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Entangled, contented

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It had been a long four days. It hadn’t been an invasion, not quite, but the alien attack from the time-space rift had been insistent, inexorable, and the League had fought, unresting, while Batman and Cyborg had worked to close the space anomaly. When it was done, everyone had been exhausted. Barry’s pun about saving the world had been less polished than usual, and Arthur excused himself by insisting he had to go officiate a shark wedding. Don’t ask, he added before taking off for the closest watercourse. The skirmish had been in eastern Vermont, and Bruce itched to get back to Gotham. He’d been catching short fifteen-minute snatches of sleep, and he was feeling it now, a kind of tired that seeped into the bone. He sat in the Flying Fox, waiting for the others to finish talking. He should be out there. He was so tired.

‘You okay?’ Clark asked, peeking into the cockpit.

Bruce grunted.

‘Have they made up their minds yet?’

Clark cocked his head. Bruce was certain that he didn’t need to do that, but he appreciated that Clark at least pretended that he wasn’t able to eavesdrop on anyone at any time. 

‘Barry and Vic are going to Central City to do a marathon. The film kind, not the running. They won’t be coming back with us. It’ll be you and Diana.’

‘You’re not joining us?’ Bruce asked.

A smile tugged at Clark’s mouth and Bruce’s lips wanted to follow suit.

‘I’ll meet you there. I prefer to fly myself.’

Clark disappeared.

Diana and Bruce flew back together, the Fox delicate under Diana’s control. Bruce was grateful that she took the controls and while he didn’t sleep, he closed his eyes and listened to the comforting murmur of the engines and the melody of Diana’s soft exhales. Back in the cave, he pulled off the cowl and threw it on a desk. Diana approached and smoothed down the edge of his cape, smiling thoughtfully.

‘We did well.’ She said.

Bruce kissed her. She made a contented sound and drew closer, palms flat against his chest, the tips of their noses brushing before she answered the kiss, patient and familiar. Bruce was never sure how to touch Diana, how to show his adoration without doing it wrong, without letting her down. He stroked her hair and held her close, so aware that Diana wasn’t anywhere near as fragile as his mind tried to tell him. She indulged him, scratching a thumb over his jaw.

Then– a second set of hands on Bruce, warm fingertips brushing along his neck.

‘I was wondering where you were.’ Bruce told Clark, turning his head to angle for a kiss. 

Clark kissed Bruce’s mouth and his jawline, working over his cheek. Bruce tried to imagine what it must taste like for someone like Clark. Ash. Salt. Blood and grime. Underneath that, he would taste Bruce, his sweat and musk. You taste like twilight and black pepper, Clark had once said. Bruce knew it was meant as a compliment.

‘I’m here if you’ll have me.’ Clark kissed his ear.

‘If there’ll be any having,’ Bruce said as he felt Clark undo the clasps of his cape, ‘you’ll be having me.’


Bruce glanced back at Clark, who looked at him with bright bright eyes and an eager, hopeful smile. Diana laughed, crystal and honey. She leaned in for a kiss. She moved to curl her hands around their left shoulders and raised an eyebrow at Clark.

‘Excited, Kal?’

‘Don’t tease me,’ He protested even as he leaned into her kiss, hands still holding the cape. ‘I have every right to be excited.’

‘Mm, you do,’ Diana agreed, turning to kiss Bruce. She pulled away after two kisses, three. ‘Let us take care of you, Bruce.’

It was a routine at this point. After difficult missions, after nights and days of tragedy and toil, Diana and Clark would stay. It hadn’t involved sex, not to begin with. Soon, though, it had grown into an intimacy so comfortable that when Diana had reached for Clark and pulled him in for a kiss – slow and long and the most beautiful thing Bruce had ever seen – it hadn’t even been a surprise. Nor had the look in Diana’s eyes been unexpected. Clark, burning red, had stared at Bruce with an unspoken apology on his lips, his mouth infinitely kissable. It had all gone uphill from there.

Bruce didn’t even mind when Diana and Clark wanted to take care of him. It was a nice change of pace. It was an indulgence.

‘I’ll get the reports started. Be nice to Clark.’

‘Am I ever not?’

Diana’s peal of laughter and Clark’s amused and crooked grin told Bruce what they thought of that. Clark kissed Bruce again and started on the various clasps and straps that released the catches on the suit. Clark let each divested part fall to the ground and pressed his mouth to the exposed undersuit. The first piece clattered to the floor and Bruce cleared his throat. After that, Clark was more careful, laying each piece down, tracing extra kisses down Bruce’s body. He kneeled, working off the armour around his thighs, pressing close. What could Clark smell, there in the threads of his undersuit? Sweat and exhaustion and arousal. 

‘You’re filthy,’ Clark said, smiling up at Bruce with his cheek against Bruce’s thigh.

‘I’m a filthy old man,‘ Bruce agreed, carding his fingers through Clark’s curls. ‘You know that.’

Clark laughed. Yes. Yes, he did know that.

‘I’m going to clean you.’

A split-second, and Clark had moved them across the cave, an arm around Bruce’s waist to hold him steady. Clark kissed him, indulgent and slow, skimming his fingers down Bruce’s back as he unzipped the undersuit. Bruce shivered as the cold cave air hit his bare skin. He’d grown colder lately, a chill settling in his toes and joints. He slept best when Clark was wrapped around him, his warmth seeping into Bruce’s very essence. Clark was gone and back, the shower in the cave sputtering to life, water splashing on the marble. He peeled Bruce out of the suit, stopping to kiss each revealed bruise.

When Bruce was naked, Clark grazed his fingers down Bruce’s arms, scraping over the ticklish spots in the crease of his elbows, thumbing over the old scars down his forearms. Clark took Bruce’s hands and led him into the shower. The water was hot, scalding against Bruce’s cold skin before he got used to it, before the heat felt more like comfort than punishment.

Clark began by rubbing his hands down Bruce’s back, pulling them close. Bruce pressed his nose into the soft of Clark’s throat. He inhaled the scent of him, like early summer and that gentle spice that was uniquely Clark, intriguing and intoxicating. Clark reached for the shampoo and massaged it through Bruce’s hair, kissing his way up Bruce’s jawline. His lips were soft against the scruff of Bruce’s stubble. He gasped into Clark’s mouth. Clark lathered Bruce’s back, dipping down over the curve of his ass, lingering.

‘Upstairs,’ Bruce murmured, drunk on the sensation of Clark, pressed up against him.

Clark was half-hard against Bruce’s hip and whimpered when he rolled their hips together. A flash of movement, and Clark had spun Bruce around, pressing his chest against Bruce’s back, cock between his cheeks. Clark had his hands on Bruce, one splayed over his chest, the other hard against his hip.

‘Excited?‘ Bruce asked and pressed himself against Clark, wrapping a hand around Clark’s shoulder for leverage. 

Clark purred with pleasure and the hand on Bruce’s hip brushed over his cock, soft fingertips ghosting up his length, pressing his palm against his balls, his index finger ghosting over his perineum. Bruce had never bothered trying to hide his reactions to Clark’s touch, but he still felt raw–exposed–embarrassed that he was gasping at just this touch. Still. On nights like these, he liked to feel Clark’s hands roam over his body, touching and claiming for himself, for Diana. On nights like this, Bruce enjoyed indulging in Clark taking his time with him. Clark saw him. Clark knew him. 

‘You don’t seem unexcited,’ Clark breathed the words against Bruce’s skin. They were just as warm as the shower water dripping down their faces.

‘Upstairs,’ Bruce repeated and twisted his head to kiss Clark. He was contradicting himself, he knew, telling Clark to stop even as he was begging him for more with his body.

Clark chuckled and pulled away, reaching for the conditioner. He worked it through Bruce’s hair, his toes a couple of inches off the ground for the right angle. The jets sprayed over his tired muscles and Clark’s strong fingers massaged his scalp. He leaned into the warmth, the wetness. Clark tilted Bruce’s head under the spray and he felt the water rinse away the conditioner, hair clinging to his scalp. Clark ran his fingers through Bruce’s curls, defying gravity to plant kisses along the silver in his temple and fringe. Clark stepped back and washed Bruce’s body, spreading lather up his chest and massaging it over his skin. He brushed over his nipples with a fingernail and grinned into Bruce’s open-mouthed gasp.

When Clark dropped onto his knees and began to work the soap up Bruce’s legs, Bruce bit his tongue in the hope of keeping his breathing still. Clark looked up at him, unbothered by the water in his eyes. He smiled. The smile grew dirty when he rubbed his hands up Bruce’s thighs, Bruce’s erection bobbing to attention. Clark considered it for a moment, his tongue between his lips, before he decided to trail unhurried kisses over Bruce’s stomach instead, dragging his tongue over muscle and scars, exhaling a laugh when Bruce’s cock twitched against his jaw. In a move that was as amusing as it was arousing, Clark nuzzled his cheek against Bruce’s length, and Bruce had to hold himself back so as not to push at Clark’s forehead, not to guide those heavenly lips to his tip. 

‘You’re slow,’ Diana said. Bruce hadn’t heard her approach and by the sudden jerk of Clark’s face against Bruce’s stomach, neither had he.

‘I’m waiting for you,’ Clark replied, back on his feet, wrapping his arms around Bruce’s waist, pivoting in the air so he could rest his head against Bruce’s shoulder and look at Diana. ‘I got Bruce clean.’

You still need to get clean.’

‘Did you finish the paperwork?’


Diana’s voice was chiding, low and tender. Bruce felt Clark tense against him when Diana stripped, but he knew he reacted just the same. Diana moved like no one he had ever seen, unembarrassed by her nakedness and comfortable in a way that was proud without being arrogant. Bruce would never look his fill of her: the dip of her waist and the curve of her breasts and the soft skin of her stomach. He’d spent hours mapping her body with his mouth and hands and it wasn’t enough. It was hard for him to reconcile the curves and softness of her body with her invincibility, her power. He had fucked other girls who looked like her – though not as beautiful, and never as desirable – and none of them had been anything like her. Except for Clark, perhaps, there was no one like Diana. Bruce was intensely scared of letting her down.

She stepped into the shower. The water fell in fat droplets onto her hair. Each drop slowly soaked into her hair, little by little flattening it against her scalp. Even so she was breathtaking, confident and strong and kind.

‘Kal’s been pampering you.’ Diana kissed the words along his collarbone.

‘I thought that was the point?’ 

Bruce ran his forefinger along her jawline, lifting her chin for a kiss. Clark pressed his lips against Bruce’s neck. If Bruce died right now, it would have been a life well-lived.

‘It is, Bruce. But I’ve got four days’ worth of grime and alien guts in my hair, and you haven’t built a bigger shower yet.’ She rubbed her nose against Bruce’s. ‘And, no, I haven’t finished all the paperwork. You’ll have some fun left tomorrow, don’t worry. I saved the soil analysis for you.’

‘Mm, lucky me.’

Two pairs of hands roamed up Bruce’s body, exploring, touching, feeling. Clark’s hands moved gently over Bruce’s skin, skimming over the bruises, careful not to press into aching muscles. Diana wasn’t scared to brush over Bruce’s bruises, each touch eliciting pleasant sparks of pain, curling from his toes, travelling up his spine. Clark didn’t understand Bruce’s enjoyment of pain. Diana did.

‘Do you want me to wash your hair?’ Clark rested his chin on Bruce’s shoulder and Diana kissed him, her hair plastering to Bruce’s cheek.

‘Yes, please.’

Clark’s grip around Bruce’s waist tightened and Bruce found himself on the bench outside the shower, wrapped in a black fluffy robe, a towel around his shoulders. Clark, droplets falling from his hair and skin, leaned over him and kissed him twice.

‘You good here?’ Clark’s cunning thumbs dipped below the hem of the robe before smoothing it out again, kissing Bruce slowly, indulgently.

‘I’m good. Go. Take care of Diana.’

Diana welcomed Clark back to the shower with a kiss, then another. They kissed with unhurried ease, Clark’s fingers travelling down her body with confidence, tracing the shape of her with his fingertips. Diana laughed when he squeezed her breasts. She gasped when he reached between her legs. She had an arm around Clark’s neck and rested her forehead against Clark’s collarbone, looking at Bruce with a pleased, quiet expression. The offer of hair washing seemed forgotten as Clark lifted Diana’s leg to reach deeper. Diana’s eyelids drooped. Clark pushed two fingers inside her and mouthed at her throat. Diana shivered and smiled at Bruce. They were both soaked to the skin. Bruce would never grow tired of watching them.

Clark dropped to his knees and nosed the insides of her thighs, dragging his teeth along her soft skin, soothing his tongue over the same path. Diana hooked a knee over Clark’s shoulder to give him better access and nestled her fingers in Clark’s hair, pulling him closer. Bruce could smell Diana through the pitter-patter of the shower, the scent of her arousal softened by the running water. Clark had his hands spread on her thighs, his nose buried in her curls. His eyes were closed and the water caught in his eyebrows, pouring down in rivulets down his face. Diana, floating a couple of inches off the ground, had a hand on the shower wall, her hair soaked and her eyes trained on Bruce.

Bruce dried his hair and savoured the scene in front of him. When it had started, the beautiful mess of their trinity, jealousy had gnawed in Bruce’s mind at seeing Diana smile for Clark, seeing Clark move for Diana. It had taken time for him to learn that it wasn’t a fight to win. It was a give and take. And, god, they were both such gifts.

It was a strangely domestic scene, the alien kneeling for a half-goddess in Bruce’s shower, her orgasm cascading in half-swallowed sighs, her hair sticking to the shower wall. Bruce kept his hands on the towel, rubbing his temples dry. He wanted Diana’s hands on him, Clark’s hands on him.

Diana lifted her leg and let Clark go, kissing him when he stood. Bruce knew what Clark tasted like. He wanted to taste him.


In a flash, Clark was there, peppering open-mouthed kisses over Bruce’s lips, tasting like Diana. Nothing was indescribable, but Bruce didn’t have the words to describe how Diana tasted on Clark’s tongue, sweet and savoury and sharp and soft.

‘I still need to wash my hair.’ Clark apologised, pulling away.

‘Not to mention you’re getting the bath mat wet.’ Diana’s hair was heavy with white lather, fingers working it through her curls. Her skin glowed. She grinned teasingly at Clark. ‘Better hope it dries before Alfred notices.’

‘Maybe you can defend me.’ Clark suggested, stepping back under the jets and pouring shampoo into his palm, rubbing it into a lather.

‘Maybe.’ Diana laughed.

Bruce rested his head against the wall and watched Diana and Clark play at squabbling, giggling under the hot water. Bruce was still aching from the fights and the days without rest, but sitting there, wrapped in a downy robe and damp hair sticking to the tips of his ears, he was utterly content. Once Clark had checked Diana’s hair for any remaining conditioner and after Diana had run her fingertips down Clark’s back, Clark turned the shower off. They towelled themselves off and Clark pulled out clothes for them in one of the myriad places where Alfred left clothes for Bruce. Clark pulled on the joggers. They were a little too big, and Clark’s hip bones peeked out over the waistband. Diana wore one of Bruce’s worn black t-shirt, barely long enough to keep her decent. She ran her hands through her hair and Bruce admired the curve of her ass, the dimples in her back. She glanced back at Bruce, raising a knowing eyebrow, and slung a smaller towel over her shoulder.

‘Do I need to carry you upstairs?’ Clark asked, levitating a few inches above the wet marble.

Clark Kent in joggers was a crime. Bruce finished staring – as if he could do – and licked his lips.

‘I can walk. I’m exhausted, not injured.’

Diana offered Bruce a hand and they walked to the elevator, forefingers hooked. Clark hovered in front of them, floating backwards to keep up the conversation.

‘You’re a little injured, you know.’

Bruce did know. He felt his muscles protest. His elbow complained every time he moved his arm too fast.

‘I’m not that injured.’

They made their way upstairs. Diana led the way to the bedroom and perched on the bed. She raised an eyebrow at Clark.

Clark faced Bruce and pulled him in for a kiss. Close-mouthed, dry, and warm. Clark’s fingers skirted along the lapels of Bruce’s robe, tugging it open with careful, slow movements. Clark was in no hurry, skimming his hands all over Bruce’s face, hair, neck and chest, pulling the robe open and pushing it over Bruce’s shoulders. Naked, Bruce felt the sudden chill and he clung to Clark’s heat, more warming than the summer sun. Clark lifted him up. Bruce let him. Clark spread Bruce on the bed and he tugged off his pants.

He kneeled between Bruce’s legs and spread them with warm, soft palms.

‘Want to join me, princess?’ Clark asked, glancing up at her.

‘I need to braid my hair first.’ Diana lounged on the left side of the bed, shirt discarded but working the towel through her hair. ‘Bruce, do you know where Alfred put my hair ties?’

‘Dish on the bedside table.’

Diana leaned over Bruce, giggling when Bruce kissed her side, and grabbed a couple of hair ties before opening the bedside drawer and pulling out a bottle of lube and a couple of wrappers, tossing them in Clark’s direction. Clark caught them and grinned down at Bruce.

‘Are you going to let us be good to you, Bruce?’ Diana asked, leaning on her elbow, looking down at Bruce. Her wet hair tickled his nose. ‘Let us take care of you?’


Bruce heard how he sounded – breathless, needy. If he had been with anyone else, he would have been embarrassed for being willing to give in to them. But Diana and Clark, the two of them were so unapologetic for their desires, so open in their wants. Bruce wanted to be like them. He wanted to make them proud. He wanted to be worthy of them. So he let himself be seen, be known. Clark and Diana shared a look. Diana smiled down at Bruce again, catching his lips for a kiss before sitting back down on the other side of the bed. Clark, hands planted on Bruce’s hips, trailing kisses down his mouth, his neck, his shoulders.

‘Hands over your head.’ Diana said and Bruce folded his left wrist over his right above his head. Diana stroked the inside of his wrists with her thumb. It felt like praise. ‘Good. Relax. Don’t hurry Kal. Let him take his time.’

Diana ran her fingers through her hair. Clark moved his hands.

Clark’s touch always carried with it an ember of danger. So long ago, the idea of it had frightened Bruce. He had had nightmares about that touch, those fingers touching him. Now, it was all he could do not to push into the touch, to race Clark so he did more, sooner. Clark was endlessly patient, spreading Bruce’s legs and just looking at first, as if committing every detail to memory. Finally, Clark leaned down and ran his tongue down Bruce’s thighs, pulling back before he touched Bruce’s cock, before the wet of his tongue grazed over his testicles. Clark repeated the motion with the same denial on Bruce’s other thigh.

Bruce had his finger and thumb around his wrist, to remind himself to stay still. He did not jerk his hips.

‘You’re going to be the death of me.’

Clark’s eyes were coy and self-satisfied, glittering with affection. Diana laughed.

‘Our latest mission disproves that.’ Clark relented, kissing the jut of Bruce’s hips before rubbing his jawline against his cock. ‘How many times did I save your life this last week?’

The answer was four.

Bruce knew that the answer was four, but when Clark looked at him like that, bright blue eyes and his pomegranate mouth against his tip and – and when Clark pouted, revealing the wet of his lower lip and dragging the saliva over the ridge of his cock–


Diana guessed, looking at them with an amused grin. She had finished her first braid and combed her fingers through her hair, arms above her head. Her breasts moved with each movement of her arms. Her nipples were hard and dusky. Bruce wanted to touch her, to brush his tongue over all her tenderest spots until she whimpered. He wanted to watch Clark fuck her, slow and gentle, then kneel between her legs until she forgot herself enough to defy gravity. Sometimes, Bruce was afraid he wanted too much.

‘Four,’ Bruce corrected.

Clark closed his mouth around the tip and Bruce almost jumped in surprise. Clark lathed his head with his tongue, as if mapping every millimetre. Bruce wondered if Clark meant this as a reward for getting the answer right, or if Clark had intended to do this either way. Knowing Clark, and knowing how well Clark knew Bruce, Bruce assumed it was a bit of both. Clark didn’t swallow him deeper, leisurely lapping his tongue over the slit, mouthing kisses over him. Bruce wanted to fist those still-damp curls and pull Clark down, feed him his cock until he could feel the back of his throat, until his perfect unbroken nose nuzzled his stomach. He tightened his grip around his own wrist and stayed still.

‘Four.’ Clark agreed.

Grinning at Bruce, Clark sat up. He picked up one of the wrappers and the bottle of lube. He ripped the plastic open, rolling the condom onto three fingers. He slicked his fingers up quickly, lube dripping onto the sheets. Bruce knew he wouldn’t, but he hoped Clark would hurry, start with two fingers, not worry so much about taking it slow, being gentle. As if wanting to prove Bruce right with abandon, Clark brushed his covered middle finger against Bruce’s hole, pulling away before being more than a fluttering touch. Clark kissed Bruce’s stomach, tracing around the bruises and cuts, careful not to push against any sore spots. He moved up Bruce’s chest, flicking his tongue over his nipples, then nuzzling his brow against his neck. As his mouth moved, his finger teased, pressing close but not enough.

Clark kissed Bruce, nibbling at Bruce’s lower lip, planting kisses all over his face. His free hand found Bruce’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, and he caged Bruce’s hands against his palm. Watching Bruce’s face with wide-eyed wonder, Clark pushed inside. One finger, barely anything. Clark moved slowly, pushing in and pulling back out, easing his way. It was barely anything, but Bruce shivered. He was pinned to the bed and Clark was taking care of him, taking him. When Clark brushed over his prostate, Bruce couldn’t buck into the touch, not with Clark’s knees pinning his legs, not with Clark’s hand pinning his hands, but Bruce could exhale, whimper.


Bruce was begging. They hadn’t even gotten started.

Clark fucked him with the one finger, each stroke a little smoother. Bruce waited for the second finger, for the same slow torture to continue another two or three times.

‘Di, could you give me some more lube?’

Bruce glanced over at Diana, who grinned at Clark’s request and reached for the bottle. Clark had his face buried in the crook of Bruce’s neck, bruising kisses into his throat. Bruce watched Diana pour lube onto her fingers and she let it drip down over Clark’s fingers. He pulled out to catch it, and Bruce squeezed against nothing. Then, Clark pressed inside again, three fingers, not one, and Bruce gasped at the sudden fullness, the beautiful stretch, the fingers flexing, spreading, opening him up.

Diana wrapped her slicked fingers around Bruce’s length and she set up a lazily rhythm, lazier than Clark’s, but just as tempting, just as punishing, just as perfect. Diana kissed Bruce’s temple, and she must have tasted the beads of sweat Bruce felt along his hairline, their rhythms setting his nerves on fire. Then she kissed Clark. With her free hand, she angled his head so that Bruce could watch them, so Bruce could see the way Clark licked along her lower lip, chasing the taste of Bruce. She moved her hand, darting down to run her fingers over Clark’s length, rushing up to touch her breasts, delving between her legs, the pace at which she touched herself affecting the pace she touched Bruce, faster and harder and good, so good and Bruce needed her to stop now.

‘Diana, stop.’

Bruce felt Diana jerk her hand away and the foggy need to come receded slightly. Clark let go of his wrists and that, too, helped Bruce get his bearings. Clark still had his fingers buried inside him, spreading him open, but he held them still, as if he was worried to move.

‘Are you okay?’

Diana brushed a hand through Bruce’s hair. Bruce could smell her on her fingers and he opened his mouth. She offered her fingers and he licked her clean, tasting her slick, feeling it coat his tongue and maybe if he asked, she would straddle him, she would let him get drunk on her. But, no, tonight was not for him to ask. Tonight he didn’t need to decide.

‘Good,’ he said between her fingers, not even minding how his consonants melted against her skin.

‘Do you want some water?’ She kissed him, his mouth and forehead and the tip of his nose.

‘I’m good.’ Bruce caught her hand and kissed her palm. He looked at Clark, who sat on his feet and curled and uncurled his fingers inside Bruce. He knew he sounded wrecked already, fucked-out and dazed. He knew what drove Clark wild. He addressed Clark, eyes heavy. ‘But I want you to fuck me. Now.’

Laughter rattled in Clark’s chest, short and breathless. He licked his lips and removed his fingers. He tossed aside the condom. He glanced around and found another wrapper, but Diana caught it and opened it, unrolling the condom over Clark’s cock. Bruce watched her fingers: how lithe and thin they looked around Clark’s length; the lazy way she daubed her palm with lube and stroked Clark, coating him with a slick sheen. Bruce felt a cold press against him, and his body remembered how empty he had felt, how good Clark’s fingers had been inside him, and Clark let him push his hips just slightly, forcing Clark that first inch inside. Bruce felt hot and cold and a part of him wanted to shy away from the feeling that he was being pried open, even as he wanted more, wanted Clark deeper. Clark kissed him and rolled his hips. Bruce groaned into the kiss, his fingers feeling clammy against Clark’s perfect jawline.

‘You’re good?’ Clark asked.

‘Ye– yes.’ Bruce shifted his leg and Clark moved his grip to spread him wider. ‘You should kiss Diana.’ 

Bruce let his head fall back and he watched Diana lean in to kiss Clark and rest her face on his chest. She watched Clark drive deeper inside Bruce with her lip between her teeth, sharing a small grin with Bruce. She kissed Clark again and reached back to find Bruce’s hand, squeezing his fingers. Bruce lay there, sweat rolling down his spine, Clark fucking him with slow steady strokes, just a little deeper every time. After every stroke, Bruce thought that must be it, that must be as deep as Clark could fuck him, and at each new one Bruce was proven wrong. Bruce didn’t know how long it took for Clark to bottom out, time seemed to lose its meaning when Bruce was alone with Diana and Clark, but when he did, Clark pulled away from Diana and looked at Bruce. Clark’s eyes were dark, storm clouds hiding thunder, but he smiled, a benevolent god.

Bruce closed his eyes, losing himself in Clark’s thrusts, holding onto Diana’s fingers. He heard Diana’s lips brush against Clark’s.

‘Do you want me to stay out of it tonight?’

Diana stroked her fingers through his hair. He opened his eyes and looked at her. She smiled at him, soft and perfect. 

‘You were going to take care of me. Don’t you remember?’ Bruce tried his most lecherous grin, but Diana just laughed.

‘I do. Kal, stay still.’

Clark stopped. Bruce rolled his hips to catch the thrill again, but Clark gripped him and held him still.

‘Bruce. You don’t have to do anything. Just be patient. Give Diana a minute.’

‘A minute? I don’t need a minute.’ 

Diana kissed Bruce and tore the condom wrapper, rolling it on. Bruce watched her, thinking about what it had looked like when she had done the same thing for Clark. Then he didn’t think at all. Diana straddled him and put a hand on his chest. She lowered herself onto him, wet and perfect. Clark kissed Diana’s neck and looked at Bruce over her shoulder.

‘God, you’re beautiful.’ Clark said, looking at Bruce with open-mouthed admiration, his hands trailing down Diana’s waist. ‘Put your hands on Diana’s thighs.’

‘Yes.’ Diana agreed, twisting her head to kiss Clark before taking Bruce’s hands and putting them on her thighs, placing her own on top of them.

Clark’s hands joined theirs. They moved.

It was a symphony, the way their bodies moved together. Rhythms overlapping, not matching, Clark pushing inside while Diana lifted herself on her knees, each stroke a blinding light behind Bruce’s eyelids. Diana moved her hands to either side of Bruce’s and she pressed herself against him, her perfect body against his imperfect form, Clark’s fingers intertwining with Bruce’s on Diana’s hips. She kissed him, loving in a way that wasn’t foreign to Bruce anymore. She braced herself on her elbow and played with his hair, touched his face and looked him in the eyes as she let Clark set the rhythm for all of them, his fingers lifting her and setting her down. Slow and fast and everything at once, they filled Bruce’s senses until all he could feel was their skin against his skin, their warmth and the love in how they touched him, like they were his home. Diana laughed, low and languid, her eyes hazy, her face slack in a smile. Her laugh turned into hurried gasps when Clark shifted and pressed his chest against Diana’s back, wrapped an arm around her and spread his fingers. The new angle was deeper, more , and Bruce felt his climax building in his body as he watched Clark’s fingers on Diana. The three of them, entangled. The three of them, inevitable.

Bruce came with Diana’s bright eyes watching him, with Clark’s warm hands holding him. His mind shattered to moments: Diana kissing him deeper and rolling her hips, chasing him further; stars and galaxies exploding bright in his mind; Clark stuttering and pressing his brow against Diana, exhaling cold breaths of oh oh oh; and sudden, beautiful, peaceful stillness. Diana moved first, planting a kiss on Bruce’s damp-growing-cold forehead, rolling off him and curling at his side. Clark pulled out, almost more carefully than when he had gotten started, and Bruce dug his toes in Clark’s calf to get him to hurry up. Clark disappeared and reappeared, disposing of the used condoms, clearing the wrappers off the bed, and putting the lube back in its drawer. He got back in the bed and wrapped his arms around Bruce, pulling Diana to them. Clark’s arm fit well against Bruce’s waist, his hand stroking Diana’s back. She had one eye open, peeking at them both with a wry, serene look. Clark kissed Bruce’s ear, moving to run fingers down Bruce’s side.

‘I need to get up and get ready for bed,’ Bruce said, though he had no desire to leave the bed. He needed to brush his teeth. He needed to wash his face. He shuffled a little, pressing closer to Clark. ‘And you need to change the sheets.’

‘I’ll change the sheets when you tell me to change the sheets,’ Clark promised.

‘And if I tell you to change them now?’

‘Well, he can’t change them now,’ Diana reasoned, tapping her finger on Bruce’s nose, chasing it with a kiss. ‘We’re using them. We’re taking care of you.’

‘Mmm, I suppose that’s true.’

Clark mewled in protest when Bruce finally summoned the energy to climb out of bed. Bruce went through his bedtime routine and looked at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. He would need to shave tomorrow. Coming back to the bedroom, Clark was closing the closet where Bruce kept his laundry hamper. He turned to say something to Bruce when his face changed. He frowned and his mouth fell open. He was listening.

‘I’ll be right back,’ he said and disappeared.

Diana lounged on the bed and pulled Bruce to her, scratching her nails down his back. Bruce rested his face on her arm, savouring her fingers on his skin. Bruce scraped his thumb down Diana’s spine and she smiled against his cheek. Bruce didn’t ask if Diana was staying the night. They both knew. And they both knew that any second, Clark would––

‘Sorry. A forest elephant fell into a ravine.’

Clark slipped between the sheets, his bare chest warm against Bruce’s back. Bruce felt Diana drift her hand from his back to reach for Clark, pulling the three of them together. Clark’s forearm rested against Bruce’s hip, Clark’s palm sprawled over Diana’s thigh.

‘A forest elephant,’ Diana repeated, amused. She briefly pulled away from Bruce – the absence awful, cold – and turned the light off. ‘Thank you for saving the elephant.’

Clark laughed lightly. His breath ghosted over Bruce’s neck.

‘Of course I did.’

Diana smiled against Bruce’s forehead. Clark smiled against Bruce’s back. Bruce drifted off, their heavenly fingers tracing patterns over his skin. They slept entangled, contented and warm.