Work Header

Nurse Kent

Work Text:

“Sir, hmm, your—your four o’clock is here,” Stephany squeaks and not for the first time that week Bruce wishes Margery wasn’t out with a cold. He doesn’t want to deal with a damn appointment, especially one he doesn’t remember, just wants to get the day over with already and get on with the important things. 

“You’re a doll,” he says instead, giving her a blinding smile and a wink while steeling his spine.

His visitor is dressed all in white, Bruce sees in the strategically placed vase as he turns his back closing the door, making it clear the visit is unwanted. A neat short-sleeved uniform with a discreet name tag that doesn’t manage to hide the bulk of him, something big folded at his side—a portable massage table, Bruce sees when he turns to look at him.

“Mister—I’m sorry, I have no idea who you are?” He exaggerates surprise, offering a weak handshake to the intruder.

Nurse Kent,” the burly man says adjusting his glasses, “sent by your GP to start treatment for your—condition.” 

Bruce turns away, wanders off to the window to give himself a moment to compose himself. Treatment is such a polite word for the nurse’s presence. He takes a deep breath, then another one, ignoring the dampness welling between his ass cheeks.

When turns to the nurse, he has the massage table folded out, ready for use.

“Doctor Valentine is overcautious,” he says, turning his most charming smile on the nurse, “I really don’t have time for treatment at the moment, perhaps next month—you’ll have to check with my secretary when she gets back.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” the nurse answers, “I have explicit instructions, sir.” 

“All of this is terribly inconvenient—how about you taking the afternoon and we’ll—” 

“Mr. Wayne! I have a signed order from your legal guardian,” the nurse doesn’t raise his voice, his body language remains open and non-threatening, and yet the way he comes over, not looming over Bruce, it stirs something in his gut. 

“Is that really necessary?” He goes on the attack, pushes into the nurse’s personal space trailing his fingers across the broad chest.

“I’m afraid it is, sir,” the nurse replies catching Bruce’s wrists in his hands and squeezing.

He locks his knees as the nurse uses his non-decorative muscle to turn him, crossing Bruce’s wrists behind his back. “It’s for your own good, sir.” 

He digs his heels in to no avail, Nurse Kent pushes him towards the massage table step by step, bending Bruce over the padded surface with ease.

The nurse makes a sound that’s almost— but not quite—  a growl, taking both of Bruce’s wrists in one hand.

His other cups Bruce’s ass through his trousers, tracing the seam down to where Bruce’s slick has already imbued the wool.

This close, the burly Alpha’s scent clogs Bruce’s senses, rich, dark and promising—Bruce snarls and tries to jerk himself free, or at the very least to get the hand off his ass.

“Please stop struggling, sir, or I will have to restrain you.” the nurse says. His tone is casual, faintly bored even, like having an omega at his mercy is no more interesting than doing groceries, or maybe doing taxes.

“I really don’t have time for this!” Bruce protests into the fake leather.

“Restraints it is, sir,” the nurse concludes grabbing Bruce by the seat of his pants and bodily hoisting him all the way onto the massage table. His kicks are deftly avoided as a heavy leather strap is cinched around his torso pinning his arms to his back and him to the table. It incapacitates Bruce enough that the nurse can catch his legs strapping them to the sides of the massage table. His hands bound together in the small of his back with layers of medical tape until he can’t even move a finger.

The snap of rubber against skin distracts Bruce from trying his restraints. Twisting his head Bruce gets a glimpse of the nurse, his hands covered by shiny, fresh-blood red latex. The nurse opens the old fashioned bag Bruce had missed earlier, straightening up with medical scissors and a small recorder in hand.

The recorder is placed on Bruce’s desk.

“Four o’clock appointment, patient’s name is Bruce Wayne, prescribed therapy for Gotham Hysteria Syndrome. The patient is proving uncooperative and has been restrained for the procedure. Upon initial examination, the patient was found to respond positively to an Alpha presence. The examination will proceed once the patient is disrobed.”

His hands are pushed higher allowing the nurse to hook his fingers under the belt of Bruce’s trousers.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Bruce bellows.

“I need to complete my examination, sir, as you are not cooperating, I will have to disrobe you in this manner.” the nurse tells him sawing through Bruce’s belt. “Don’t worry, sir, I have a set of throwaway pants you will be able to use.” 

“That’s Brioni you’re destroying! Bespoke!” Bruce protest, “that belt cost more than you make in a month!” 

“You can take that up with your medical insurance, sir, I’m just doing my job as best I can.” The nurse tells him, tugging the two pieces of belt out of their loops, then hooks his fingers into the waist of Bruce’s pants lifting them up, the latex cold on Bruce’s skin.

“Untie me at once! I’ll—I’ll undress myself!” Bruce tries again.

“I’m sorry, sir, but since you have been non-compliant already, I cannot release the restraint until your treatment is finished for today.” the nurse says making the first snip.

“This is unacceptable!” Bruce growls renewing his struggle, but the restraints are too heavy, too tightly cinched for it to do any good.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” the nurse says, cutting remorselessly through the light wool fabric, exposing first his ass, then cutting down each pant leg until he can remove the material leaving Bruce bare from the waist down, save for his shoes, socks and suspenders.

“Patient is a male omega, 43 years old, fit. Multiple notable scars on legs and lower back.” The latex gloves are slick on Bruce’s skin cataloguing scars by touch, spreading Bruce’s buttocks.

“Get your hands off of me!” he growls, hating that the slick touch excites him, makes his dick stir against the fake leather.

“Sir, if you cannot keep quiet during the procedure, I’ll have to take measures.” the nurse warns him, still sounding utterly bored even as his thumb presses on Bruce’s hole.

“Fuck you!” Bruce spits, only to hear the nurse sigh.

“Very well, sir.” 

The contraption nurse Kent pulls out of his medical bag is positively medieval.

Bruce clamps his jaw shut at the sight of it.

The nurse takes a moment to sort out the metal and straps, giving Bruce the time to observe the monstrosity.

“If you would open your mouth, sir, I won’t have to take additional measures.” the nurse says calmly, ignoring Bruce’s glare as he brings the rubber and metal to Bruce’s face. 

Bruce clamps his lips shut, but it doesn’t seem to bother the nurse.

A whiff of disinfectant is the last thing Bruce smells before his nose is pinched shut. Looking up at the nurse, Bruce almost admires the dispassionate way the man meets his eyes. Not bothering to posture, simply waiting for Bruce to run out of air, for his body to betray him, fainting to make him unclench, make him draw the next breath.

All the nurse has to do is wait.

Black spots start dancing before his eyes soon enough, his nervous system protesting the oxygen deprivation.

Bruce can’t even ball his fists, can’t pull away or even shake his head to get away from the blood-red fingers.

The galling thing is, he’s still leaking.

He’s leaking hard enough his thighs are sticking to the fake leather, his ballsack itchy where it’s starting to dry. The nurse’s proximity making him ache makes him want to raise his ass, spread in invitation.

He ignores his body’s demands—  all of them, and grits his teeth to the point of cracking the porcelain veneers...again. It isn’t enough, of course, eventually the black spots grow big and Bruce feels himself growing dizzy, growing weak.

Bruce comes to with the taste of rubber on his tongue, his mouth open, something pressing on the edges of his mouth and the pressure of a strap at the back of his neck pulled tight.

“‘At t’ hell!” he tries to say dripping saliva already gathering in his mouth, raises his head to try and shake the monstrosity off all to no avail.

“Really, sir, that is entirely uncalled for,” the nurse sighs, gripping something on both sides of Bruce’s face that forces his jaw open with a loud clicking sound. He tries to argue once again, but with another click, his jaw is forced wider until all Bruce cannot utter anything but formless sounds.

The nurse nods to himself, crouches down and does something to the massage table that allows him to remove part of the table leaving a round hole right under Bruce’s face just as the saliva gathering in Bruce’s mouth spills over his teeth allowing him to watch it drip onto the floor.

“Jennings gag applied when patient continued to be argumentative. Continuing the examination,” the nurse says into the general direction of the recorder as he straightens up, “I will proceed with the internal exam.” 

He circles the table, running his hand over Bruce’s arm down to his buttocks and further along his leg. What a sight he must make, Bruce thinks, if anyone were to come in as his assistants occasionally do—he’ll hear no end of it from the tabloids. 

Another sharp noise at the foot of the table and his legs are forced apart, the wide leather straps secured to the outer edges of the table digging into his flesh as Bruce tries to resist while the table is reshaped exposing him further. “Patient’s file makes note of a possible hormonal imbalance that accounts for atypical muscular development and mood imbalances.” 

Bruce snarls at that, but the only thing that accomplishes is more saliva drips down his chin. His asscheeks are pulled apart, the nurse’s thumbs stroking along the furrow, pressing lightly on the sphincter which yields easily more slick welling around the appendage. “Sphincter muscle is a healthy colour,..”

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut, wishes he could close his ears as well, drown out the nurse’s voice somehow. He thinks about the mountains in Tibet, the cold of them and vast emptiness. He had loved the cold, the barrenness of them, the merciless cliffs and valleys where a man could disappear.

“Applying anal speculum.” 

The appliance is not warmed. Possibly a punishment, possibly negligence on the nurse’s part, it presses in like a steel rod, it’s blunt rounded tip slowly pushing past Bruce’s sphincter merciless and larger than life. He strains against the gag, needing to grit his teeth, fights the intrusion with everything he has and loses miserably.

The thing pushes deeper and deeper like a block of ice in his gut making Bruce realize just how hot he’s been feeling.

The slow slide of the metal deeper into his body takes ages, pierces him to the core and leaves Bruce dizzy with rage. He hasn’t had anything inside him in ages and the stretch burns.

The first sharp ‘click’ of the speculum opening makes him jerk in his bonds and cry out in panic. The nurse’s big hand presses on the small of his back, latex clad fingers sticking to sweaty skin there. 

“Half an inch dilation,” the nurse tells the recorder, “proceeding to two inch to accomodate inspection.” 

He forces himself not to flinch with every ‘click’ that rattles around the room like a machine gun going off, not to tighten up against the stretch. 

“Patient’s sphincter muscle’s elasticity is well within parameters, one and a half inch dilation does not present problems.”

Click after click rings through the room as Bruce thinks about deep blue flowers, fields of them against the barren rock.

“Slick production increase observed,” Latex covered fingers massage the rim of Bruce’s asshole, warm and sure; they make him want to whine to be filled. 

His slick has trickled down to cover the back of his balls, stuck them to the fake leather of the massage table and is itching like mad.

“Inner musculature adequate for knot retention, proceeding—” 

Bruce drowns out the nurse’s voice, thinks about the mountains in Tibet instead, the cold of them, the emptiness. He’d loved the cold, barren places, the cliffs, and valleys…

A pressure that isn’t quite pain and isn’t quite pleasure wrenches him from his memories, his dick drooling as the nurse’s thick fingers mercilessly massage his prostate until Bruce is back in his body, tied up and helpless only able to watch his drool puddling on the marble floor. 

He tries to sink back into his mind, get away from all the sensations running amok in his body, concentrate on something—concentrate on anything that isn’t the nurse’s scent…

“You’re doing very well, sir,” the nurse says, rubbing the small of Bruce’s back again, until little by little Bruce’s muscles relax and he feels like he’s sinking into a mountain of down feathers sparking with electricity.

He needs.

Like a switch has been flipped, his body tightens and opens up his hips jerking as best they can. Hating the very idea of Presenting, Bruce finds himself wanting to do it, needing to do it, to offer himself to the nurse and be filled.

“Patient has started Presenting. The restraints needed for previous procedures are limiting movement, patient’s scent has changed to signal readiness to be bred.”

Bruce sobs in humiliation and still tries to raise his hips, still tries to offer himself up for a fucking, offer himself up to be bred by the big, muscular nurse who smells intoxicatingly good and makes him drip.

The sound of a trouser zipper lowering is deafening. It echoes around the office and makes Bruce whine in anticipation like a brainless bitch he’s never—

The nurse’s latex clad hand is still sticky with Bruce’s slick when it grabs his hair and forces his head up. The nurse’s dick, thick and veiny, the bulge of the knot visible already despite its half-hard state sways less than an inch from Bruce’s face.

With his mouth forced open, Bruce can almost taste him, feel the weight of it on his tongue and the girth of it filling his throat, imagine the shocking humiliation of the nurse’s heavy balls slapping his chin as his mouth is fucked raw.

“Patient responds favorably to alpha pheromone. He is no longer resisting treatment.” 

But I do, Bruce thinks, as he stretches his tongue out trying to reach the tip of the dick swaying just out of his reach.

He growls when the nurse doesn’t come closer, just stands there and taunts Bruce with his freshly awoken need.

“Recommended medical alpha visitations until the patient’s next heat.” The nurse says stepping closer to drag his dick across Bruce’s cheek.

Bruce tries to shake his head, but the nurse’s grip on his hair is unyielding, the only thing he can do is blink up at the alpha towering over him.

The nurse looks bored, like someone doing a mildly annoying, not particularly challenging task. He’s barely looking at Bruce’s face, his gaze constantly skipping away towards the large windows that make up the back wall of Bruce’s office. 

Letting go of Bruce’s head, he leans over Bruce all the way down to where the speculum is still holding him open, leaking onto the table. 

He feels the nurse’s fingers jolt the speculum gathering up slick, pressing one of the blades hard against Bruce’s prostate. 

The nurse’s fingers glisten when they return into Bruce’s view wrapping around the nurse’s dick, spreading Bruce’s slick all over the shaft.

His neck hurts, but Bruce can’t bring himself to look away.

The nurse might as well lubing up a piston rod for all the enjoyment he seems to derive from it. The nurse strokes himself mechanically, covering first the shaft then the head with feather light touches until he is fully hard and the scent of his arousal is choking Bruce and making him burn with need.

The needy whine escapes him, and with something that resembles a put-upon sigh, the nurse wipes the residual slick off on Bruce’s drool-slick cheeks.

“Proceeding to penile stimulation,” the nurse drones into the recorder retreating from Bruce’s sight. 

He drops his head sobbing in rage and anticipation of what’s to come.

He hasn’t let an alpha fuck him during heat in—ages, not since the snowy mountain, since before he learned never to show weakness.

The nurse doesn’t bother closing the speculum, it drags along Bruce’s insides, twisting cruelly and leaving Bruce even emptier than before clenching on air.

By now, Bruce imagines, his slick has dripped to the floor and soaking into the carpet. If he had the ability to talk, Bruce would demand the nurse stick his dick in him already fill his body like it demands to be filled.

The first light press of the head of the nurse’s dick against the rim of Bruce’s hole is electrifying.

His whole body tightens eager to grasp at the offered relief, even if it is a tease.

The nurse spreads Bruce’s asshole, runs his latex clad thumbs along the edge of his gaping, gushing hole.

Bruce feels like crying, the gag feels like a gift keeping him from begging for the nurse’s dick, for a belly full of pups.

Even loose and slick as Bruce is he can feel the nurse’s dick spread him open, just a little, just enough for Bruce’s slick to gush out around the fat dickhead pushing into him with a squilsh.

Bruce howls, shaking around the intrusion, bearing down on the dick filling him in case the nurse decides to pull out again and leave him hanging. 

“Easy, Mr. Wayne,” the nurse says, his hands sliding up to the small of Bruce’s back, rubbing and kneading as they go.

He’s trying to soothe, Bruce realizes, not that it’s working. The only thing that’s going to calm him down now, he knows, is the Alpha nurse’s knot plugging him up. 

The nurse’s balls slapping against his own wrench a howl from Bruce’s throat.

He clamps down on the dick filling him, his whole body burning.

The nurse fucks him with slow, powerful strokes, regular as a metronome, his breath barely speeding up even as he pulls out completely and buries himself to the hilt again.

Bruce arches up, bracing against the thrusts, his muscles aching as he strains against the restraints holding him down. 

The nurse looks bored .

He isn’t even looking down at Bruce, in fact, judging from the glimpse of the reflection Bruce catches before he has to drop his head again the nurse seems to be trying to read the newspaper Bruce left on the edge of his desk.

A fresh wave of humiliation rushes through him, makes Bruce’s nerves spark with electricity. The nurse twists his hips, his dick rubs hard over Bruce’s prostate and he’s coming with a sob, not even knotted, but already falling apart.

He doesn’t expect the nurse to pull out while aftershocks are still running through Bruce’s system, leaving him whining pathetically, wiggling his ass in an attempt to present, to earn the alpha’s attention, his come and knot.

“You’re doing very well, sir,” the nurse says professionally moving away to rummage in his bag. 

Bruce wants him back between his legs, his fat dick in his ass soothing the ache of heat in full swing. Turning his head, Bruce watches the nurse’s broad back and muscular ass every cell of his body aching for the disinterested alpha’s touch. 

When the nurse turns, Bruce goes cold.

The syringe gleams in the sunlight the stainless steel cylinder shining gold—

”’OOOOOOOO!” Bruce howls thrashing in his bonds. 

“Last stage of treatment, administering 20cc of alpha sperm...”

Standard procedure with alphaless omegas: processed, sterile sperm injected where it will do the most good.

Bruce can barely feel the long thin nozzle even thrashing around, sobbing with impotent rage, hating that the ache he’s been fighting subsides with a mere 20cc of alpha sperm.

The fight goes out of him, leaving Bruce grateful for the bonds holding him safe and secure as the nurse puts away the empty syringe.

If it wasn’t for the bonds, he’d be on the floor already, Presenting, because while is body his calming down, the Treatment does nothing for the need , part nature part nurture that demands he be filled to overflowing, stuffed to breaking point and maybe just a little bit beyond, the one need the Treatment doesn’t address, the part of his nature Bruce hates the most that cannot be eradicated and can barely be controlled.

“...procedures are finished for the day. Proceeding with restraint removal.” 

“‘Ock m...!!!” Bruce demands straining his jaw against the gag.

With the fever subsiding, he can smell the Alpha nurse, can smell the Alpha cock straining against the pristine white trousers like a taunt.

“That would be extremely unprofessional, Mr Wayne.” The nurse says packing up his equipment.

If Bruce had the strength, if he could get himself loose, he could bear the nurse to the floor take what he’s been denied—get himself blacklisted from the Treatment and possibly sent to an Omega Reeducation facility for his trouble.

“I am going to free you now, Mr Wayne. Please refrain from doing anything ill advised.” The nurse says closing his bag.

Bruce shudders and hums non-committedly. 

His legs are released first, checked for chafing and massaged.

The strap around his waist is removed, the tape cut from his numb hands allowing them to slide to his sides prickling annoyingly as blood flow resumes. Everything hurts, everything feels weak, he hasn’t felt this weak since his first week of training at the mountain after a full day of getting his ass handed to him.

The gag is the last to go.

His jaw doesn’t want to move for agonizing minutes. For an instant, Bruce worries he’s stuck, his jaw has locked and he’ll stay that way forever drooling and howling like a neanderthal.

When his mouth closes, it isn’t a relief, just one type of agony transmuting into another.

Wiping drool off his lips feels heavenly, even as his arm muscles scream and the movement. Bruce forces himself up and off the massage table almost toppling the thing on top of himself and startling the nurse who’d been busy with cleaning and packing away the gag.

“Mr Wayne! You shouldn’t be moving yet!” The nurse chides turning back to him, but Bruce doesn’t care he wants.

Getting to his hands and knees takes more effort than he expected, but he’s used to ignoring his body screaming at him. Moving one limb at a time he crawls towards the nurse who’s frozen in confusion next to his half packed bag.

Thick cotton of the nurse’s uniform is rough under his hands Bruce climbs onto his knees. Up close, the alpha’s scent is suffocating,it made him pant for air and bury his face in the nurse’s crotch. 

“Mr Wayne!” the nurse protest as Bruce mouths at his dick through the cloth.

Bruce ignores him, biting at the damp fabric trying to rip it with his teeth to get at the hot flesh underneath.

“Mr Wayne! Please! This isn’t—!” He doesn’t sound confident any longer. 

Bruce doesn’t care.

His hands roam up the muscular thighs feeling for the fly of the nurse’s trousers. Bruce knocks the nurse’s hands aside when he tries to stop him, scrapes his teeth over the ridge the nurse’s dick makes under the fabric. 

The buttons are no match for his fingers, one after the other they slip out of the loops holding them and Bruce can nuzzle the fabric aside, jerk it down to expose Y-fronts soaked through with the alpha’s pre-come. 

With the trousers out of the way, the air becomes even thicker, the alpha’s arousal floods the room no longer trapped by treated fabric. 

Bruce whines his need, low and desperate, the taste of cotton mixing with that of alpha on his tongue, the material thin enough he can feel the shape of the knot with his lips, the heat of it filling with blood, getting ready to lock and breed some fortunate omega.

“Bruce!” Clark cries tugging on Bruce’s hair.

Bruce ignores him too busy peeling away soggy material to get at his prize, stuff his mouth at least if his ass is to remain empty.

“Bruce! What’s gotten into you!” Is demanded over his head but Bruce doesn’t care. The first lick along the hard length makes him moan, slick dripping down his thighs. He is burning again, the alpha’s dick twitching against his lips as if it can sense a willing hole near. He pants against it working his way down to the fat, wet head—”Pearls! Bruce! Pearls!” 

The word freezes him, knocks Bruce out of the haze of lust and need. 

They feels like a slap, knocks him back onto his slippery ass.

“Wha—,” he frowns up at the alp—CLARK who looks disturbed .

Clark kneels next to him, taking Bruce’s face in his warm, gloveless hands, keeping him from looking away.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Did I do something—,” Clark demands as Bruce tries not to butt his head against the powerful, soft hands.

“You didn’t fuck me!” Bruce huffs. “You made me want it and didn’t fuck me!” Balling his hands into fists to keep from from grabbing for Clark and bearing him down to the floor.

“I, it looked like it would be too much, I didn’t agree to this to—to torture you! It didn’t look like you were enjoying yourself!” 

“I wasn’t supposed to enjoy myself!” Bruce growls.

Clark winces, pushing a lock of hair from Bruce’s forehead.

“Sorry, guess I’m not much of an actor,” he sighs, shuffling closer.Clark strokes Bruce’s hair, rubs Bruce’s shoulders until Bruce leans into him with a grumble.

His ass comes of the carpet with s squelch, Clark’s pheromones keeping him at a low simmer, still overproducing slick.

“You were—adequate,” Bruce mutters against Clark’s throat, licking the skin after in a fit of self-indulgence.

“That’s—I didn’t like, I don’t like seeing you that—,” Clark’s arms tighten around him and Bruce almost feels sorry for suggesting the whole thing.

“Out of control? That was the whole point,” Bruce points out, indulging again.

“Are you even fit to talk about this at the moment?” Clark wonders.

“Probably not,” Bruce says slipping a hand under Clark’s shirt. “You could fuck me instead?” He offers mainly to make Clark laugh.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Clark says, but he doesn’t stop Bruce from groping his way down to stroke his dick.

“Tell me ‘no’,” Bruce orders, scraping his teeth along Clark’s collar bone.

Clark bites back whatever he was about to say and grinning Bruce pushes him over onto his back, pushing Clark’s shirt up as he goes to rub his face over his chest and abs.

Clark returns the favour ripping the shirt and waistcoat leaving Bruce in just his socks, strapped to his legs with suspenders.

“Bruce—,” Clark moans taking hold of his hips as Bruce rises up to his knees and guides Clark’s dick to his ass.

He’s wet enough to take Clark to the root, groaning his pleasure as Clark’s knot catches on the rim of his ass hole promising to fill him up the way he needs to be filled. 

Clark’s hands tighten on his hips almost to the point of real pain, spurring Bruce into movement. It’s rare for Clark to leave bruises and Bruce cherises every last one of them. He raises himself up and drops again, rolls his hips until his body locks into a rhythm.

“Yesss,” Bruce groans, clawing at Clark’s chest as he takes his pleasure, reveling in the way Clark lies back and bares his throat.

With his legs hooked over Clarks, his whole attention taken up by Clark’s dick finally filling him up, Bruce doesn’t realize they are floating until his head knocks into the ceiling. 

Clark pins him there with a much too innocent smile, catching both Bruce’s hands in one of his.

“Now!” Bruce groans struggling against the restraining hand. “Please!” He adds hoarsely, dizzy with anticipation.

A scream rips from his throat as Clark snaps his hips and takes over the fucking, slamming Bruce into the ceiling again and again, groaning and calling Bruce’s name as he forces them toward release. 

Clark’s knot flares without warning, halfway into Bruce’s body, stretching him to the limit. For a second that stretches into evernity leaving Bruce breathless with pleasure, then it’s inside him, locking them together. Clark stills, panting as he spills himself into Bruce, leaves him hanging there on the cusp of release torn between the urge to curse at Clark until he does something about it, and reveling in the sense of accomplishment that instincts demand he feel at making His Alpha come, being worthy enough to be bred.

Clark’s hand closing around Bruce’s neglected dick is enough to set him off with a cry making a mess of Clark’s chest.

Bruce isn’t sure how they come down, he loses himself in pleasure of surrender. The next thing he knows, he’s on the couch with Clark curled around him, the bright red monstrosity of Clark’s cape draped over them both.