Bruce is having a quiet stretch in Gotham. It's pretty calm, the kids are doing their own thing, and maybe that's why Bruce invites him over to solve this case together that's giving him a headache. Clark isn't exactly sure if he's here as Superman, but Bruce doesn't bat an eye when he shows up to the Manor in civvies, just hurrying him along to the cave.
"So what's with this case that you need my help?" Clark asks, half teasing. Bruce scowls.
"I don't need help," he says. "Just a fresh pair of eyes."
"Sure," Clark says, amused. Bruce hands him a relatively thin case file full of information neatly condensed in a few pages.
"It seems pretty..." Clark frowns. It's not a very complicated murder. The lack of evidence is odd, sure, but Bruce was known for solving the unsolvable in his early days as Batman. "This seems right up your alley. Why are you having problems?"
Bruce sighs. "Maybe I'm in a slump. Maybe I'm getting old." Another noise of frustration. "I wish I could just-"
Bruce cuts off and pinks in the face, throwing Clark a sharp, almost worried look.
"Could just what?" he asks Bruce, who reddens further and shakes his head. "Come on, Bruce. We've known each other for years. You want to solve this thing, don't you?"
"Well, I got into these- Cat and I used to- I mean. It helped me think and she didn't mind, but I've never- since. Things just hit me when we used to, um. And I used to sort of talk it through, just think out loud, and I."
He stops again, but his manner has already surprised Clark. He's never seen Bruce stutter over anything, much less stutter and blush over anything.
"You and Selina used to- what?" he asks dumbly. Bruce just looks frustrated now, glaring at Clark, flushed to the tip of his ears.
"We used to fuck. While I brainstormed. It helped me think," he says shortly. And oh. Oh.
"Oh," Clark says out loud. Eloquent. "I can- I can totally see how that could work for someone."
"Right," Bruce says. "I just haven't dealt with a real mystery in a long time. And Cat and I aren't like that anymore, so."
"Yeah," Clark says, barely processing it. "Totally."
He doesn't realize until ten minutes of awkward silence have passed, and Bruce has returned to the Batcomputer, that maybe it was a proposition. Who else knew about both Bruce and Batman, and was conveniently around for this. Was conveniently gay and available. He clears his throat.
"I don't mean to sound forward..."
Bruce turns and Clark feels a blush in his own face.
"If it helps you, we could. You know."
Bruce looks at him. "You know I was talking about sex, right?" he asks, like Clark's some sort of blushing virgin and Bruce wasn't the one stumbling over his words like a baby giraffe.
"Yes, Bruce," he says, glaring. "I'm offering to have sex with you to get your weird brain onto this case. It's just sex, right? Gosh, what sort of detective are you? Have to spell it all out- oh." Bruce has moved forward and pulled Clark in by the waist, like he's an action movie heroine. It's a little bit annoying and a little bit hot but his dick doesn't care about the annoying bit and is fully invested in the proceedings.
"Say no any time you want and we stop," he says, eyes fluttering over Clark's face. His eyes, his nose, his lips. "Okay?"
"Yes," Clark manages not to squeak. "Same, you too."
Bruce snorts and smiles then, and is kissing Clark before he can react. Bruce's lips are soft and taste like pink chapstick. It would usually be distracting, but then Bruce's tongue darts out to swipe at his lip and when Clark opens he pushes it in, heavy, wet, demanding.
"So Cat's friend," he says, between making out, "Not really friend, just someone she sold jewellery to. She finishes hosting her own dinner- cuts it short, goes upstairs, changes into her nightclothes. Goes to the bed and she's dead." Bruce kisses down his neck.
"Sure is," Clark gasps.
"And it's not a suicide." Bruce works on his buttons, knuckles grazing his undershirt. "Her arms, the placement of the wound... it's a murder. Her husband is below, entertaining the guests. Solid alibi."
"You don't think he had something to do with- shit-" Bruce shoves a hand up his undershirt and thumbs his nipples. Both of them. He's rock fucking hard in his pants.
"Just thinking out loud," Bruce reminds. "Wife is wealthier than him, no kids, his own business is dwindling."
"Did he love her?" Clark asks. Bruce leans back a little, pausing his exploration of Clark's front.
"Yeah," Bruce breathes. "Written all over him. Been seeing them at society functions for years. Eyes never off each other."
"Okay," Clark says, to let him continue his thoughts and trying not to bring attention to how hard he's trying not to grind his hips into Bruce's. He wonders if Bruce can tell.
"There's no shot heard, because a server drops the desert- very expensive cake. It's on a glass cake stand. Shatters all over the place. Gunshot happens at the same time. Too convenient to be a coincidence." Bruce is cupping Clark's dick through his jeans with a hand now and it's too much and too little. He works on the belt and button with the other, jerking the jeans down as soon as it's loose. "God, your ass..."
"Thanks," Clark tries for dry but it just sounds strangled. Bruce ignores it and palms his ass, pulling them flush together in the process. Bruce's cock is hard in his sweatpants and he's wearing no underwear. Only two layers between them, but to Clark they might as well be naked with the way he's feeling everything in surround sound right now.
"So for now I need to track down this server," Bruce says, mouthing at Clark's neck and massaging his ass. It's all almost too much. "And I need to figure out who at this party hated her enough to hire a hitman on her."
Clark really wishes he could do more than grasp at Bruce's back the first time they had sex, but before he can get his brain straight enough to form a coherent thought, Bruce pulls down both his sweatpants and Clark's underwear and gets a hand on them both. His grip is a little tight, but his hands are big and both their dicks are leaking enough for it to not be dry. He gets them off quickly and efficiently, Clark fucking up into his fist and against his cock in aid. He comes first and Bruce catches it all in his hand.
"Fuck," he curses as Clark slumps a little. He's still jerking himself off, grip now slick with Clark's come, and if he were younger he'd be immediately hard just from that. For now, he just settles for lazily kissing Bruce's neck and holding him when he grunts and his muscles tighten and he comes between them.
They pause like that against each other, catching their breath. It's just starting to feel icky when Bruce pushes off and looks at his hand with a pinched expression.
"I'm gonna wash up," is all he says before tucking his limp dick back into his sweatpants. Clark pulls his own pants up and waits awkwardly for Bruce to get back. He wonders if they're going to talk about this, if Bruce will kiss him, or smile at him, or play it off as a joke- and then Bruce walks in wearing a different pair of pants and clean hands and tosses him a bottle of water.
"Thanks," is all he says before going back to the computer and pulling up what looks like the list of attendees at this party.
"Alright, I'll just... leave..." All Clark feels is extremely sleepy, the way he always does after a good orgasm. If he were in bed, he'd be asleep by now. Bruce only makes an acknowledging sound in return, and Clark only feels slightly ashamed as he crawls into bed that night.
Bruce invites Clark for dinner with the kids after he solves the case. The entire family is there, and the house is full of noise and Jason easily forfeits his seat at Bruce's left to Clark despite his protests.
"He nearly tore off my skin for sitting there the other day," Tim huffs. "And all it takes for Uncle Clark is one sentence."
"See that's because we all like Uncle Clark," Jason says sweetly.
"Boys," Bruce says sternly. "No fighting at the table. Cass, only butter knives at the table. Stephanie, Duke, put away the phones."
"I have been perfect today," Dick puts in. "Which entitles me to the leftover poutine."
"Uh, so you're ignoring how Jason and I put dibs on it as soon as Alfred brought it up?" Duke says. "It's really only a two people portion, so better luck next time dude."
"It can go three ways," Dick protests. "Bruce, tell them."
Bruce throws Clark a long-suffering look, annoyed but fond, and Clark smiles back and tries not to think of how he'd like to receive that look way more often, just something they share while having celebratory dinner with a houseful of kids.
Alfred brings in a huge platter of stuffed chicken and Bruce orders the kids to help him lay out dinner, which is a competition of who does chores best in a bid for the poutine.
"You've outdone yourself, Alfred," Clark says after the first bite, because Alfred's cooking is exceptional as always. "Thanks for inviting me." Alfred smiles warmly.
"Of course, Master Clark. It's thanks to you that Master Bruce solved the case so quickly," he says. Clark can feel a blush creeping up his neck, remembering how he 'helped' Bruce. Bruce has excellent poker face of course, and his heartbeat stays the same steady beat.
"Yeah," Dick snorts. "You help with recon or something? Bruce said his main theory was thanks to you, which is practically singing praises in Bruce."
"I- just-" Clark stutters, but Bruce saves him from making a fool of himself.
"What are you flattering him for?" he asks in a warm, amused tone that Clark has only heard him use rarely, and always with the kids. "You're too big to ride on Clark's shoulders now."
The entire table laughs at that, and Bruce smiles bigger than before. Dick holds his hands up.
"Big words, Bruce," he says loudly, over all the teasing. "Through grit and will, anything can be achieved. I'll bet twenty bucks I can ride Clark's shoulders right now."
"Please do, it'll be my post-dinner show," Jason says, grinning. "I'll even offer you a bite of my poutine if you don't fall off."
"It's not your poutine, asshole."
The rest of dinner is just as noisy, the kids laying out terms of the bet and Alfred cutting off ideas before they get too wild. Clark smiles and laughs and tells them he's game for anything as long as everyone's safety is assured, and finds Bruce watching him more than once with something close to the warmth he only shows when he's around his family.
Clark feels his heartbeat tick up and thanks the universe that Bruce can't listen.
It becomes a regular thing after that. Clark had spent two weeks wondering if it was a one-off thing, and if he'd permanently put a rift between their decade long friendship, but Bruce hadn't acted like anything was off. Then one day when Clark goes to the cave to discuss a Justice League report with Bruce, he catches him mid case, trying to wither the evidence with his trademark Batman scowl. Clark offers to wait but Bruce brushes it off, taking a bold step into Clark's personal space and putting a hand on Clark's waist. The question is written all over his face.
There isn't a question. As if Clark could refuse whatever Bruce has to offer.
They make out for a while before Bruce pulls off, licking his lips.
"Not that I'm not enjoying this immensely," he breathes, pushing his boner into Clark's thigh with intent, "but I really need to talk this case out."
Clark smiles and pushes him into his chair and sinks to his knees. Bruce looks dazed with it, and a little out of it, which he supposes is the opposite of what they need here.
"You need your mouth, I don't need mine," Clark says simply and kisses Bruce's tented crotch. Bruce bites out a curse and tightens his hands on the armrest and starts talking about the case: suspects, possible motives, details that didn't add up, and most importantly, things he was missing. Different leads springing to his mind as he theorizes out loud.
"That's brilliant," Clark says, pulling off with a pop after he has pretty much mapped out Bruce's cock with his tongue and his thighs with his hands. "You can come in my mouth if you like." Bruce groans at that and comes all over the Batsuit and Clark smiles sheepishly.
"I'm gonna have to wash this myself," he says, glaring at Clark. There's no heat in it, so Clark just chuckles.
"You should know how to set a washing machine cycle," he tells Bruce, standing up and- ouch. He's painfully hard. And it looks fucking obscene with his red costume underwear.
"Should I..." Bruce says, eyeing his erection a little hungrily.
"I mean..." Clark is already flushed, so Bruce probably won't notice him turning red but his cheeks feel suddenly hotter. "If you wanna, but you don't have to."
"It's just returning a favor," Bruce says, never taking his eyes off Clark's dick as he stands up and backs him into a table. "Besides, I can think while jerking you off." He takes off his cape and the soiled top with the bat logo and seeing Bruce's bare sweaty chest definitely doesn't help the matters with his pants.
"For sure," Clark gulps and lets Bruce jerk him off just as efficiently as the first time. He ends up getting come on his own uniform and Bruce smirks at it in victory, like this is what he wanted in the first place.
"You can shower here if you want," he says, already moving away and grabbing the case papers. "And put all of that in the washing machine with my suit in the meanwhile." Clark sighs and yawns and picks up the Batsuit on his way to the cave's showers.
The first time Clark sleeps over is when they fuck for the first time, in Bruce's bedroom.
"You get really sleepy after," Bruce says. "You can take a nap and I think this case is going to take some time, so..."
And Clark is pretty much helpless to follow him. His room is a private place that no one outside of his family has seen. Possibly not even Selina Kyle, because they were allegedly a rooftop affair. There's a fireplace above which a framed photo of the family sits. Beside that is a smaller one, of him and his parents. On the other side, just him and Alfred. There's photos of the kids on the mantelpiece, and one of him, Clark and Diana, all three of them in civilian clothes. Taken very early on when the League formed. It warms his heart to see, even if the photo is there with purely platonic intention. It doesn't diminish love, for it to not be romantic.
"Want a nightcap?" Bruce asks, stretching by the bed, seemingly unbothered by Clark looking at the photos.
"Can't get drunk," Clark says, turning.
"Unfortunate," Bruce says.
"Like you're a big drinker," Clark shoots back, and they smile at each other.
"Come over here," Bruce says then. Clark goes and plants a light kiss on Bruce's nose. Bruce smiles bigger.
"That's my nose," he says.
"Yeah," Clark says, breathy as Bruce turns his gaze to his lips and kisses with intent. His kisses are claiming but not pushy, like he wants to take his time tonight. He pushes Clark back till his knees hit the bed and he falls back, pulling Bruce on top. They make out lazily and Bruce starts grinding down, his hips circling dirtily in a way that makes his dick go from semi to full hard so fast it hurts. He's gasping into Bruce's mouth, trying not to buck up too hard and maybe this one time- just this once, he can pretend- maybe Bruce has forgotten about the case-
"I think the Riddler might be doing it," he grunts. It's a little disappointing to be reminded that Bruce is doing this because it gets his weird brain running harder than it usually does, but in the moment, he can't help the giggle that he'll claim was a manly chuckle to the grave.
"What?" Bruce gasps.
" You said, "The Riddler might be doing it," while we're-" Clark squeezes Bruce's ass pointedly.
Bruce is practically gnawing on the meat of his shoulders, and he thinks he can feel a smile right there, above his collarbone.
"You know I don't-" Bruce starts, and gives in to the moan as Clark slips his hand under his waistband so he can feel his ass skin to skin. "God, get your fingers in there-"
"Lube," Clark says, flipping them so Bruce is on his back. "Where?" Because he can only speak in one-word sentences now, apparently.
Clark uses superspeed. Bruce talks about the case and it sounds incoherent by the time Clark has fingered him to orgasm.
"Fuck," he says, "I was undermining the stupidest things. I want to go back to the cave right now." Clark is still hovering above him, the one hand that's wet with lube resting high on Bruce's thigh. He notices. "But first..." he trails and then sucks Clark's brains out through his dick.
"Get your nap in," he says, tossing a hand towel at Clark and pulling his pants back on. "I'll be down."
Clark is so sex stupid and tired he passes out before Bruce is out of the room.
When he wakes up, he's not so sex stupid and he's definitely going to be late to morning briefing with Perry.
He's maybe a little stupid because he doesn't realize until he gets over his momentary panic and hears Bruce's heartbeat that he's at the Manor. That he's in Bruce's bed. That Bruce is sleeping beside him in his underwear. He has hardly ever done the walk of shame, he doesn't even know the protocol. And if Alfred or one of the kids catch him, he's going to be so mortified he might leave the planet.
It's like Bruce can hear him overthinking, because he turns over and mumbles, "I was up till five, I hacked into your work mail and let Perry and Lane know you had an emergency and will be late. Go back to sleep."
"I could still make it to morning briefing if I..."
Bruce pulls a pillow over his head and groans. "I have an alarm for eight, go back to sleep Clark. You have monitor duty tonight."
Clark doesn't make it to morning briefing and wakes up again to both the alarm going off and Alfred knocking at eight sharp. He jumps up. Bruce turns, eyes still closed.
"Just use the window," he sighs. Clark super speeds out of there, because a walk of shame is one thing but a walk of shame in front of Alfred Pennyworth is another and he'd prefer to go through life having never done it.
Staying over becomes a habit after that, because Clark tends to fall asleep around ten minutes after sex. And it's very good, tiring sex. They stick to the bedroom, but when Clark valiantly tries to keep his eyes open post mutual handjobs while they're working on a Justice League case, Bruce just sighs and tells him to go upstairs.
Clark doesn't know if he should use the guest room, because he's stayed over at the Manor enough times for him to consider one of the guest rooms his, but lately every other time he's slept over, it's been in Bruce's bed. Usually after having had mind blowing sex with him. He tells himself it's not weird as he noiselessly makes his way to Bruce's room and in between his sheets.
He wakes up at around six o'clock, still drowsy and a little confused. Bruce is beside him, radiating body heat like a radiator because he's always ran hot. After a little shuffling and really, really wanting to go back to sleep, Bruce turns and glares blearily. Clark wishes he could wake up to that every morning.
"It's Saturday," he says. "Alfred won't wake me before noon, go to sleep."
So he goes back to sleep.
What they don't consider, is the kids. Thankfully, Dick is the only one awake when he barges in. Clark checks the rest of their heartbeats later. It's more awkward than awkward.
"Bruce! Bruce! You gotta look at this, I found out this amazing- jungle gym... oh."
He stands in front of their bed very very awkwardly. Clark gulps and props himself up on an elbow.
"Just order it Dick," Bruce says, grumpily. Dick stares at them with his mouth hanging open, the iPad and jungle gym forgotten. Clark tries not to blush to the roots of his hair and waits for Bruce to catch up. He's pretty quick. He turns and then sits up, looking from Dick to Clark and back to Dick. They're both very obviously naked under the sheets.
"I can explain," he says quietly, and Dick groans and makes a gagging noise.
"Holy shit, put a sock on the door, Bruce! Or lock it, better yet," he says turning abruptly and on his way out, one hand clamped on his eyes. "I'm ordering the max jumbo size because you made me see this. God, it's like watching your parents go at it..."
The door shuts behind him loudly and Clark is almost too afraid to turn to Bruce. He just sighs and drops back down on the bed, throwing a hand over his face.
"I'll talk to him," he says. Clark nods, even though Bruce can't see.
"I'm gonna leave before anyone else walks in," Clark says, getting up and pulling on his shirt. Bruce doesn't stop him, or maybe he's already fallen back asleep. Then just as he's about to jump out of the window, Bruce calls, "They're not gonna mind, Clark." It makes Clark pause for more, but Bruce's heartbeat evens out like he's going back to sleep for real now.
So the kids know. And Alfred knows. And they all know wrong. They think Clark and Bruce are dating.
Dick and Cass swing by work. Then Duke and Jason. Then Tim and Stephanie. While leaving, Tim says, "Dick said we all should know your workplace." Lois wants to know why Bruce Wayne's kid is spinning in her office chair and Cat Grant wants to know if she can get a Wayne family photoshoot out of it (which Clark shuts down with a glare.)
Bruce does nothing about it and that's mortifying enough, but then Valentine's day comes along and so does Dick Grayson, with his supermodel (and fellow Titan) girlfriend who towers over him by a whole foot. They look disgustingly in love.
"Kory had an interview thing with Cat Grant I think?" he says. "And I said, I should visit Uncle Clark too, since I'm in town. Haven't seen you around the Manor lately."
"No you haven't," Clark agrees.
"I mean, not that I mind not seeing you in bed with Bruce because- gross, you know? But he should invite you over more. I stay over at Kory's almost every day. We're thinking of moving in, actually. I'm thinking of asking her tomorrow. Valentine's Day and all that. It's kinda perfect."
Clark is about to tell Dick that he has fundamentally misunderstood what's happening, but he carries on.
"What are you guys doing tomorrow? Bruce must have made reservations at one of those fancy no prices on the menu places," he says.
"No," Clark says.
"Oh," Dick says, frowning. "So what are you doing?"
"I don't- nothing? We're not, I mean," Clark says. Dick's frown deepens and he pulls out his phone.
"You're not doing anything for Valentine's Day?" he asks.
"No?" Clark says awkwardly. There's a pause that lasts for far longer than he likes.
"Excuse me," Dick says finally, and goes to the hallway to call someone. Great. This is a life lesson for Clark: don't be fuck-buddies with your best friend when you meet their family regularly.
Dick returns while Clark is editing one of the intern's pieces for the sixth page.
"Hey, will you go on patrol with Bruce tonight, since you're free?" he asks. "Kory and I are staying in Metropolis till day after tomorrow, the rest of the kids all are busy I think."
"Oh, sure," Clark says. "I can do that."
"Great!" Dick says and smiles. "Hey, Bruce can be an asshole sometimes, but," he pauses, like he's trying to think of exactly how to put it, "But you already knew that."
Clark lets out a breath.
"Yes," he says. "I knew."
Dick, thankfully, leaves it alone after that.
Clark knows how Bruce gets about Gotham, so he watches from the air. Bruce is making his rounds and his way steadily through the city. He pauses on top of Wayne Tower and Clark's League comm crackles to life.
"Superman," he says. "I need to discuss something with you."
Clark dives down and lets gravity take over and hopes his hair doesn't look too windblown when he lands behind Bruce.
"It's a quiet night," he says, "But someone placed an order for a thousand roses at the florist. I just saw the order come in."
Clark frowns. "It's probably for Valentine's day tomorrow."
Bruce shakes his head, the cape swirling around him in the cold February wind.
"They're probably for tomorrow, but also probably not for Valentine's Day. One of the Rogues might be planning something," he says.
"Poison Ivy?" Clark says.
"She can grow them."
"The Riddler, then?"
"There's no time to put a question mark on every single one of the petals."
"Gosh, you tell me then," Clark snaps. "Is it that hard to believe that someone might just be ordering a bed of roses for their Valentine?"
"No," Bruce says, unperturbed by Clark's outburst. "But I need to be sure. It's a quiet night, it's been a quiet week."
"Then you need to learn to appreciate good things when they come to you," Clark tells him. Bruce sighs.
"I know. I know that our... arrangement is out of the ordinary," he says. "But come back to the cave, just this once. I just need to be sure of it. One last time."
One last time. His Ma used to tell him that people who repeated the same action over and over and expected different results were idiots, and his Ma is a wise person.
Clark is not.
Bruce takes off the Batsuit clinically and stoves it away, dressing in a robe going straight up the stairs to the Manor. He locks the door behind him and presses Clark against it and kisses him, deep and thorough. Tonight feels different, because Bruce's hands, they're hovering over Clark's sides, skimming lightly like he's not sure if he's allowed to touch. Clark covers his hands with his own, pressing them to himself.
"Bruce?" Clark says, breathless. Bruce leans back. A ring of blue around his dilated pupils. His eyes flit between Clark's and he steps back, pulling him to the bed.
"You want me?" he whispers.
"Yeah," Clark whispers back. "Yeah, I-"
Bruce pushes him on the bed, against the headboard, and straddles him and Clark can feel his dick pressing through the bathrobe, hard and insistent against his stomach. Bruce presses a line of kisses from his jaw to his neck, where skin meets his suit.
"Off," Bruce says, clawing at his back for seams. Clark smiles, despite himself.
"Kryptonian tech. It only works for me," he says, reaching back and pulling the zip down. Bruce gets up so they both can strip, Clark out of his suit and Bruce out of his robe. He sits on his knees on the bed, dick hanging heavy and hard and flushed between his legs. His hair is ruffled and falling into his face, his eyes are barely blue, his muscles toned and strong. His skin is beautiful and scarred, everywhere. His heel is digging into his ass because he's sitting back on it. Clark can't take his eyes off of him.
"You're staring," Bruce says, like it's a realization. It makes him feel caught, but Bruce is blushing a pretty, pretty pink and Clark can't say he's sorry for being responsible for that. He kicks his uniform away and grabs the lube from its usual place. Bruce goes readily when Clark pushes him down on the bed, looking at him almost reverently when he sits on Bruce's thighs and squeezes out some lube and reaches around to prep himself.
It's just like all the other times, he tells himself. Just like all the other times he did this to himself, opened himself up for something bigger, teased himself till his fingers weren't enough- except Bruce's eyes are watching him this time, watching his arms where they disappear behind him, the ripple in his muscles the only thing Bruce can see. He touches Clark carefully, hands on his ass, pulling his cheeks apart so Clark can fuck himself better. His erection, which has flagged a little as it always does before he finds his prostate, starts taking interest as Bruce palms and squeezes his ass, not taking his eyes off Clark's face.
The angle is a little awkward. He's giving himself two fingers and moaning when it brushes against his prostate- it's not enough. He's fully hard now and he's going to need more, soon. Like he's reading every moment, Bruce slips one of his fingers along with Clark's two.
"Condom," Clark pants out. "Now." Bruce scrambles to the side, digging in his bedside drawer and pulls out a whole roll, one hand still on Clark's ass, the finger toying with his rim. Clark pulls his hand away from himself and uses his super strength to tear through the plastic and when he touches Bruce, he groans loudly.
"Not gonna talk about the case?" Clark asks, rolling the condom onto Bruce's dick.
"No. Fuck no."
"You want me?" he whispers, lining himself up. Echoing Bruce from before. Bruce makes a strangled noise.
"Yes," he says, and Clark sinks down, going halfway before pulling back up and sinking back again. "Yes," Bruce repeats between gasps and Clark swallows his moans with a kiss.
"Fuck me," Clark says when he gets tired of doing all the work and Bruce flips them, bracing one arm against the headboard. He brushes a hand through Clark's hair, softly.
"Always want you, always," he says, before thrusting up and nailing Clark's prostate almost perfectly. Mouthy during sex like always. "Wanted you for a long time. Loved you for a long time."
"Fuck, Bruce," Clark bites out. "Love you too. Loved you since I saw you."
Bruce leans down to kiss him and Clark hooks his legs around Bruce's waist, pulling him closer. Bruce fucks him fast and deep, just like he kisses him.
"Touch- touch yourself baby, I'm not gonna last. You're so good for me," Bruce says and Clark gets his hand between their bodies and on his dick; he's not gonna last either, not with Bruce making his toes curl with every snap of his hips. He comes in less than half a dozen strokes, all over his chest and stomach, and with how close they are, Bruce's too. Bruce's rhythm stutters after Clark comes, like he was going steady for him.
"Come on Bruce," Clark says, leaning up and nipping at his nape,"Come on, I love you so much," and Bruce groans and comes. Clark tightens around him and Bruce slumps on top of Clark, face buried in his neck. Clark slumps too eventually, sighing and bringing a hand up to Bruce's side.
They stay like that for about thirty seconds before Bruce moves again. Clark sighs, makes it as long-suffering as he can.
"Just getting rid of the condom," he says, and Clark hisses when he pulls out. He's back quickly, curling around Clark's side and resting his head on his arm.
"So we said some things while..." Clark begins and Bruce stops tracing useless patterns on Clark's side and tilts his head up.
"I meant it," he says. "I've been an ass, and I didn't consider your feelings, and... we can do all that tomorrow, just- I'm sorry. And I love you."
Clark smiles kisses his forehead lazily. "I love you too. Even if you're an ass."
"Go to sleep," Bruce says fondly. "I'm not leaving the bed till tomorrow."
The next day, Bruce is up earlier than him and he wakes him up with a mint flavored kiss.
"Hi," Clark says.
"Hi," Bruce says, pecking his lips again. "Happy Valentine's Day."
"Oh," Clark says, because he had forgotten.
"I figured out who ordered all the roses," he says, and then balks at the look Clark gives him. "Not while we were having sex. Come on, get up." Clark does, and there's dozens and dozens of roses in the room. Clark stands up and pulls on Bruce's discarded robe. Every table and half the floor is covered in roses. Clark stops in front of the mantle, flowers poking out from behind the photographs. Behind him, Bruce clears his throat. "I was the guy who was buying a bed of roses for my Valentine." Clark looks up and Bruce looks uncertain and hopeful. "If he'll have me."
Clark throws a rose at him.
"Of course I'll have you," he says, smiling stupidly. Bruce's face floods with relief. "C'mere. Who talked sense into you?"
Bruce goes willingly into his arms and glares before admitting, "Dick. He threatened me if I didn't get it together and, in his words, 'lock it down' with you."
"For the world's greatest detective you're unnaturally thickheaded," Clark says agreeably. "You couldn't figure out I had it bad for you. For years."
"Didn't have Superman sleeping with me so I could have my brain running at top speed," Bruce said, trailing a hand down Clark's chest. "But I do now..."
"You do now," Clark agrees, and pulls Bruce back toward the bed.