reached down to brush over the fabric of Clark's jeans beneath him, feeling the swell of muscle beneath. And then Clark said, “Can I please you?”
Bruce wasn't sure what he'd been expecting but… it sure wasn't that.
His face felt hot.
He ran a hand through his own hair in an effort to keep calm before he nodded.
And Clark bent over him, shifting that large grey hoodie up Bruce's torso and not missing a single inch of skin with his lips, trailing kiss after light kiss until Bruce was making soft “ah” sounds and felt mildly tickled by them.
“Clark,” he said it with the hint of a smile, the note of a small moan underneath.
And Clark took that as encouragement. He kissed the length of Bruce over the fabric of his sweatpants, using his hands to cup Bruce's ass while he nuzzled and nipped through the fabric at Bruce's thighs. Now the smaller man was really wiggling in his hold. The sounds turned to more of a huffed “hah” as Clark continued.
He paused one more time, looking up at Bruce, “You're okay to continue?”
Bruce nodded again and Clark slid those pesky little pants down until he could get at Bruce's cock. It was half hard, veering slightly towards his right leg. He stuck his tongue out, letting it brush across the tip of Bruce before he followed that veer line, right along Bruce's inner thigh.
“H-ah-” Bruce arched already, gripping onto Clark’s hair. “Clark,” he moaned, almost whined because he wanted more. “Make me… feel good? Please?”
And oh fuck. Oh fuck, he didn't know what those words could do. He didn't know that he could unleash a little devil inside Clark Kent by pleading to be pleased. But he did it then, and Clark's tongue was a whirlwind of whispers, soft praises against his cock.
“You're so pretty, Bruce.”
“I love to taste you, Bruce.”
“I love making you feel good.”
He lapped and licked like he thought he could make Bruce melt- and fuck, Bruce was pretty sure he was. He felt trapped against the couch, the sweatshirt pushed up past his nipples, one hand still in Clark's hair and the other one the back of the couch and hanging on for dear life. Good god, this man was worshipped by plenty but Clark knew the meaning of worship better than anyone Bruce had ever met. And he gave it all to Bruce.
He felt tears in his eyes. “Fuck… Clark…” he choked a little.
Clark pulled up, looking mildly dazed from being so focused. He leaned up to give Bruce a little kiss before he finally took Bruce by the base and placed his lips firmly around the head of Bruce's cock.
“Oh fuck—” Bruce’s grunt was loud as Clark slid his lips down, looking up so he didn't miss a moment of Bruce's reaction. And fuck, Bruce couldn't keep still.
So Clark helped, of course he did. Clark grabbed his hips and held him there, going down on Bruce's already slick cock until he reached the base again. He moaned around it, watching how Bruce's hands went to his own hair like he could hardly take anymore pleasure.
“Fuck— fuck— Clark—” he was moaning and he was such a lovely fucking thing, such a gentle mess now and it was all Clark’s doing. Clark hummed again, bobbing as he did, starting a decent pace and keeping Bruce in his mouth without popping off for a single breath. He breathed through his nose when he needed to.
“Fuck, Clark— Clark I’m going to— Clark you better— fuck me—” Bruce came and reached down for Clark, tugging on his jeans, the small sound of nails scraping against denim filling the air before his grip gave and his trembling hand went to his own stomach.
Clark would be lying if he said he didn't choke a little, but he managed to take Bruce down mostly, wiping his bottom lip off as he finally relinquished his heavenly mouth on the poor little bat before him.
Bruce's stomach was rising and falling rapidly, his bangs were in his eyes, his face flushed so prettily… Clark wanted to take a photograph only he'd be able to look at. His fingertips brushed the inner hairs of one of Bruce's thighs and Bruce shivered, letting out an almost whimpering sound. He leaned down and he decided he wasn't done.
He kissed Bruce's thighs and both of Bruce's hands went to Clark's hair. Clark nipped and nipped and started sucking and biting until Bruce was shaking a full-bodied thing, like Clark was drawing that orgasm out to last even when Bruce had stopped coming.
He was half hard again and this time, Clark used their position to bring Bruce's legs up, back and watch as the other man looked so fucking embarrassed but welcomed the position Clark folded him into. Clark was tempted to get his fucking camera again.
He bit Bruce's thigh by the knee. He bit Bruce's calf muscle as he slung Bruce's legs over his shoulders, he kissed his belly, his cock, and then he pressed his weight down, his hands cupping the backs of Bruce's knees until they went back by Bruce's head.
Bruce's cock ached. Again… fucking again.
His head dropped back. He couldn't even remember what they'd been talking about before. Good god… good fuck…
And Clark stuck out his tongue, making eye contact with Bruce, making sure Bruce knew what he was about to do before he did it, a string of saliva melting down… down…
“Clar—” He didn't have time to finish. Clark chased after his own spit like he thought he'd die without it, his tongue plunging over soft nerves, pushing against Bruce's tight hole before he gave a quick lap at it.
“You're sweet, Bruce. Always so sweet.” He hummed, before he stuck his tongue back inside Bruce and started pleasing him again.
“Holy fuck— Holy fuck Clark — where the fuck did you learn how to— oh my fuck— I can't— hah— please— I can't—”
Clark relented for a moment, saliva dangling from his chin, still connected to Bruce's cute asshole. It was propped open right there and all pretty for him, now glistening with a soft wetness Clark left there himself. Something primal in him said, Mm, good.
“You okay?” Clark asked, using the meantime to kiss the back of Bruce's right thigh and nip the soft sensitive skin near his bottom.
“Ah- fuck– Clark I— I want to come again. But I don't think I can do another round after this…” Bruce sounded worried.
“Oh, baby, you don't have to push yourself. You can always tell me when, okay?”
Bruce nodded.
“Has it gone too far?”
“No,” Bruce laughed, “God no, just… fuck… it feels so good I can hardly take it, Clark.”
Clark smiled at that. He leaned down to kiss Bruce, keeping those legs back as he did. Their cocks bumped together and both of them groaned.
“Y-you sure you don't want to fuck me?”
Clark laughed, “I always want to fuck you, Bruce. That's not why we aren't fucking. You're already on the verge of being overstimulated, if I fucked you right now you'd be pushing it.” He ran a hand through Bruce's hair and decided this was good. This closeness. He kissed Bruce again and Bruce moaned.
And then Clark reached down to join them, relinquishing his hold on Bruce's legs to brush his hands over the two of them, gather them up and—
“Ah—” Clark moaned into Bruce's mouth this time, and one of Bruce's hands reached down between them. He let Bruce cup one side of them, Clark cupped the other. Clark's free hand went to the back of Bruce's neck and he kept their foreheads pressed one to the other as he started to guide them, jerking the both of them off against each other.
They both groaned, they both moaned together. And it sounded like something they'd rehearsed, it was so well melded.
They were learning the instrumentation to each other's bodies, becoming experts in touch, how hard to go here, how light to go there. It didn't happen right away, but it was happening as a continuum. The way something happens when it becomes a mode, cyclical. A vow of constant discovery and presence. Attunement.
“Oh, Clark, Clark,” Bruce was saying his name like a mantra. It was all Clark Clark Clark and he was starting to see stars by the time he felt the little coil in his gut. “Fuck, I'm going to come again,” tears left his eyes as he said it, his next moan sounded like a small weep and he looked into Clark's eyes in soft desperation to be released.
“M-me too, m-me too, Bruce. Come, baby. Come whenever you're ready.”
“Yes,” Bruce said, “Yes yes yes,” and Clark took note that he'd almost never heard Bruce say that before. That word yes like a sigh of relief. That word yes, like it was a sigh of finally. Something was letting go and Clark could only hold an extreme honour to be there when it happened.
Bruce came first, his forehead left Clark's, and Clark felt the entire line of Bruce's face- the curve of his nose, the touch of his lips- until his forehead rested on Bruce's chin. He chased the taste of it, kissing and kissing and sucking Bruce's bottom lip in as the other man lay, unfolding in the throes of a second orgasm beneath him. Bruce's mouth was open, his jaw slack with the power of pleasure Clark had orchestrated for them. For him.
“That's it, baby, that's it. Come for me. You're so good, Bruce, you're so—” Clark grunted, pumping them harder for a moment before he came too. He did his best to catch it all so they didn't make a mess but it was a good thing he'd pushed that hoody up when they started... otherwise, Bruce's favourite shirt might've had to get replaced.
Clark stumbled back a little, sitting on the couch with one leg tangled beneath Bruce's, hanging off the side of the couch, and the other bent and leaning against the backing. And Bruce just laid there, looking dazed, looking dripped in sweet kisses and soft sweat and an abundance of absolute pleasure. God he was covered in that little buzz, and Clark swore he could almost see it. This little electric energy charging through… it was fucking hot to watch.
He got a towel for them, got them cleaned up. Bruce still hadn't moved when Clark stood over him, cock tucked back into those jeans. Bruce had yet to tuck himself away. He didn't care.
“Did I… do okay?” Clark knelt beside Bruce's head and Bruce reached out, bringing the other man in, kissing him. Kissing him deeply despite how spent he now felt. It was a different feeling than earlier. Not so heavy. This felt like being relieved of the awful pressure. Not because of the sex, but… because of the intimacy. The mutual containment. The co-regulating.
“Yes, Clark. You did more than okay.”
Clark’s smile was dazzling.
He nuzzled Bruce before he scooped him up, bringing him back to bed where Bruce was finally able to pull his pants up over his bare ass. Dammit, Clark.
He smiled when he was given a glass of water, sipping from it before Clark finally joined him.
“You're staying?” Bruce sounded surprised.
“I told you I would. Only if you want me to, of course.”
Bruce nodded, “I want you to.”
“Then, I'll be here.”
Clark laid down.
Bruce tucked in against his bare chest.
He got to listen to the world quiet as he focused in on one man's heartbeat, one man's breath.
And finally, when he was ready, he fell asleep with a hand in Clark's chest hair, the faintest little smile still lingering on his lips.
“Goodnight, Bruce.” Clark whispered, “I love you.”