This was it. This was the last time Bruce would hold Clark for who knows how long. He wanted it to be romantic, but romance had never really been his forte. Clark didn’t seem to mind as they skipped dinner and jumped right into bed. The first few rounds were rough, almost animal-like in the way they gripped and clawed at each other. The sheets of the bed have long since been kicked off and Bruce was sure more than a few pillows were torn or missing. The bedroom smelled like sex, sweat, and desperation.
It was nearing dawn now. Bruce was exhausted to the bones, but he couldn’t stop touching Clark. It didn’t seem to matter how often they did this; every time felt like the first. The thrill of sleeping with the most powerful man on earth still punched Bruce hard in the gut. But it was different now. Clark had become more than a notch in the bedpost but someone whose opinion mattered to Bruce.
“Clark,” Bruce whispered. He wasn’t sure if the man heard until impossibly blue eyes speckled with brown gazed up at him.
A small honest smile lit up Clark’s features. “Yeah?”
Bruce wanted to ask how Clark could smile at a time like this. They had no idea when they would see each other again and all the stupid alien could do was smile. No, Bruce couldn’t begrudge Clark’s happiness even though he was falling apart at the seams.
He didn’t answer with words just yet. He rolled over to hover above Clark, arms caging in the man’s head. Their faces were inches apart but neither minded. He couldn’t stop staring, mesmerizing every minute facet of Clark’s face from the slightly crooked teeth to the brown fleck in his left eye. The high cheekbones and cleft chin were powerful but no more so than the strength in Clark’s hands as they ran up Bruce’s scarred back.
“Again,” Bruce demanded. It was cruel of him. They were both exhausted but he was scared, damn it. He was scared that when the sun rose across the foggy lake, Clark would leave and Bruce would never see him again. The irrational feeling had been brewing all night, only now coming to the surface as Bruce felt the clock tick down to dawn.
Say yes. Don’t…not yet.
Clark didn’t disappoint as he agreed with a whisper of his own. “Again.”
Bruce kissed him as a reward; no, not a reward, but a promise. When they were spent beyond completion, Bruce would let Clark go. Superman would leave at dawn; he’d fly up and beyond Bruce’s glass lake house to the stars, searching for any remains of Krypton.
He slid downwards, slowly sucking a bruise onto a neck that would never keep it. Clark’s chest was soon littered with bites intended to break skin. The pain felt by a human would have been great, but the intensity only inflamed Clark’s arousal. Bruce moved slower still, taking great time on his partner’s impeccable abdominal muscles. In the beginning, he had been jealous of the perfection of Superman’s body, clearly given to him when Bruce had to work so hard for his own. Now, he could only appreciate every inch of flawless skin lying below him.
Clark arched upward as Bruce laved his tongue across the V shape of his pelvic muscles. “Bruce,” he groaned. “Please…”
He wanted to growl at the injustice. Here Clark was, begging Bruce to do something or nothing at all when Bruce was the one begging. As cruel as the Batman, Bruce ignored Clark and continued his path downward, bypassing the man’s cock as punishment. The feeling of his scruffy face across the silky hairs of Clark’s left thigh gave both men goose flesh.
Bruce rested his chin on Clark’s leg and looked up curiously. He had his left arm thrown across face, his powerful chest was heaving as his abs quivered. Bruce looked further still and the man’s bottom lip was trembling ever so slightly. Was he crying? Had he been too cruel?
Instead of apologizing, Bruce surged upward, slipping his shoulders up and under Clark’s thighs. The man folded like a pretzel as Bruce sunk his raging erection into Clark’s used and spent body. The movement was so slick and simple that it made Bruce’s heart thump loud in his chest. Seeing Clark this wrecked was incredibly arousing; on the other hand, the sight of his lover hurt by him crushed what little remained of his heart.
Bruce pushed Clark’s arm down and out of the way. He didn’t want any more barriers between them. He slipped his fingers between the Man of Steel’s, fully aware they could be crushed beyond repair. He held on tight, trying to decipher the look on Clark’s face as their bodies moved in unison.
Clark was panting shallow breaths, but he wasn’t tired. In fact, he was anything but as the last member of the prestigious Wayne family slowly moved inside him. He couldn’t call it “just sex” because this was more than what they’ve done in the past. That particular realization hit him hard in the solar plexus and left him gasping. To feel Bruce’s love only now that he was leaving hurt more than never having it at all.
Bruce saw tears glittering in unbelievably blue eyes. The pain he felt reflected back at him clear as crystal.
He crushed his mouth to Clark’s, tongue pushing past resistant lips and into the warm wet haven. Their tongues twined, melded into one as Bruce ignored his need for breath. Such trivial human complications were irrelevant.
Clark bit back a whine as Bruce finally pulled away. With Bruce’s strength and will, it was difficult to remember that the Batman was indeed human. He may be human, but Bruce certainly wasn’t powerless. Clark was the one who lacked the power to stay away as Bruce became more devastating than kryptonite and all its painful effects.
A small trace of saliva glistened on Clark’s bottom lip. Bruce thrust hard to swoop down to lick the dewy drop away. Clark retaliated by biting said lip, giving a warning squeeze to the fingers still trapped in his. Bruce smirked and thrust harder but not faster. His knees scrambled to find purchase on the loose sheets as Clark’s back slid ever higher. Their hands parted as he reached up to brace himself against the headboard as Bruce continued his slow, deep thrusts. His right hand tangled in Bruce’s salt and pepper hair; he gripped firm just to feel the sweat underneath his fingernails.
Bruce slowed enough to caress the long legs draped over his battered shoulders. He was barely moving now though his erection hadn’t faded in the slightest. Clark glared at him, moving his legs out of Bruce’s grasp to wrap around lean hips. Using a hint of his alien strength, Clark tugged. Sure enough Bruce fell. The movement caused Bruce’s cock to sink deeper into Clark’s warm, tight bodily embrace. They moaned in unison.
“Move,” Clark demanded as he wrapped his arms around Bruce’s shoulders to keep the man from escaping. “Or I’ll move you.”
He tried to hold onto his annoyance but the emotion slid away. Clark’s earnest face and threatening words had the opposite effect on the Batman. He responded with a laugh that was more of a huff. It was as close to laughter as he could get at the moment when Clark’s long fingers danced down his spine. The promise in those fingers far outweighed the threat.
They picked up the pace but Bruce refused to let it turn into the carnal fucking from earlier. He wanted this to last, this moment, this memory, everything. It was all he was going to have when Clark left.
“Bruce,” Clark whispered. His fingers had glued themselves to the man's weathered face. “Stop torturing yourself.”
A quick snap of his hips halted Clark’s words. “Did you forget?” he growled in Clark’s ear. “I’m quite the masochist.”
It was true. Bruce welcomed the pain if it kept him from feeling other more dangerous emotions like love. Love only brought pain. It was better to just feel the latter and forego the former entirely. That way, Bruce wouldn’t know how it felt to have it torn away as he did at eight years old.
Sensing that time was running out, Bruce glanced to the left where the sky began its shift from indigo to azure. The sun would soon make its appearance over the still water of the lake. The shining rays would pierce the glass of the house to shine over them, a cruel but stunning reminder that their time had run out.
Clark’s palm was warm and insistent against his cheek. He answered the silent plea to turn his head; their eyes locked with such intensity that it scared both men.
With his attention back on Clark, Bruce cupped his hands around the trim waist. In an instant he leaned back to haul Clark up and forward to sit on his lap. Muscular arms wrapped around his neck; Clark threw his head back and moaned something fierce so Bruce buried his sounds against the proffered throat. Clark began moving right away, the power finally out of Bruce’s influential hands and into Clark’s capable thighs.
Their torsos touched just as hips hugged. Sweat dripped from Bruce onto Clark; the former chased away the salty taste up the latter’s jaw, nipping as he went. Bruce’s arms were wrapped so tightly around Clark’s back that he worried for a brief second about hurting the man.
Clark was always aware of his strength, particularly during sex, so his cradled grip around Bruce’s head was gentle but no less passionate. He held Bruce close as if he were a child and not a fully grown man. He didn’t want to let go but he needed some kind of release soon, and he doubted he would get any sort of assistance from the man in his arms. Thus he reached down to fist himself, but his hand was slapped away immediately.
“No,” Bruce tried to growl. It sounded desperate even to him. “You come just like this.”
Clark whined and butted his forehead against Bruce’s. “Are you serious?”
Bruce didn’t answer. He couldn’t leave his lover in such agony though. He loosened his death grip on Clark’s back only to glide his hands downward. He stopped when he reached an ass that didn’t belong on a man. He cupped his hands, slipping a long finger to the dark place where they were joined. A sly fingertip circled the stretched muscle around his cock; he felt a perverse pleasure in knowing he was the only man to touch Clark this way.
Clark cried out. The sound was loud and shocking to them both. Clark was quite reserved in bed, much like Bruce, but who knew he was capable of such wicked vocalizations?
As always, Bruce wanted more. He craved more of those sounds pouring from his lover’s lips. So he thrust up hard and deep, fingers of one hand still circling the muscle barely accommodating his girth. The other hand reached into Clark’s marvelous wavy hair and crushed their mouths together. He couldn’t endure the cold when their lips were apart. It was strange, Bruce thought, he had never truly enjoyed kissing anyone, man or woman, before Clark came along.
Clark clung to Bruce’s shoulders as he rode the man swift and firm. Their lips came and went, tongues and saliva pushed into a dance between their panting mouths. He didn’t mind the slow pace they started with, but he was chasing the night with all he had. To finish this now would bring peace to them both.
This was it. Clark spent what remained long and wet between them, his cock having remained untouched. He shouted out, calling Bruce’s name with such lust that the man followed suit almost immediately. They stayed within their circle of warmth, neither man wanting to let go, as they tried to catch their breath. Even then, the warm air simply shuffled back and forth as Clark leaned his forehead against his Dark Knight's.
“I’ll be back,” Clark broke the comfortable silence. “I’ll come back to you, I promise.”
“Deal,” Bruce tried to smile. All to soften the blow of Clark lifting off his spent cock, and moving out of his arms.
He remained still though his old knees were screaming at him to change positions. He simply watched as Clark gathered his Superman uniform and shuffled off to the master bathroom. The shower turned on as water inevitably sluiced off their exertions from Clark’s body down the drain. He waited until he heard Clark re-enter the bedroom before moving off the bed. His feet were numb from sitting too long. He welcomed the painful tingle of circulating blood as he shuffled into some pajama pants.
Clark stood there in his Superman uniform looking as fresh as a daisy. Bruce imagined he looked awful. Hours spent running a sex marathon was exhausting to a man of his age, but it was time well spent. He didn’t look across the lake where the sun had risen above the tree line. Its golden rays spilled onto the lake where the water shimmered with morning fog.
Bruce crossed the perverse distance between himself and Clark.
Don’t go. Please…stay.
“Be safe,” Bruce patted the younger man’s shoulder awkwardly. The gesture felt wrong. This all felt wrong.
Clark’s face faltered. He opened his mouth to say something, but he quickly snapped it shut. He covered the aborted movement with a curt nod. For Bruce to see his hesitance would only reveal his weakness, and it would ultimately lead to his undoing.
Superman moved to the sliding glass doors, sliding one side open and stepping onto the deck. His boots barely made a sound as he looked upward into the dawning sky. He tried to clear his mind, it was easier to fly that way, and his boots were no longer on the ground when-
“Clark!” Bruce called out.
Clark obliged, turned around and looked down. Sure enough, Bruce had run onto the deck in just pants, staring up at him with fear writ large in his eyes. He didn’t stop his ascent into the heavens though, merely smiled down at his mortal lover with acceptance and understanding.
Knowing he'd be heard, Bruce whispered, "I'll be waiting."
This was it. A sonic boom later, and Clark Kent was gone.