COMICS BIG BANG: THAT WHICH WE CALL A ROSE (CLARK/BRUCE, NC-17) V
Fic title: That Which We Call A Rose
Author name: arysteia
Verse: DCU, but feel free to mix and match your favourites
Pairing(s): Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne/Superman, Superman/Batman, Batman/Clark Kent *g*
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 12,028
Warnings/Spoilers: Apparently Big Bang fics can involve long, complicated plots? This fic... Is not that fic. Explicit sex, no spoilers.
Summary: The course of true love never did run smooth. When Clark Kent met Bruce Wayne. And Bruce Wayne met Superman. And Superman met Batman. And Batman met Clark Kent. And Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne finally got their acts together...
Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne, Gotham City, 2010
Bruce Wayne wakes slowly, and with a sense of unhurried contentment. The bed is warm and comfortable, and the arms around him strong and infinitely dependable. It’s as much a pleasure to wake up in his own bed for once as it is to be sharing it with someone who actually means something to him. He smiles and burrows under the covers, pressing back against a broad, well-muscled chest. Clark Kent smiles quietly and wraps his arms tighter against him, throws one leg over his lower body, and holds him close, lips moving against the back of his neck.
It should feel cloying, over-hot, suffocating, but it’s none of those things, the length of his body matched perfectly by Clark’s, the strength in those arms at once present, comforting and nurturing, and held perfectly at bay.
“Mmmm, good morning,” he murmurs.
“It is a good morning,” Clark mutters back, leaning into him harder and rolling him half onto his front. “Any morning we’re both here, and not dealing with a robot invasion, or an alien death ray, or...”
“God,” Bruce moans as he feels Clark’s cock, hot and hard and heavy against the back of his thigh, “Again?”
“Again,” Clark answers, rutting against him gently. “Again and again and again. I can’t ever get enough of you. It took so incredibly long to get here, we have a lot of ground to make up.”
Bruce moans again, and surrenders to the inevitable. Clark’s knee comes up between his, forcing his own up and wide apart. It feels delightfully wanton, sprawling on his stomach like this, Clark a hot, heavy weight on top of him, dick smearing a wet trail of precome against his lower back, a cooling mess of sweat and lube and their own combined fluids still seeping out of him and trailing down his inner thighs, his asshole open and swollen, puffy and hot and oh so sensitive to the gentle exploratory brush of Clark’s fingertips. He shudders and bites down hard on his own lip to keep from crying out.
“Uh-uh,” Clark admonishes, “No holding back. You promised no more hiding.”
“Clark...”
“You promised.”
It should be impossible for Clark to sound like a boy scout when he’s ravaging Bruce so ruthlessly, but he manages it, fingers slipping in and out of him with a wet, filthy slide, and no resistance whatsoever. It’s a metaphor for his own life, Bruce thinks, without rancour, and how effortlessly and completely Clark has forced his way past every barrier and into every corner of Bruce’s life. He pulls out his fingers with an obscene pop and moves into position.
He buries himself to the hilt with one long glide and Bruce’s over-used flesh protests at the burn.
“God, Clark,” he cries out. “I need to be able to walk, much less patrol tonight.”
“I’m sure Dick or Tim can handle it,” Clark demurs, teeth grazing at the back of Bruce’s neck, biting at his jaw and ear and the curve of his shoulder.
“Nngh,” Bruce groans. “Don’t mention the boys while you’re doing that.”
“What, this?” Clark asks, moving his hips in a semi-circle and scraping the head of his dick across Bruce’s over-stimulated prostate.
“Unh, god, Clark, god.”
Clark laughs. “Bruce Wayne, lost for words? I guess I’m doing something right after all.”
“I created a monster when I agreed to keep seeing you,” Bruce complains weakly.
“Hey!” Clark protests, stilling his movements maddeningly. “I was a virgin when you ruthlessly seduced me.”
“Ha!” Bruce snorts. “Lana Lang would beg to differ.”
“Nothing as humiliating as what happened with Lana counts,” Clark insists crossly.
Bruce chuckles breathlessly, pinned as he is beneath two hundred pounds of Kryptonian muscle. “Sadly for literally millions of humiliated people around the globe, Clark,” he gasps out, “I don’t think that’s the threshold test.”
“Nothing happened!” Clark repeats. “Not according to the Clinton test, which I believe was in force at the time, and not by any other test you care to apply. Except perhaps the broadest possible ‘Bruce Wayne will debauch anything that moves’ test.”
“Hey!” Bruce tries to elbow him in the gut, but succeeds only in getting his arms dragged up above his head and both hands secured in one of Clark’s massive paws. There are some serious downsides to sleeping with a super-powered alien.
“If the cowl fits,” Clark snipes. “You slept with Superman and never called him.”
“Oh, don’t try to tell me Lois Lane hadn’t got her hooks into Superman.”
Clark laughs out loud, the jackass, and Bruce just knows he’s smirking behind his back. “Yeah, she did. But after you.”
“Seriously?” Clark never ceases to amaze. “You are a sadder man than I thought. I met you just in time.”
“I’m surprised you had room for me in your long list of conquests. Julie Madison, Vicki Vale, Silver St Cloud-”
Two can play at that game. “Harvey Dent, Lex Luthor-”
“Lex Luthor! Lex Luthor?” Advantage, Wayne.
“You didn’t seriously think that gag gift on my birthday was about business did you?”
“I can’t believe you! How many more of my super villains have you slept with?”
“None.” This may have been a strategic mistake after all. “And he wasn’t a super villain at the time! We were sixteen years old for God’s sake! We were school boys!”
“Oh my God. You lost your virginity to Lex Luthor?”
Definite blunder. Clark’s brute force style of attack is evidently rubbing off. Or maybe it’s the head injuries. He never used to admit to anything so potentially compromising.
“My humiliation is complete.”
“It has nothing to do with you. I’m sorry I mentioned it, now can you-”
“It has everything to do with me. My worst enemy and my best-”
“Best-?”
“Never mind.”
“Hey, in another universe, you could have lost your virginity to Lex Luthor. He was living in Smallville that summer you came to Gotham, he emailed me to say how excruciatingly boring it all was.”
“Oh my god. Stop talking!”
“Make me!”
Clark does, but not in the way Bruce was hoping. He presses hard on Bruce’s shoulder blades with his free hand, and when the need to breathe becomes compelling, demands, “Is there anyone else I should be concerned about?”
Curse that god damned honesty policy. “I don’t know,” Bruce sighs into the pillow, “Does Catwoman count? Talia al-Ghul? They’ve both slept with Batman. Though technically I was drugged one of those times. And maybe mind controlled the other.”
“I’ll let it pass,” Clark says grudgingly, shifting his weight just enough. “At least I’m the only one who’s slept with Bruce Wayne and Batman.”
Bruce bites his tongue and tries very, very hard not to even breathe funny. He has a sudden sympathy for all the criminals he’s terrorised on rooftops over the years.
“Oh my god,” Clark echoes. “Seriously? Who?”
“No one.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not. You are the only person on earth who has slept with both Bruce Wayne and Batman.”
“On earth? There’s someone not from earth? It’s not someone from the League is it?”
“No!” God, how did a blissful Sunday morning turn into this? “You are the only League member, and the only alien, I have slept with. Okay?”
“It’s not... Oh my god, it is. Son of a bitch.”
“Clark.”
“Son of a bitch. ‘Super hero teams should co-operate.’ ‘Starktech will revolutionise-’”
“Clark!”
“I knew he was checking you out when you were showing him around the Watchtower.”
“He was not. And even if he was it wouldn’t have gone anywhere, I was already with you by then.”
“Huhn,” Clark huffs, only slightly mollified.
“And as I said, you’re the only person or alien who has the distinction of sleeping with both Batman and Bruce Wayne, on earth or elsewhere. Technically you have it twice over. Tony Stark slept with Bruce Wayne. Years ago. Batman slept with Iron Man.”
“Tony Stark is Iron Man? How do you know?”
“I have eyes. And a brain. And I’m getting out the kryptonite, Clark.”
That gets him moving again, at last. A couple of shifts of his hips, and he’s fully hard again, never having left Bruce’s body. There are some major upsides to sleeping with a super-powered alien too.
“It’s not even in here!” Clark exclaims suddenly, outraged, grinding to a halt again. Bruce bites his lip in frustration. “I told you to keep it up here, just in case-”
“Clark,” Bruce grits through clenched teeth. “What do I have to threaten you with to get you to finish?”
“You could try asking nicely!” Clark sulks.
Bruce sighs. “Please, light of my life, finish me off, or get off me and let me call someone who will.”
Game, set and match, Wayne. It’s a dangerous sport, but the toughest competitions have the greatest rewards. Clark growls wordlessly, then thrusts in a few times, hard, teeth clamping on the back of Bruce’s neck. It’ll bruise for sure. He kisses the bite mark, then shifts his hands to Bruce’s hips, pulling him bodily up onto his hands and knees. Bruce moans and goes with the movement, secretly loving the fact that Clark can man-handle him so effortlessly. He’ll never admit it, but then, he doesn’t have to. Clark already knows, and Bruce...? Bruce is beginning to be okay with that.
His aching muscles can’t hold the position though, and he’s trying to shape the words to say so, when Clark pulls him hard up against his own chest, plastering them together the full length of their bodies, pulling him up and back into Clark’s lap, his own thighs opening to spread helplessly over Clark’s, his head lolling back onto Clarks shoulder. The penetration deepens impossibly, excruciatingly, exhilaratingly more, and he collapses, going limp, letting gravity and his own weight and Clark’s impossibly large, impossibly strong hands on his aching hips pull him down even harder onto the burning brand of Clark’s cock.
He feels like he’s breaking open; the pulsing throb of Clark’s flesh inside him, the slap of his balls against him, the wet squelch of their fluids, inseparably mixed, the sharp bite of Clark’s teeth at his neck, marking him again and again, as though it wasn’t already there like a permanent brand for all the world to see, the moist gust of Clark’s breath in his ear; all that as nothing to the great, gulping crater inside his soul that’s cracking open, deep and bottomless and so, so empty, and the terrifying thought that this man in his bed and his body and his heart just might be able to fill it.
He comes suddenly, without ever having been touched, his cock spitting out a climax almost dry, and Clark keeps on riding him through it, thrusting again and again until it’s just this side of too much, just a hair’s breadth away from unpleasantly painful, and just as Bruce is about to cry out, beg him to stop, Clark goes rigid against his back, his cock growing and swelling impossibly more inside him, and then he’s coming, hot and wet, branding Bruce with his seed, adding to the mess already inside him. He collapses like his strings have been cut, dropping Bruce back to the bed and sprawling out on top of him, half hard cock still twitching valiantly inside him. Bruce moans and tries to shove him off.
Clark comes back to himself at last, wincing apologetically and bracing himself against Bruce’s hip, pulling out as gently as he can. Bruce grits his teeth and still cries out at the drag of Clark’s finally, mercifully, softening dick, and Clark kisses apologies across his shoulders and back.
“I love you,” Clark whispers.
“Mmm...”
“I said, I love you,” he repeats.
“I heard you,” Bruce grits out, his abused throat producing something uncomfortably close to Batman’s growl.
“And?” Clark prompts.
“And I was thinking about the first time we met.”
“Oh,” Clark says, momentarily distracted from his quest. “Which time?”
“Every time,” Bruce admits. “No matter where we were, no matter who we were, however screwed up I was, it always felt like this.”
“Yeah,” Clark agrees. “It’s the only reason I was able to keep doing it.”
“Yeah. I do you know.”
“Do what?”
“Claaark...”
“Say it, Bruce. Please.”
Clark sounds oddly desperate, and Bruce doesn’t ever want to hear him like that, not when something he can do, something so simple, even if it is something terrifying, can fix it.
“I love you, Clark,” he says, “I’ve always loved you. From the moment you stood up for a spoiled, selfish brat to a total stranger, and then forgave that stranger for treating you abominably. Through all the years, and all the games... I do love you, Clark. And I always will.”
“It was never a game, Bruce,” Clark whispers. “But thank you. And I knew too, from that first moment. It’s what I was always looking to get back. Thank you for giving it to me.”
“Mmm...” Bruce mutters again. “Sleep now.”
“Sure thing, Bruce,” Clark whispers leaning round to kiss him once more. “Sleep well.”
“Mmm, you too.”
Alfred finds them there, still wrapped around each other, hours later when he comes in with a late brunch tray. He draws the heavy curtains tightly, blocking out the brightening sun, and picks up the scattered pieces of two battered suits, one blue and red lycra, the other black and grey Kevlar. He tuts quietly to himself as he hauls both to the laundry, and closes the bedroom door firmly behind him. He takes the liberty of contacting Nightwing and Robin, and asking them to patrol Gotham City for tonight. It’s good to see his wayward ward coming to his senses at last; that nice Mr Kent has always been a good influence on him, from the very beginning.
Author name: arysteia
Verse: DCU, but feel free to mix and match your favourites
Pairing(s): Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne/Superman, Superman/Batman, Batman/Clark Kent *g*
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 12,028
Warnings/Spoilers: Apparently Big Bang fics can involve long, complicated plots? This fic... Is not that fic. Explicit sex, no spoilers.
Summary: The course of true love never did run smooth. When Clark Kent met Bruce Wayne. And Bruce Wayne met Superman. And Superman met Batman. And Batman met Clark Kent. And Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne finally got their acts together...
Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne, Gotham City, 2010
Bruce Wayne wakes slowly, and with a sense of unhurried contentment. The bed is warm and comfortable, and the arms around him strong and infinitely dependable. It’s as much a pleasure to wake up in his own bed for once as it is to be sharing it with someone who actually means something to him. He smiles and burrows under the covers, pressing back against a broad, well-muscled chest. Clark Kent smiles quietly and wraps his arms tighter against him, throws one leg over his lower body, and holds him close, lips moving against the back of his neck.
It should feel cloying, over-hot, suffocating, but it’s none of those things, the length of his body matched perfectly by Clark’s, the strength in those arms at once present, comforting and nurturing, and held perfectly at bay.
“Mmmm, good morning,” he murmurs.
“It is a good morning,” Clark mutters back, leaning into him harder and rolling him half onto his front. “Any morning we’re both here, and not dealing with a robot invasion, or an alien death ray, or...”
“God,” Bruce moans as he feels Clark’s cock, hot and hard and heavy against the back of his thigh, “Again?”
“Again,” Clark answers, rutting against him gently. “Again and again and again. I can’t ever get enough of you. It took so incredibly long to get here, we have a lot of ground to make up.”
Bruce moans again, and surrenders to the inevitable. Clark’s knee comes up between his, forcing his own up and wide apart. It feels delightfully wanton, sprawling on his stomach like this, Clark a hot, heavy weight on top of him, dick smearing a wet trail of precome against his lower back, a cooling mess of sweat and lube and their own combined fluids still seeping out of him and trailing down his inner thighs, his asshole open and swollen, puffy and hot and oh so sensitive to the gentle exploratory brush of Clark’s fingertips. He shudders and bites down hard on his own lip to keep from crying out.
“Uh-uh,” Clark admonishes, “No holding back. You promised no more hiding.”
“Clark...”
“You promised.”
It should be impossible for Clark to sound like a boy scout when he’s ravaging Bruce so ruthlessly, but he manages it, fingers slipping in and out of him with a wet, filthy slide, and no resistance whatsoever. It’s a metaphor for his own life, Bruce thinks, without rancour, and how effortlessly and completely Clark has forced his way past every barrier and into every corner of Bruce’s life. He pulls out his fingers with an obscene pop and moves into position.
He buries himself to the hilt with one long glide and Bruce’s over-used flesh protests at the burn.
“God, Clark,” he cries out. “I need to be able to walk, much less patrol tonight.”
“I’m sure Dick or Tim can handle it,” Clark demurs, teeth grazing at the back of Bruce’s neck, biting at his jaw and ear and the curve of his shoulder.
“Nngh,” Bruce groans. “Don’t mention the boys while you’re doing that.”
“What, this?” Clark asks, moving his hips in a semi-circle and scraping the head of his dick across Bruce’s over-stimulated prostate.
“Unh, god, Clark, god.”
Clark laughs. “Bruce Wayne, lost for words? I guess I’m doing something right after all.”
“I created a monster when I agreed to keep seeing you,” Bruce complains weakly.
“Hey!” Clark protests, stilling his movements maddeningly. “I was a virgin when you ruthlessly seduced me.”
“Ha!” Bruce snorts. “Lana Lang would beg to differ.”
“Nothing as humiliating as what happened with Lana counts,” Clark insists crossly.
Bruce chuckles breathlessly, pinned as he is beneath two hundred pounds of Kryptonian muscle. “Sadly for literally millions of humiliated people around the globe, Clark,” he gasps out, “I don’t think that’s the threshold test.”
“Nothing happened!” Clark repeats. “Not according to the Clinton test, which I believe was in force at the time, and not by any other test you care to apply. Except perhaps the broadest possible ‘Bruce Wayne will debauch anything that moves’ test.”
“Hey!” Bruce tries to elbow him in the gut, but succeeds only in getting his arms dragged up above his head and both hands secured in one of Clark’s massive paws. There are some serious downsides to sleeping with a super-powered alien.
“If the cowl fits,” Clark snipes. “You slept with Superman and never called him.”
“Oh, don’t try to tell me Lois Lane hadn’t got her hooks into Superman.”
Clark laughs out loud, the jackass, and Bruce just knows he’s smirking behind his back. “Yeah, she did. But after you.”
“Seriously?” Clark never ceases to amaze. “You are a sadder man than I thought. I met you just in time.”
“I’m surprised you had room for me in your long list of conquests. Julie Madison, Vicki Vale, Silver St Cloud-”
Two can play at that game. “Harvey Dent, Lex Luthor-”
“Lex Luthor! Lex Luthor?” Advantage, Wayne.
“You didn’t seriously think that gag gift on my birthday was about business did you?”
“I can’t believe you! How many more of my super villains have you slept with?”
“None.” This may have been a strategic mistake after all. “And he wasn’t a super villain at the time! We were sixteen years old for God’s sake! We were school boys!”
“Oh my God. You lost your virginity to Lex Luthor?”
Definite blunder. Clark’s brute force style of attack is evidently rubbing off. Or maybe it’s the head injuries. He never used to admit to anything so potentially compromising.
“My humiliation is complete.”
“It has nothing to do with you. I’m sorry I mentioned it, now can you-”
“It has everything to do with me. My worst enemy and my best-”
“Best-?”
“Never mind.”
“Hey, in another universe, you could have lost your virginity to Lex Luthor. He was living in Smallville that summer you came to Gotham, he emailed me to say how excruciatingly boring it all was.”
“Oh my god. Stop talking!”
“Make me!”
Clark does, but not in the way Bruce was hoping. He presses hard on Bruce’s shoulder blades with his free hand, and when the need to breathe becomes compelling, demands, “Is there anyone else I should be concerned about?”
Curse that god damned honesty policy. “I don’t know,” Bruce sighs into the pillow, “Does Catwoman count? Talia al-Ghul? They’ve both slept with Batman. Though technically I was drugged one of those times. And maybe mind controlled the other.”
“I’ll let it pass,” Clark says grudgingly, shifting his weight just enough. “At least I’m the only one who’s slept with Bruce Wayne and Batman.”
Bruce bites his tongue and tries very, very hard not to even breathe funny. He has a sudden sympathy for all the criminals he’s terrorised on rooftops over the years.
“Oh my god,” Clark echoes. “Seriously? Who?”
“No one.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not. You are the only person on earth who has slept with both Bruce Wayne and Batman.”
“On earth? There’s someone not from earth? It’s not someone from the League is it?”
“No!” God, how did a blissful Sunday morning turn into this? “You are the only League member, and the only alien, I have slept with. Okay?”
“It’s not... Oh my god, it is. Son of a bitch.”
“Clark.”
“Son of a bitch. ‘Super hero teams should co-operate.’ ‘Starktech will revolutionise-’”
“Clark!”
“I knew he was checking you out when you were showing him around the Watchtower.”
“He was not. And even if he was it wouldn’t have gone anywhere, I was already with you by then.”
“Huhn,” Clark huffs, only slightly mollified.
“And as I said, you’re the only person or alien who has the distinction of sleeping with both Batman and Bruce Wayne, on earth or elsewhere. Technically you have it twice over. Tony Stark slept with Bruce Wayne. Years ago. Batman slept with Iron Man.”
“Tony Stark is Iron Man? How do you know?”
“I have eyes. And a brain. And I’m getting out the kryptonite, Clark.”
That gets him moving again, at last. A couple of shifts of his hips, and he’s fully hard again, never having left Bruce’s body. There are some major upsides to sleeping with a super-powered alien too.
“It’s not even in here!” Clark exclaims suddenly, outraged, grinding to a halt again. Bruce bites his lip in frustration. “I told you to keep it up here, just in case-”
“Clark,” Bruce grits through clenched teeth. “What do I have to threaten you with to get you to finish?”
“You could try asking nicely!” Clark sulks.
Bruce sighs. “Please, light of my life, finish me off, or get off me and let me call someone who will.”
Game, set and match, Wayne. It’s a dangerous sport, but the toughest competitions have the greatest rewards. Clark growls wordlessly, then thrusts in a few times, hard, teeth clamping on the back of Bruce’s neck. It’ll bruise for sure. He kisses the bite mark, then shifts his hands to Bruce’s hips, pulling him bodily up onto his hands and knees. Bruce moans and goes with the movement, secretly loving the fact that Clark can man-handle him so effortlessly. He’ll never admit it, but then, he doesn’t have to. Clark already knows, and Bruce...? Bruce is beginning to be okay with that.
His aching muscles can’t hold the position though, and he’s trying to shape the words to say so, when Clark pulls him hard up against his own chest, plastering them together the full length of their bodies, pulling him up and back into Clark’s lap, his own thighs opening to spread helplessly over Clark’s, his head lolling back onto Clarks shoulder. The penetration deepens impossibly, excruciatingly, exhilaratingly more, and he collapses, going limp, letting gravity and his own weight and Clark’s impossibly large, impossibly strong hands on his aching hips pull him down even harder onto the burning brand of Clark’s cock.
He feels like he’s breaking open; the pulsing throb of Clark’s flesh inside him, the slap of his balls against him, the wet squelch of their fluids, inseparably mixed, the sharp bite of Clark’s teeth at his neck, marking him again and again, as though it wasn’t already there like a permanent brand for all the world to see, the moist gust of Clark’s breath in his ear; all that as nothing to the great, gulping crater inside his soul that’s cracking open, deep and bottomless and so, so empty, and the terrifying thought that this man in his bed and his body and his heart just might be able to fill it.
He comes suddenly, without ever having been touched, his cock spitting out a climax almost dry, and Clark keeps on riding him through it, thrusting again and again until it’s just this side of too much, just a hair’s breadth away from unpleasantly painful, and just as Bruce is about to cry out, beg him to stop, Clark goes rigid against his back, his cock growing and swelling impossibly more inside him, and then he’s coming, hot and wet, branding Bruce with his seed, adding to the mess already inside him. He collapses like his strings have been cut, dropping Bruce back to the bed and sprawling out on top of him, half hard cock still twitching valiantly inside him. Bruce moans and tries to shove him off.
Clark comes back to himself at last, wincing apologetically and bracing himself against Bruce’s hip, pulling out as gently as he can. Bruce grits his teeth and still cries out at the drag of Clark’s finally, mercifully, softening dick, and Clark kisses apologies across his shoulders and back.
“I love you,” Clark whispers.
“Mmm...”
“I said, I love you,” he repeats.
“I heard you,” Bruce grits out, his abused throat producing something uncomfortably close to Batman’s growl.
“And?” Clark prompts.
“And I was thinking about the first time we met.”
“Oh,” Clark says, momentarily distracted from his quest. “Which time?”
“Every time,” Bruce admits. “No matter where we were, no matter who we were, however screwed up I was, it always felt like this.”
“Yeah,” Clark agrees. “It’s the only reason I was able to keep doing it.”
“Yeah. I do you know.”
“Do what?”
“Claaark...”
“Say it, Bruce. Please.”
Clark sounds oddly desperate, and Bruce doesn’t ever want to hear him like that, not when something he can do, something so simple, even if it is something terrifying, can fix it.
“I love you, Clark,” he says, “I’ve always loved you. From the moment you stood up for a spoiled, selfish brat to a total stranger, and then forgave that stranger for treating you abominably. Through all the years, and all the games... I do love you, Clark. And I always will.”
“It was never a game, Bruce,” Clark whispers. “But thank you. And I knew too, from that first moment. It’s what I was always looking to get back. Thank you for giving it to me.”
“Mmm...” Bruce mutters again. “Sleep now.”
“Sure thing, Bruce,” Clark whispers leaning round to kiss him once more. “Sleep well.”
“Mmm, you too.”
Alfred finds them there, still wrapped around each other, hours later when he comes in with a late brunch tray. He draws the heavy curtains tightly, blocking out the brightening sun, and picks up the scattered pieces of two battered suits, one blue and red lycra, the other black and grey Kevlar. He tuts quietly to himself as he hauls both to the laundry, and closes the bedroom door firmly behind him. He takes the liberty of contacting Nightwing and Robin, and asking them to patrol Gotham City for tonight. It’s good to see his wayward ward coming to his senses at last; that nice Mr Kent has always been a good influence on him, from the very beginning.