(FIC) Second Chances (S/B, NC-17)
Yay! thank you, anonymous giver, for my snowflake cookie! :D Sooo cute!!
I wrote a spin off from mithen's The Missing Moon, because I couldn't get over her ninja camouflage suit and because Bruce in New Krypton delights me and because poor Clark needs a friend over there! and. Just, in general, I love New Krypton. Beta by the awesome mithen, all mistakes are quite clearly mine.
Title: Second Chances
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Commander El/Bruce Wayne
Word Count: 3400+
Summary: Bruce and Clark reunite in New Krypton, and if there is time, it won't be wasted.
He opened his eyes, his heart hammering, his breath caught in his throat. The dream was gone -not a nightmare, he was sure of that much, but something impossible, beautiful and far away and already filling him with the cold ache of longing, even if he couldn’t tell what the dream was.
He turned towards the window, expecting to see the dark sky studded with stars. No moonlight or streetlight to dim the starlight.
Something was wrong.
He scrubbed his eyes with one hand as he sat up. The stars were blurry, the sky not dark enough, the light trembling like a reflection on a lake. Tiny ripples, and then-
Two stars in the night, cold blue fire, and then a sigh, so soft he would have missed it if not for his heightened senses.
The image rippled like a mirage, and then a voice in the dark. “I didn’t want to wake you. You look-“ the voice paused, and Clark hung on to the silence, feeling his heart pick up the pace again. “You look like you need the rest.”
“Bruce?”
“Yes?”
“What are you doing?”
Another ripple in the shadows. “Watching you sleep, I suppose.”
“You've been doing that much?” Clark didn’t know what to think. That first time he had seen him, the two of them alone in the park… sometimes it felt like it had been an illusion. But then he remembered Bruce’s eyes as he looked at him, his cocky smile, his smell, the heat on his chest where he had touched him, really touched him -not a ghost or a hallucination. It had been real. And now Bruce had been watching him, who knew for how long or since when, and it didn’t seem fair, how he had had a chance to look at him and make sure he was okay and Clark hadn’t.
“Ten minutes, tops. I-” another ripple and slowly, like a mask being removed, the familiar face was revealed. His voice became clearer too, more present, more real. “I could use your help.”
Clark got up and walked towards him. “Come in, what’s going on?” As he got closer, the smell of Bruce seemed to permeate the air -now, with the mask off, and not before. He smelled rank, and underneath that there was electricity, plastic, metal. Blood. “Are you hurt?”
“It’s nothing. I need to repair the suit.” A lop-sided smile. "Would you mind harboring an alien spy and maybe let him use your shower?”
Clark wasn’t sure he wanted to let him out of his sight. His body was made of stars and the void of space, and it seemed to him he might just... disappear. “Let me take a look,” he said.
Bruce jumped down from the window and stood in the middle of the room, the suit turning off and going black. He looked around, then back at Clark, holding himself awkwardly.
Clark pointed him to the bed, the only piece of furniture in the room. “Sit down. What happened?”
“New Krypton happened to me,” Bruce said. Clark could hear the smile in his voice.
“You were attacked?"
“Ah, not quite. I was in a park."
“And…?” Clark touched the black fabric of the suit, his hand tracing the muscles of Bruce’s back.
“A tree attacked me. Bam, spit this spiked ball and some goo. Hit me right between the shoulder blades. I shook it off, but it damaged the suit a bit.” He chuckled. “Two months in New Krypton and that's the first thing that manages to get me. Go figure.”
“Hyrrath,” Clark said, his voice clinical as he inspected the damage. “Blooms in the night. It's more of a shrub, really.”
“My suit has been pollinated by a seed-slinging kryptonian shrub.” He snorted. “Oh, the indignity.”
The suit was cool and smooth against his fingers. It wasn’t soft, but it gave when he pressed it. He was about to look closer, see the structure of the material, try to figure out through its composition where Bruce had been, for how long, how far away. How had he made it here, tonight, to his empty apartment in New Krypton.
Bruce’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Let me get it off. Do you have a first aid kit? I couldn’t get some of the spikes off.”
Clark sat back and took a steadying breath. “Yes, of course. I’ll get it.”
Clark walked into the small bathroom and grabbed the edges of the sink. Bruce. Bruce was alive, sitting on his bed, bleeding and joking and how many times, just how many times had he patched him up, how many dangers had they evaded together, how many times had he seen him bleed and make light of it, wondering if it would be the last time. How many times had he thought of him since that day, his body charred and his limbs hanging broken as he cradled him in his arms, how many times-
“Clark?” He was looking at him through the doorway, a few steps away. His arms were pale, the suit coming off in parts that he was holding in his hands, the material almost liquid despite its previous hardness. “Are you okay?”
Clark nodded.
“I need to clean the suit.”
“How?”
“It self-sanitizes, I just need to set it someplace that won’t catch fire.“
“No. I mean, how… how are you here? How did you…"
Bruce shifted, and Clark could see him closing off, his eyes light years away. “I told you. Time travel.”
“How long?”
“Why would that matter?” He said moodily, shaking his head. He was far, far away. Clark took a step towards him; he had to do something, something to breach the distance between them, but Bruce cut him off. “Would you like to see how the suit works?”
Clark stood back again. He walked back into the bathroom and retrieved the first aid kit.
“Show me.”
---
He was almost done plucking the needle-thin spikes from Bruce’s back, a line of blood running between his shoulder blades as he talked. Bruce had more scars than he remembered, thin and white, and he was cool against Clark’s hands, his skin so pale that he could see blue veins going through his arms. He could feel the pulse of his blood under his hands, feel each breath he took.
“You're not listening to a word I'm saying," Bruce said, good naturedly.
“It’s a formidable piece of work, from what I’m getting.”
“It’s the most ambitious science project I've ever tackled on. But it was either that or…” he stopped, and Clark didn’t know how to press him, not when the subject drove Bruce so far away inside him mind, where Clark couldn’t reach him.
Clark didn’t want him to go.
“There,” he said, clutching his shoulder tightly, carefully, strong muscle shifting under his touch. “You’re all set.”
Bruce turned over, meeting his eyes for a moment. “Thank you.”
“Anytime. You know it.”
He smiled, breaking eye contact. “I do know it. Isn’t that strange?” He touched the discarded parts of the suit.
“Why would it be?”
“There’s a lot I thought I knew that I’m no longer sure of, Clark. But you…" He trailed off. "Would you mind if I use your shower?”
"Please, go ahead." He leaned against the wall as he looked at Bruce collect the suit. "You smell like you need it."
"You needed a haircut when you came back, and no one said anything for months," Bruce shot back, walking into the bathroom.
Soon, Clark was alone in his room, the sound of the shower in the background. He closed his fists, his nails digging into his palms.
Bruce would be leaving soon. Clark didn't know where to, or... now that he thought about it, he wasn't even sure what Bruce was spying on, or what for. If Zod caught him, Kal wasn't sure he could spring him. Besides, Clark was already here. Couldn't the man trust that he would keep New Krypton under watch? Couldn't he give New Krypton a chance?
They all deserved a second chance.
He felt the irritation ebb back into anxiety.
He didn't want Bruce to go. He didn't want to fight.
He didn't know what else to do.
He remembered his first encounter with Batman. That night Bruce had told him he'd rigged a bomb to an innocent that would detonate if he so much as touched him. He smiled to himself. They had come a long way, both in their friendship -to think that same man was naked and vulnerable in his shower, counting on him to give him a moment's respite- and as people -he doubted Bruce would dare call himself an innocent now, and their methods had changed over the years. They had been so young.
Did they know better now?
The sound of the shower came to a halt, and after a couple of minutes, the door of the bathroom opened. Bruce stood there wrapped in a towel, the suit hanging from one of his arms.
"I don't want to damage your apartment. Can you hold the suit while it sanitizes? It won't take long."
"Sure," Clark said, getting up. He took the suit, the smooth texture a strange alien caress against his skin.
"< Sanitizing cycle security code 29335 >," he said in Kryptonian. The suit heated up in Clark's hands, the energy mounting slowly.
"Kryptonian?" Clark asked, unable to look at Bruce, standing almost naked in the middle of the room. He could hear water droplets splashing on the floor, the smell of his neutral soap obscuring Bruce's smell. An aspect of him, lost now.
"It's almost unhackable," Bruce said, sounding apologetic. "The syntax is very specific and..." He paused. " It just seemed like a good choice, when I was programming it. It's... a strong language."
Clark looked at him, taking a slow, deep breath. Dark curls rested against the pale neck, water drops making their way down the sinews of muscle. Pale blue eyes like the winter sky back home, back on Earth.
"I needed something... to keep me focused. Something from home, to call me back, so I wouldn't forget..." He trailed off, and this time it was him who was looking away, beyond Clark, to the city sleeping outside his window.
"Did it work?" Clark asked, feeling like he was standing at the edge of an abyss. Bruce was about to escape, he could feel it. One breath away from tipping their world back into the old balance, where they would be safe, where they would be friends, where it wouldn't matter that Clark had held his broken body and cried for all he had lost.
Where it wouldn't matter where Bruce had been, and how long, and why he had held onto Kryptonian to guide his way home.
Bruce laughed lowly. "I didn't really need that much help to stay focused. But it was painful, sometimes." He sighed. "I missed home enough as it was. Thinking about you was unbearable."
Bruce smiled, a pained smile, still not looking at him. The suit was white hot in Clark's hands, forgotten. Clark wanted him to look at him. Needed him to look at him.
"I think this is not a conversation I should have attempted to have wearing just a towel."
Clark chuckled, shaking his head. "Clothes aren't really doing anything for me, if it makes you feel better."
Bruce looked up, their eyes meeting. It mattered, of course. Everything mattered, everything they had lost, everything they thought they couldn't get back. His smile smoothed, the pain folding into itself. "Well, you could get rid of them. See if it helps."
"Very smooth, Mister Wayne. Good to see you haven't lost it."
His smile was replaced with a frown, and he seemed hesitant for a moment. "For a while... I think I did lose it, Clark. My mind just... I didn't know if I could make it back. I thought of you and it was... everything was lost, I just couldn't find it. I couldn't find you." A storm behind winter blue eyes. "I couldn't bear to remember, but it was all I had left. I... it was not enough."
"How long?"
"Long."
"Bruce..."
"Too long."
Bruce reached out, taking the cooling suit from him. His hands felt empty and cold.
"I should get going," Bruce said.
"Don't you dare," Clark said lowly.
"I can't talk about this," he said, avoiding his eyes.
He grabbed Bruce to keep him from leaving, trying to find the right words, all the plans and hopes he had never voiced, all his fears and nightmares. He didn't know where to start, his voice failing him. Bruce's skin was cool against his hands, cool and damp after the shower, and the hold he had on him wasn't enough. He was there, physically at least, but Clark couldn't reach him through the walls Bruce had always constructed around himself. The barriers that had kept them apart, each of them content to stay behind them as long as they knew they could break them someday, if they wanted to.
And then one day the chance had been gone, heart and mind lost to him forever. He wondered if Bruce had felt the same, fearing he would never make it home. All those hopes, those half hidden promises, all lost. Nothing but chances they had let pass them by, thinking there would be a later, that there would be time.
If there was time now, he wasn't going to waste it.
He pushed Bruce back, taking the half dozen steps separating them from his bed without meeting resistance. Bruce's lips were slightly parted, his eyes searching Clark's face, almost like he couldn't believe what Clark was doing. Clark smiled, a victorious joy taking over him as he took control of the complicated dance they did around each other, changing the pace for good.
"I want you," he said. It could all go wrong from here, he knew, but he felt elated. There it was, plain and simple. "I can't remember a time when I didn't want you."
Bruce closed his mouth, his lips a thin line. "I'm pretty sure that's a lie." Clark's frown was met with a slow, taunting smile. "When we first met, Commander El, you were not so fond of me. Quite the contrary, actually."
"You were -you are- an infuriating, smug bossy bastard. An impossible man. You knew exactly how to get under my skin, how to push all my buttons," he said. His voice softened with affection. "You always have."
Bruce leaned forward, his breath trailing along Clark's neck until he was whispering in his ear. "I-" he paused, taking a shaky breath. "I've always wanted you. You, all of you. I told myself it was impossible." He shook Clark's hold on him, dropping his suit and reaching out to bury his hands in Clark's hair, bringing them closer together. "I thought it would be worse to lose you, so I never... I thought I heard you talking to me during the day, telling me not to give up, that there would be a way. I thought of you in the cold nights, your warmth, your voice. Every day, you haunted me, the thought of you..."
Clark nuzzled him, pulling him closer, taking in his scent in a sharp breath until he found his lips, cool against his own, the desperate shudder of the body against him breaking his heart, the heat of the kiss melting him down, forging him whole again as he pulled Bruce closer, his hands tracing scars across the bare skin of his back. Bruce reached for the hem of his shirt, pushing it up, his hands quickly warming as they stole the heat from Clark's body, sending shivers down his spine as he mapped every muscle, every rib, the curve of his spine, each caress pointed with urgency.
He broke the kiss to get rid of his clothes, smiling to himself as he made a bit of a show of it, messing his hair as he pulled his shirt off, taking a moment to pull at the waistband of his slacks. He looked up to catch Bruce's eyes and he saw him running a hand through his hair, his eyes closing for a second in a pained frown before meeting Clark's, his gaze hungry and distressed. Clark stopped, reaching out to cup his face, tracing the familiar jaw line, the sharp cheekbones, his thumbs smoothing the worry lines around his eyes.
He kissed him again, pushing him down to lie on his mattress. He straddled him, pinning him down with his weight, a barrier between Bruce and the world, between Bruce and the memories, between Bruce and oblivion.
"You're here," Clark whispered as he dropped kisses down his throat, as he scrapped teeth against his collarbone. Bruce bit down a moan, his hands entangling with Clark's hair, pulling him back as he arched against him, like he could barely stand the contact. Clark wondered if Bruce had been alone, if he was the first one to touch him since... since... he tried to push the thoughts away, but he couldn't stop the coil of rage inside him, the thought of this body broken and torn apart, tortured and destroyed by Granny Goodness and Darkseid, and before that...
Clark stopped, gritting his teeth. He couldn't bear the thought that Bruce had known nothing but pain for who knew how long before the end.
"Clark," Bruce said, pulling Clark towards him again, the kisses growing more demanding and feverish. "Please." Clark took his mouth, closing his eyes tightly, focusing on the beating heart under his hands, on the warmth, the abandoned sounds of pleasure filling the room. He got rid of his slacks and pulled at the towel around Bruce's waist, the loose knot easily giving him access to heated skin.
"Clark, my ghost, my soul. Yes. Please," he said, his voice whisper soft, his teeth chattering as he threw his head back, giving in to Clark's touch.
Clark propped himself up with one arm, laying beside him, stroking him slowly, looking at the play of pleasure on Bruce's face. "Anything," he said, his thumb drawing circles on the head of his cock, spreading slickness down the shaft. "I'm going to make you feel so good, Bruce. Make up for all the lost time."
Either his hands or his words coaxed a low wail from him, and Bruce pulled him over, nails scratching his back, skin against skin, the taste of his mouth like a drug.
Clark rocked against him, his hard cock rubbing against Bruce's stomach, he friction eased by sweat and pre-come.
No more pain. Clark would take all the pain away if he could, he would make him forget, make the desperate shivering go away, the urgent kisses slow down with tenderness so they could take the time to touch and explore.
Bruce bucked against him, letting go of his mouth to kiss his throat, sucking at the pulse points, biting and moaning and alive.
There would be time for everything. They would make time for everything.
The friction grew sweeter with each thrust, warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't seem to get enough air, the smell of arousal so intense he could taste it in the roof of his mouth. He leaned forward, holding himself up with one arm beside Bruce's dark hair, reaching to grip both of them in his free hand, one of Bruce's large hands wrapping around his, encouraging Clark to thrust.
Clark looked down at their hands, mesmerized by the flex of Bruce's abs with each thrust, how his body tensed, each time just a little bit more. He kissed Bruce again, a wet kiss, his lips soft and swollen, then lowered himself to bite his neck, leaving red marks on the pale skin. Bruce's breath hitched, his body arching against Clark, suspended in one moment of absolute pleasure. Clark closed his eyes, stroking himself as he let his own lust take over him, the darkness behind his eyes filling with brilliance as he came.
Bruce was stroking his hair when the lights dimmed again, Clark laying on his side beside him. He reached down to grab the discarded towel to clean themselves.
Bruce's hands weren't shaking anymore, Clark noticed, and he was warm. He smiled. "Welcome home, B."
"Thank you," Bruce sounded amused.
"You're going to have to shower again."
"I think I'll survive," he said.
Clark pulled him closer, whispering against his lips. "Always."
He kissed Bruce again
They would not waste any second chances.
I wrote a spin off from mithen's The Missing Moon, because I couldn't get over her ninja camouflage suit and because Bruce in New Krypton delights me and because poor Clark needs a friend over there! and. Just, in general, I love New Krypton. Beta by the awesome mithen, all mistakes are quite clearly mine.
Title: Second Chances
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Commander El/Bruce Wayne
Word Count: 3400+
Summary: Bruce and Clark reunite in New Krypton, and if there is time, it won't be wasted.
He opened his eyes, his heart hammering, his breath caught in his throat. The dream was gone -not a nightmare, he was sure of that much, but something impossible, beautiful and far away and already filling him with the cold ache of longing, even if he couldn’t tell what the dream was.
He turned towards the window, expecting to see the dark sky studded with stars. No moonlight or streetlight to dim the starlight.
Something was wrong.
He scrubbed his eyes with one hand as he sat up. The stars were blurry, the sky not dark enough, the light trembling like a reflection on a lake. Tiny ripples, and then-
Two stars in the night, cold blue fire, and then a sigh, so soft he would have missed it if not for his heightened senses.
The image rippled like a mirage, and then a voice in the dark. “I didn’t want to wake you. You look-“ the voice paused, and Clark hung on to the silence, feeling his heart pick up the pace again. “You look like you need the rest.”
“Bruce?”
“Yes?”
“What are you doing?”
Another ripple in the shadows. “Watching you sleep, I suppose.”
“You've been doing that much?” Clark didn’t know what to think. That first time he had seen him, the two of them alone in the park… sometimes it felt like it had been an illusion. But then he remembered Bruce’s eyes as he looked at him, his cocky smile, his smell, the heat on his chest where he had touched him, really touched him -not a ghost or a hallucination. It had been real. And now Bruce had been watching him, who knew for how long or since when, and it didn’t seem fair, how he had had a chance to look at him and make sure he was okay and Clark hadn’t.
“Ten minutes, tops. I-” another ripple and slowly, like a mask being removed, the familiar face was revealed. His voice became clearer too, more present, more real. “I could use your help.”
Clark got up and walked towards him. “Come in, what’s going on?” As he got closer, the smell of Bruce seemed to permeate the air -now, with the mask off, and not before. He smelled rank, and underneath that there was electricity, plastic, metal. Blood. “Are you hurt?”
“It’s nothing. I need to repair the suit.” A lop-sided smile. "Would you mind harboring an alien spy and maybe let him use your shower?”
Clark wasn’t sure he wanted to let him out of his sight. His body was made of stars and the void of space, and it seemed to him he might just... disappear. “Let me take a look,” he said.
Bruce jumped down from the window and stood in the middle of the room, the suit turning off and going black. He looked around, then back at Clark, holding himself awkwardly.
Clark pointed him to the bed, the only piece of furniture in the room. “Sit down. What happened?”
“New Krypton happened to me,” Bruce said. Clark could hear the smile in his voice.
“You were attacked?"
“Ah, not quite. I was in a park."
“And…?” Clark touched the black fabric of the suit, his hand tracing the muscles of Bruce’s back.
“A tree attacked me. Bam, spit this spiked ball and some goo. Hit me right between the shoulder blades. I shook it off, but it damaged the suit a bit.” He chuckled. “Two months in New Krypton and that's the first thing that manages to get me. Go figure.”
“Hyrrath,” Clark said, his voice clinical as he inspected the damage. “Blooms in the night. It's more of a shrub, really.”
“My suit has been pollinated by a seed-slinging kryptonian shrub.” He snorted. “Oh, the indignity.”
The suit was cool and smooth against his fingers. It wasn’t soft, but it gave when he pressed it. He was about to look closer, see the structure of the material, try to figure out through its composition where Bruce had been, for how long, how far away. How had he made it here, tonight, to his empty apartment in New Krypton.
Bruce’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Let me get it off. Do you have a first aid kit? I couldn’t get some of the spikes off.”
Clark sat back and took a steadying breath. “Yes, of course. I’ll get it.”
Clark walked into the small bathroom and grabbed the edges of the sink. Bruce. Bruce was alive, sitting on his bed, bleeding and joking and how many times, just how many times had he patched him up, how many dangers had they evaded together, how many times had he seen him bleed and make light of it, wondering if it would be the last time. How many times had he thought of him since that day, his body charred and his limbs hanging broken as he cradled him in his arms, how many times-
“Clark?” He was looking at him through the doorway, a few steps away. His arms were pale, the suit coming off in parts that he was holding in his hands, the material almost liquid despite its previous hardness. “Are you okay?”
Clark nodded.
“I need to clean the suit.”
“How?”
“It self-sanitizes, I just need to set it someplace that won’t catch fire.“
“No. I mean, how… how are you here? How did you…"
Bruce shifted, and Clark could see him closing off, his eyes light years away. “I told you. Time travel.”
“How long?”
“Why would that matter?” He said moodily, shaking his head. He was far, far away. Clark took a step towards him; he had to do something, something to breach the distance between them, but Bruce cut him off. “Would you like to see how the suit works?”
Clark stood back again. He walked back into the bathroom and retrieved the first aid kit.
“Show me.”
---
He was almost done plucking the needle-thin spikes from Bruce’s back, a line of blood running between his shoulder blades as he talked. Bruce had more scars than he remembered, thin and white, and he was cool against Clark’s hands, his skin so pale that he could see blue veins going through his arms. He could feel the pulse of his blood under his hands, feel each breath he took.
“You're not listening to a word I'm saying," Bruce said, good naturedly.
“It’s a formidable piece of work, from what I’m getting.”
“It’s the most ambitious science project I've ever tackled on. But it was either that or…” he stopped, and Clark didn’t know how to press him, not when the subject drove Bruce so far away inside him mind, where Clark couldn’t reach him.
Clark didn’t want him to go.
“There,” he said, clutching his shoulder tightly, carefully, strong muscle shifting under his touch. “You’re all set.”
Bruce turned over, meeting his eyes for a moment. “Thank you.”
“Anytime. You know it.”
He smiled, breaking eye contact. “I do know it. Isn’t that strange?” He touched the discarded parts of the suit.
“Why would it be?”
“There’s a lot I thought I knew that I’m no longer sure of, Clark. But you…" He trailed off. "Would you mind if I use your shower?”
"Please, go ahead." He leaned against the wall as he looked at Bruce collect the suit. "You smell like you need it."
"You needed a haircut when you came back, and no one said anything for months," Bruce shot back, walking into the bathroom.
Soon, Clark was alone in his room, the sound of the shower in the background. He closed his fists, his nails digging into his palms.
Bruce would be leaving soon. Clark didn't know where to, or... now that he thought about it, he wasn't even sure what Bruce was spying on, or what for. If Zod caught him, Kal wasn't sure he could spring him. Besides, Clark was already here. Couldn't the man trust that he would keep New Krypton under watch? Couldn't he give New Krypton a chance?
They all deserved a second chance.
He felt the irritation ebb back into anxiety.
He didn't want Bruce to go. He didn't want to fight.
He didn't know what else to do.
He remembered his first encounter with Batman. That night Bruce had told him he'd rigged a bomb to an innocent that would detonate if he so much as touched him. He smiled to himself. They had come a long way, both in their friendship -to think that same man was naked and vulnerable in his shower, counting on him to give him a moment's respite- and as people -he doubted Bruce would dare call himself an innocent now, and their methods had changed over the years. They had been so young.
Did they know better now?
The sound of the shower came to a halt, and after a couple of minutes, the door of the bathroom opened. Bruce stood there wrapped in a towel, the suit hanging from one of his arms.
"I don't want to damage your apartment. Can you hold the suit while it sanitizes? It won't take long."
"Sure," Clark said, getting up. He took the suit, the smooth texture a strange alien caress against his skin.
"< Sanitizing cycle security code 29335 >," he said in Kryptonian. The suit heated up in Clark's hands, the energy mounting slowly.
"Kryptonian?" Clark asked, unable to look at Bruce, standing almost naked in the middle of the room. He could hear water droplets splashing on the floor, the smell of his neutral soap obscuring Bruce's smell. An aspect of him, lost now.
"It's almost unhackable," Bruce said, sounding apologetic. "The syntax is very specific and..." He paused. " It just seemed like a good choice, when I was programming it. It's... a strong language."
Clark looked at him, taking a slow, deep breath. Dark curls rested against the pale neck, water drops making their way down the sinews of muscle. Pale blue eyes like the winter sky back home, back on Earth.
"I needed something... to keep me focused. Something from home, to call me back, so I wouldn't forget..." He trailed off, and this time it was him who was looking away, beyond Clark, to the city sleeping outside his window.
"Did it work?" Clark asked, feeling like he was standing at the edge of an abyss. Bruce was about to escape, he could feel it. One breath away from tipping their world back into the old balance, where they would be safe, where they would be friends, where it wouldn't matter that Clark had held his broken body and cried for all he had lost.
Where it wouldn't matter where Bruce had been, and how long, and why he had held onto Kryptonian to guide his way home.
Bruce laughed lowly. "I didn't really need that much help to stay focused. But it was painful, sometimes." He sighed. "I missed home enough as it was. Thinking about you was unbearable."
Bruce smiled, a pained smile, still not looking at him. The suit was white hot in Clark's hands, forgotten. Clark wanted him to look at him. Needed him to look at him.
"I think this is not a conversation I should have attempted to have wearing just a towel."
Clark chuckled, shaking his head. "Clothes aren't really doing anything for me, if it makes you feel better."
Bruce looked up, their eyes meeting. It mattered, of course. Everything mattered, everything they had lost, everything they thought they couldn't get back. His smile smoothed, the pain folding into itself. "Well, you could get rid of them. See if it helps."
"Very smooth, Mister Wayne. Good to see you haven't lost it."
His smile was replaced with a frown, and he seemed hesitant for a moment. "For a while... I think I did lose it, Clark. My mind just... I didn't know if I could make it back. I thought of you and it was... everything was lost, I just couldn't find it. I couldn't find you." A storm behind winter blue eyes. "I couldn't bear to remember, but it was all I had left. I... it was not enough."
"How long?"
"Long."
"Bruce..."
"Too long."
Bruce reached out, taking the cooling suit from him. His hands felt empty and cold.
"I should get going," Bruce said.
"Don't you dare," Clark said lowly.
"I can't talk about this," he said, avoiding his eyes.
He grabbed Bruce to keep him from leaving, trying to find the right words, all the plans and hopes he had never voiced, all his fears and nightmares. He didn't know where to start, his voice failing him. Bruce's skin was cool against his hands, cool and damp after the shower, and the hold he had on him wasn't enough. He was there, physically at least, but Clark couldn't reach him through the walls Bruce had always constructed around himself. The barriers that had kept them apart, each of them content to stay behind them as long as they knew they could break them someday, if they wanted to.
And then one day the chance had been gone, heart and mind lost to him forever. He wondered if Bruce had felt the same, fearing he would never make it home. All those hopes, those half hidden promises, all lost. Nothing but chances they had let pass them by, thinking there would be a later, that there would be time.
If there was time now, he wasn't going to waste it.
He pushed Bruce back, taking the half dozen steps separating them from his bed without meeting resistance. Bruce's lips were slightly parted, his eyes searching Clark's face, almost like he couldn't believe what Clark was doing. Clark smiled, a victorious joy taking over him as he took control of the complicated dance they did around each other, changing the pace for good.
"I want you," he said. It could all go wrong from here, he knew, but he felt elated. There it was, plain and simple. "I can't remember a time when I didn't want you."
Bruce closed his mouth, his lips a thin line. "I'm pretty sure that's a lie." Clark's frown was met with a slow, taunting smile. "When we first met, Commander El, you were not so fond of me. Quite the contrary, actually."
"You were -you are- an infuriating, smug bossy bastard. An impossible man. You knew exactly how to get under my skin, how to push all my buttons," he said. His voice softened with affection. "You always have."
Bruce leaned forward, his breath trailing along Clark's neck until he was whispering in his ear. "I-" he paused, taking a shaky breath. "I've always wanted you. You, all of you. I told myself it was impossible." He shook Clark's hold on him, dropping his suit and reaching out to bury his hands in Clark's hair, bringing them closer together. "I thought it would be worse to lose you, so I never... I thought I heard you talking to me during the day, telling me not to give up, that there would be a way. I thought of you in the cold nights, your warmth, your voice. Every day, you haunted me, the thought of you..."
Clark nuzzled him, pulling him closer, taking in his scent in a sharp breath until he found his lips, cool against his own, the desperate shudder of the body against him breaking his heart, the heat of the kiss melting him down, forging him whole again as he pulled Bruce closer, his hands tracing scars across the bare skin of his back. Bruce reached for the hem of his shirt, pushing it up, his hands quickly warming as they stole the heat from Clark's body, sending shivers down his spine as he mapped every muscle, every rib, the curve of his spine, each caress pointed with urgency.
He broke the kiss to get rid of his clothes, smiling to himself as he made a bit of a show of it, messing his hair as he pulled his shirt off, taking a moment to pull at the waistband of his slacks. He looked up to catch Bruce's eyes and he saw him running a hand through his hair, his eyes closing for a second in a pained frown before meeting Clark's, his gaze hungry and distressed. Clark stopped, reaching out to cup his face, tracing the familiar jaw line, the sharp cheekbones, his thumbs smoothing the worry lines around his eyes.
He kissed him again, pushing him down to lie on his mattress. He straddled him, pinning him down with his weight, a barrier between Bruce and the world, between Bruce and the memories, between Bruce and oblivion.
"You're here," Clark whispered as he dropped kisses down his throat, as he scrapped teeth against his collarbone. Bruce bit down a moan, his hands entangling with Clark's hair, pulling him back as he arched against him, like he could barely stand the contact. Clark wondered if Bruce had been alone, if he was the first one to touch him since... since... he tried to push the thoughts away, but he couldn't stop the coil of rage inside him, the thought of this body broken and torn apart, tortured and destroyed by Granny Goodness and Darkseid, and before that...
Clark stopped, gritting his teeth. He couldn't bear the thought that Bruce had known nothing but pain for who knew how long before the end.
"Clark," Bruce said, pulling Clark towards him again, the kisses growing more demanding and feverish. "Please." Clark took his mouth, closing his eyes tightly, focusing on the beating heart under his hands, on the warmth, the abandoned sounds of pleasure filling the room. He got rid of his slacks and pulled at the towel around Bruce's waist, the loose knot easily giving him access to heated skin.
"Clark, my ghost, my soul. Yes. Please," he said, his voice whisper soft, his teeth chattering as he threw his head back, giving in to Clark's touch.
Clark propped himself up with one arm, laying beside him, stroking him slowly, looking at the play of pleasure on Bruce's face. "Anything," he said, his thumb drawing circles on the head of his cock, spreading slickness down the shaft. "I'm going to make you feel so good, Bruce. Make up for all the lost time."
Either his hands or his words coaxed a low wail from him, and Bruce pulled him over, nails scratching his back, skin against skin, the taste of his mouth like a drug.
Clark rocked against him, his hard cock rubbing against Bruce's stomach, he friction eased by sweat and pre-come.
No more pain. Clark would take all the pain away if he could, he would make him forget, make the desperate shivering go away, the urgent kisses slow down with tenderness so they could take the time to touch and explore.
Bruce bucked against him, letting go of his mouth to kiss his throat, sucking at the pulse points, biting and moaning and alive.
There would be time for everything. They would make time for everything.
The friction grew sweeter with each thrust, warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't seem to get enough air, the smell of arousal so intense he could taste it in the roof of his mouth. He leaned forward, holding himself up with one arm beside Bruce's dark hair, reaching to grip both of them in his free hand, one of Bruce's large hands wrapping around his, encouraging Clark to thrust.
Clark looked down at their hands, mesmerized by the flex of Bruce's abs with each thrust, how his body tensed, each time just a little bit more. He kissed Bruce again, a wet kiss, his lips soft and swollen, then lowered himself to bite his neck, leaving red marks on the pale skin. Bruce's breath hitched, his body arching against Clark, suspended in one moment of absolute pleasure. Clark closed his eyes, stroking himself as he let his own lust take over him, the darkness behind his eyes filling with brilliance as he came.
Bruce was stroking his hair when the lights dimmed again, Clark laying on his side beside him. He reached down to grab the discarded towel to clean themselves.
Bruce's hands weren't shaking anymore, Clark noticed, and he was warm. He smiled. "Welcome home, B."
"Thank you," Bruce sounded amused.
"You're going to have to shower again."
"I think I'll survive," he said.
Clark pulled him closer, whispering against his lips. "Always."
He kissed Bruce again
They would not waste any second chances.