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“We don’t know it was something dangerous.”
“Look at him. He’s sweating like a pig,” Hal said, shaking his head at Oliver, “That seem safe to you?”
“Maybe we need to put him through the decon again?”
Dinah’s hand pressed to Clark’s face, dry and slightly chapped. He winced at the contact, the burning pain under his skin only intensifying at her touch.
Everything hurt, from his bones to the miniscule pores across his face. Even the towel wrapped around his waist burned where it touched his skin, scrubbed pink from the decon showers.
She was just trying to help. Clark kept reminding himself of that, repeating the words over and over again inside his heat-frazzled mind.
“The scanner doesn’t like his vitals,” she said, looking over Clark’s head at the other League members crammed into the medbay. “Should his blood pressure be that high?”
“No. It shouldn’t.”
That was Bruce’s voice. Was he here, too? Had Dinah called him? Clark shifted on the med cot, trying to see the other man around Dinah’s hair.
“Bruce? ” he asked, unable to help the edge of desperation in his voice. The thought of the other man was effortlessly relieving. Bruce would fix this -- Clark needed him.
Across the room, cowl still in place, Bruce paused. He made no move to join Clark at the cot, examining him with a strange expression.
“I’m here,” he said, glancing at Clark before dismissing him entirely to scowl at the monitors. He turned to Dinah. “All of the readings are outside of his normal range. Core temperature especially.”
You can say that again, Clark thought, wiping a hand across his forehead in a feeble attempt to retain some dignity. Rao, was he hot. Flying into a sun was cooler than this.
“Maybe Oliver’s right,” Dinah said, biting her lip, “We should put him through the decon again.”
“Won’t help,” Bruce said, with the kind of confidence that meant it was inevitably true, “The samples I pulled from the showers indicate pathogen transmission via mucous membranes.”
Clark felt distantly proud of the fact that his accidental face-full of mysterious pollen had rated a full investigation by the Batman.
“Should we be worried about infection?” Dinah asked, glancing at Oliver and Hal with a worried expression.
Bruce shook his head. “The reaction seems to be limited to Kryptonian immune systems.”
Dinah sagged in relief, Hal and Oliver relaxing minutely behind her.
“Shit luck, Supes,” Hal said, gloved hand descending toward his shoulder, “You--”
Clark hissed as the hand settled on his shoulder, clenching his eyes shut at the sudden wrongness shooting up his arm and toward his chest.
“Shit. Sorry, sorry!” Hal removed his hand and backed away, holding it up in the air. He looked at Dinah. “What’s wrong with him?”
Clark almost cried out in relief as a few more inches were put between him and the Lantern. Every single cell in his body wanted Hal away -- wanted them all to leave and give him space. Wanted to push the towel off and --
“He’s in rut.”
The medbay went silent. All eyes -- even Clark’s, red-rimmed and unfocused -- turned to Bruce.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver said, recovering first from his shock, “He’s in what.”
“Rut,” Bruce waved a gloved hand, unperturbed, “or the Kryptonian equivalent. I’m sure there’s a more technical term in Jordan’s ring.”
Dinah stared at him, a hand moving slowly upward to cover her mouth.
“Rut,” she said, through her fingers, “Are you sure?”
Nobody was looking at Clark.
“Unfortunately,” Bruce said, hands folding into a gentle parade rest behind him. “As far as I can tell, the spores triggered a latent Kryptonian mating instinct. One usually dormant in the absence of…other Kryptonians.”
Clark couldn’t blush any further around the fever, but he swore his face was making a valiant effort. He put his head in his hands, groaning softly in embarrassment.
“Please tell me you can fix this,” he begged the floor, refusing to meet Bruce’s even gaze. “I can’t think.”
“You’re doing better than those poor bastards I saw on Ledde one time,” Hal interjected, entirely unhelpful, “Couldn’t even talk once it set in. But that was a heat, I think.” the Lantern turned to Bruce. “Same thing, right?”
Bruce sighed, glancing briefly at the ceiling. “No.”
“Why do you know what it is?” Oliver redirected, frowning at Bruce. The other vigilante shrugged.
“The Fortress memory crystals.”
Clark really should get around to reviewing all of those. Of course Bruce had pored through them already. He probably knew more about Krypton than Clark at this point.
For some reason, that didn’t bother him.
“Did the crystals indicate how to treat it?” Dinah asked Bruce, sliding back into problem solving-mode with a focus Clark could distantly appreciate.
There was an awkward pause. For the first time since he’d entered the medbay, Bruce’s expression was…hesitant.
“Touch his arm again,” he instructed Dinah, then turned to Clark. Under the cowl, his eyes were a brilliant blue, landing on him with an intensity that pierced through Clark’s very soul. “Don’t move.”
Dinah’s hand hovered over his bare shoulder, waiting. Clark gritted his teeth against the fierce wrongness churning in his gut, straightening on the cot and nodding his permission.
Her palm hit his skin and he groaned, struggling to remain still as pain shot up his arm again. Somehow, the sensation was more painful than it had been even a few minutes ago.
Icy heat flooded his chest, something his body could only seem to process as wrongwrongwrongwrong. He wanted her off. She needed to get away from him --
Dinah pulled off after a second, leaving Clark shivering. Unlike before, the distance she put between them a moment later didn’t seem to help. Something was still wrong.
Across the medbay -- still so far away -- Bruce was watching the monitors, eyes narrowing.
“Interesting.”
“No rush or anything,” Hal snarked, puffing up slightly next to Oliver, “I’m sure he’s got time for you to scientific method it out!”
Bruce ignored him. He caught Clark’s gaze easily, like it was just the two of them -- just them, going over a mission report or the latest gossip rag together.
Trust me, that look said, like it always did, I’ll fix this.
Clark felt his breath catch in his throat as Bruce took a step forward, finally crossing the distance he’d carefully maintained since he’d entered the medbay.
Bruce, he thought, feeling his body tense involuntarily under the towel. BrucebruceBrucebrucebrucebruce --
In his chest, his heart was hammering, a prayer replicated in the sudden frenzied beeping from the monitors. Suddenly, the thought of them being apart any longer was unbearable.
Bruce stopped a few inches from him, carefully telegraphing his motions. Clark blinked, struggling to recall how long it had taken.
“Bruce,” he said, almost like a whine. There was a heaviness in his chest, but it wasn’t uncomfortable -- just urgent.
“I’m going to touch your shoulder,” Bruce warned, tugging off his right glove slowly, “Okay?”
“Yes,” Clark breathed, grateful. Bruce would make it better. Bruce would fix this, somehow. He swallowed around the fire in his throat. “P-please.”
The world narrowed down to Bruce’s hand -- scarred knuckles and elegant fingers -- clasping across his shoulder, relaxing into a gentle hold.
The heat churning through him banked instantly at Bruce’s touch, shifting from painhottoohotneed to warmpleasehim with a speed that left him dizzy.
Clark let out an incomprehensible sound, sagging forward in utter, all-consuming relief.
He distantly felt his head hit the front of Bruce’s armor, too blissed out to protest. He breathed in Bruce’s scent -- leather, disinfectant, and something sweet underneath it all -- and rumbled deep in his chest, pleased.
When he looked up, Bruce was watching the monitors over his head, his hand still gripping Clark’s shoulder. His gaze -- clinical, assessing -- softened as he looked down, examining Clark.
“Better?” Bruce asked quietly, like he didn’t already know the answer -- like they were alone. “Clark?”
Clark nodded against his armor, shifting his hips slightly on the cot. God, was he getting...?
Somehow, he found the bloodflow to blush again, gripping the towel around his waist desperately as Bruce pulled away, gaze returning to the monitors.
The loss of Bruce’s hand -- his touch -- only sharpened the burning need between Clark’s legs. He hissed as he hardened fully under the towel, equally embarrassed and unsettled.
Bruce…
A half-step away, Bruce was watching him with a knowing look.
“Sex,” he said abruptly, turning back to Dinah and reaching up to unhook the latch on his cowl. “You treat a rut with sex.”
Clark felt his eyes glaze over as Bruce removed the cowl entirely, baring his throat a moment later as he removed his cuirass.
“Bruce,” Dinah said, scandalized as his upper armor joined the cuirass on the medbay floor. “Please tell me you’re not--”
“Bats what the everloving fuck are you--”
“--oh Jesus --”
“Ruts are either burned out the traditional way, or the person dies from fever and dehydration,” Bruce said, expressionless as he began removing the thigh plates, “So please, take your time…”
Hal muttered something that could have been you sure did, flinching when Oliver smacked him. Dinah was still staring at Bruce, her horrified expression quickly shifting to resignation.
Clark, for his part, still didn’t really understand what was happening. Whatever benefits Bruce’s touch had imparted were wearing off, and the burning under his skin was beginning again.
He watched Bruce’s body hungrily, his gut twisting with each body part bared. Tanned, scarred abs gave way to powerful thighs and sculpted calves, the most he’d seen of Bruce in broad daylight. Or spacelight. Or whatever they were in right now.
He was harder than he’d ever been in his entire life, cock leaking relentlessly against the thin fabric of the medbay towel. He wanted like he never had before, with a kind of intensity that would frighten him if he had any brainpower left to interrogate it.
All thoughts fled as Bruce crossed back over to the cot with the arrogance of a conquering king, throwing a leg over Clark and sitting down in his lap.
Ecstasy shivered through him, chasing away the discomfort. Clark had just enough willpower left to keep from wrapping around Bruce in return, keeping his shaking, sweaty hands pressed firmly to the cot mattress.
“You can either pull up a chair and get comfortable,” Bruce said, settling across Clark’s thighs with a steadying hand on his neck, “or you can leave.”
Clark felt a growl rip from his chest, buzzing in his throat. Bruce was his. Bruce was his, and who were they to think they could just watch--
A calloused hand ghosted up and down his ribs, settling him.
“We’ll give you some privacy,” Dinah said, hurrying for the door. She snagged Oliver’s elbow on the way, jerking him along. “Come on.”
Hal, the absolute bastard, seemed to be considering it. He hesitated at the doorway, eyes roving over Bruce’s bared back appreciatively.
Clark growled, louder than the first time. In his arms, Bruce jumped slightly, ass brushing his cock before he settled, a hand smoothing across Clark’s chest.
“Out, Jordan,” Bruce ordered, craning his neck back to glare at the Lantern. “Now.”
Hal held up his hands, backing out of the medbay with a disappointed expression.
Clark rumbled his approval as Bruce’s full attention focused back on him, the vigilante’s hands coming up to cup his face.
“Still with me?” Bruce asked, the pads of his thumbs pressing gently against his cheekbones. “Clark?”
Clark fought through the haze, forcing his lips to move. Bruce was so close.
“Y-yes.”
“We don’t have a lot of time,” Bruce said, directing his face back up as Clark’s gaze dipped, “Clark. I need you to tell me if you don’t want this.”
What? Of course he wanted this. Was Bruce leaving? Clark panicked, hands twitching as he fought the urge to touch the other man. Bruce couldn’t leave, not when he…
“Shh,” Bruce said, noticing his discomfort and rewarding him with a press of his forehead to Clark’s. He groaned happily at the contact. “I’ll take care of you, I promise. I just need you to say okay.”
“Y-yes. Please,” Clark begged, tears threatening at the intensity in his chest. He closed his eyes, leaning into the other man’s touch. “Bruce. S’too hot.”
Bruce let out a sigh at his agreement, shifting in Clark’s lap. He pulled back, separating their foreheads and forcing Clark’s eyes open in curiosity.
“Lie back,” he instructed, lifting up to pull the towel out from between them, “You’re going to stay still. Do you understand?”
Clark’s head hit the thin medbay pillow. He nodded, the breath leaving his lungs as Bruce’s hand clasped around his cock, squeezing lightly.
“Good. Just breathe, Clark…”
Above him, Bruce knelt over his cock, his free hand disappearing between his legs. He frowned, a thin line appearing between his eyes.
“Good enough,” Clark heard him mutter -- quietly, like it hadn’t been meant for him. Who was he talking to? What was --
All thoughts and concerns left him as warm, wet heat surrounded him. He looked up to find Bruce slowly taking him in, eyes shut in concentration.
They moaned in sync as Bruce bottomed out on his cock. Clark fought viciously to adhere to Bruce’s rule, fingers tearing into the mattress beneath them as he held himself still.
“Good,” Bruce breathed, a slight tremor to his voice as he slowly rose up, testing the depth, “God, you’re big. I didn’t do enough prep.”
Clark made a half-garbled noise, struggling to think around the pleasure coursing through his body. Rao, he felt incredible. The heat wasn’t painful any more, not with Bruce so close. He just wanted to --
Bruce let out a surprised oomph as Clark’s hips jerked up involuntarily, seeking more friction. The other man put a hand out, steadying himself on the cot’s rail.
“Fuck,” he swore, leaning back slightly to grind deeper into Clark’s cock, “I know. You’re a little impatient.” He moaned as Clark’s hips fucked up again, “F-forgive me, I only had about a m-minute and a half to prepare for this.”
Distantly, Clark’s rational mind processed that admission, grateful for his friend. He could only push his hips up again, trying to punch another moan out of Bruce.
“You’re,” Bruce breathed, lifting himself up and down with tight, flexing thighs, “not listening to my instructions.”
Clark moaned as the vigilante’s hands hit his chest, slowly increasing the pace as he leaned forward over Clark’s body. Bruce tilted his hips, fucking back and down onto Clark’s cock with steady, circling motions.
“The crystals said most r-ruts resolve with a close p-partner,” Bruce said, voice trembling slightly from -- effort? Pleasure? It was hard for Clark to tell. “Someone f-familiar and trusted…”
Clark’s hands left the bed, gripping Bruce’s hips and lifting the other man, changing the angle again. He growled in approval as Bruce’s eyes shut briefly at his next thrust, a delicious moan filling the medbay.
“Had a theory it was one of u-us,” Bruce continued, leaning back into Clark’s eager grip, “N-needed to test it f-first…”
There was pressure building in his pelvis, fiery and all-consuming. Before he could process the motion, he’d pulled Bruce off his cock and flipped him face down on the cot, driving back into him with barely-restrained need.
“Fuck,” Bruce moaned, face half-buried in the mattress, “Clark. Clark.”
Clark’s hips moved of their own accord, thrusting forward and striking something deep within the other man that had him writhing, hand digging into the mattress and gripping tight.
He was beautiful -- mouth slack, eyes wide. So unlike he’d ever seen Bruce. Absolutely perfect.
Clark listened as Bruce’s heartbeat spiked, timing his thrusts as the man clenched around him, walls rippling against his cock.
He punched out another of those reluctant moans from Bruce -- so sweet -- and shifted his hips so he was hitting the same spot, the same angle, with every thrust.
Beneath him, Bruce moaned again, the sound dragging out like honey in Clark’s ears. That was it, just a few more and his mate would --
Pleasure sparked through him as Bruce clenched down around his cock, coming into the mattress beneath him with a guttural noise. He fucked him through it, balls tightening as his own orgasm neared, spurred along by Bruce’s completion.
He came with a growl, holding deep inside Bruce as the fire flared up his spine, white-hot. His cock twitched violently, coming and coming until he sagged with the overstimulation, eyes closing.
Without thinking, he blanketed Bruce with his body, forcing his cock deep into the other man and pressing his face into the other man’s neck.
Bruce smelled satisfied and slightly surprised underneath him, shifting his hips slightly as he accepted Clark’s weight.
They caught their breath together, chests rising and falling in sync.
“Better?” Bruce asked after a moment. It was a repeat of his earlier question. Clark nodded against his neck, rumbling deep within his chest.
“Better.” he managed through dulled lips, feeling Bruce twitch in surprise underneath him. He soothed his mate with another growl, pressing his face even deeper into the other man’s neck.
“I’m not moving,” Bruce said, after another pause, “Am I?”
Clark drove his hips forward again, pushing another shocked breath out of Bruce. The fire in his mind was sated for now, a soft minemineminemine against the tempo of his thoughts.
“No,” Clark didn’t think he could move right now if he wanted to, but that was too many words to say. He tightened his grip, holding Bruce even closer in case he tried to make a break for it. “No.”
Bruce shook underneath him, laughing softly.
“Fair enough.”