Archive of Our Own

Harleen Quinzel had been a brilliant psychiatrist. Of course, that was before she became like the bums they study when they wonder how broken a human can possibly be. And sure, it might be a little bit harder for her to differentiate schizoaffective disorder from bipolar I with psychotic features using DSM-5-TR criteria alone… but she can still ‘diagnose’ when someone hasn’t gotten their rocks off in too damn long and takes it out on the entire world around them. And currently?

The Batman. 

Vigilante extraordinaire with a whole lot of wounds and no one to lick ‘em. 

The truth is, the villains of Gotham were tired getting their asses kicked. I mean yeah, the bat was probably tired of kicking said asses, but had he ever stopped for once to wonder how they feel about it?

God, the cycle was grating. 

You kill a couple people, steal a couple million dollars, sever a few thumbs etc and all of a sudden you’re a problem to those who never learned how to have a little bit of fun now and again. Next thing you know, Batman is showing up in his sexy kevlar, kicking the snot out of you, and you’ve got yourself a concrete studio apartment in Arkham. 

Then comes the part where you gotta wait for the next time the entire Arkham security system is overridden — which sometimes takes days — and you finally get to stretch your legs. 

Then you probably don’t even have enough time to pick a lair or a logo before you start from step one and work your way through the whole cha-cha. 

Needless to say, the villains of Gotham could use a break. They’d practically given up on ever killing Batman, but Harley had an idea that would at least let all the villains in the city have the two-week bat-free vacation they all craved. 

The issue is that it required a little collaboration. 

“... so I think if we all work together, we can get Batman laid!” Harley finished with a big ‘ta-da’ gesture with her arms. 

The room was completely silent. Coughs, crickets. 

“Why do we… want to get Batman laid?” Scarecrow asked, raising his hand as he said it. 

The others in the room nodded their agreement with Scarecrow’s objection. 

“Because,” Harley stomped her foot and rolled her eyes. “First of all, Valentine’s Day is just around the corner. And I know how much you all love seasonal attacks!”

“Good point,” Calendar Man piped up. 

“Second of all, there’s no way this won’t subdue him — at least for a few days — and it’s gotta be a plan crazy enough that he won’t have some thought-up way to prevent it,” Harley explained.

The room went silent again, but this time it was a pensive silence — considering her suggestion. 

“What’s your plan?” Pamela asked. 

“We somehow concoct and combine something to make him horny,” Harley announced. She realized that it didn’t sound as impressive as she wanted it to, so she rephrased. “I mean think about it. Scarecrow, you’re great with the psychological effects of chemicals, right? Pammy— I mean, Poison Ivy — you’ve got all sortsa natural drugs and pollens we can use. Dr Freeze, you’re a brilliant scientist. Once we have our substance, we just do what we do best: get caught by Batman! Any questions?” 

Joker raised his hand, baring his nasty yellow teeth. 

“Yesss, Mista J,” Harley groaned, not bothering to hide the distaste in her voice. 

“Does this mean Batman will want to fuck, like, the first person he sees?” he asked, a little too hopefully. 

Luckily Pammy piped up. “Probably not. Most aphrodisiacs just make a person more desperate to act on previously existing wants and urges and such. He’ll probably just want to fuck Catwoman again or somethin’.”

Two-Face, Joker, and Scarecrow all seemed a little bit sadder at that. 

“Will the substance react to consent?” Dr Freeze asked, in his cold, robotic voice. 

“Yeah, duh,” Harley answered. “We’re villains, not monsters. I mean, we could probably figure out something that won’t let him blow his load until someone he’s attracted to orders it.” 

A couple individuals blushed and looked away at Harley’s vulgar nature. Whateva. 

“Any other questions?” Harley prompted. 

“When do we attack him?” 

Despite what his Brucie Wayne reputation might lead you to believe, it had been a while since Bruce last had sex and it was getting to him. 

It wasn’t just crankiness. Random bouts of lust were starting to plague his day-to-day and he couldn’t stand it. 

Bruce liked to forget that he was a human. It made it easier to pretend like one meal a day and a couple hours of sleep were rational choices. However, popping a boner at the randomest of moments because he hadn’t gotten off in too long proved his very human nature in the most mortifying way possible. 

It wasn’t like Bruce’s celibacy was in any way involuntary; dates aren’t hard to come by when you’re attractive and rich. 

The reason why he’d stopped dating models or giving Selina a call was something he really never would have expected: he’d developed a crush. It made having sex with anyone else feel wrong and masturbation feel perverted. Inevitably, his mind always drifted back to that person in those vulnerable moments and he could barely stand to live with himself. 

He figured if he just stopped having sex and minimized the time he spent around this person it would all fade and he could return to commitment-free, playboy-image-oriented intercourse. 

His hypothesis proved incorrect. 

The worst part was, really, who he had a crush on. 

Superman. Clark Kent. The other half of the World’s Finest and his teammate of many years. He was kind, gracious, and easier to talk to than just about anyone else in Bruce’s life. 

He also happened to be really, really attractive. 

For the life of him, Bruce couldn’t pinpoint when distant respect turned into romantic interest, but it was at least some time before The Wet Dream Incident. He’d been pushing away nudging thoughts of attraction for at least a month before that fateful night, but the dream made it pretty hard to keep ignoring things. 

It had all been so vivid that it wasn’t until he woke up — sweaty, disoriented, wrapped in soiled sheets — that he even noticed it wasn’t real. 

He cursed his erection, stripped off the sheets, and found somewhere else in the manor to spend the night. 

After that, every friendly smile registered in Bruce’s mind like a come hither gaze. Every innocent pat on the shoulder became a fiery burn. Every praising compliment felt like foreplay. Bruce hated feeling this way about Clark of all people. He was basically a symbol of wholesomeness and purity — the absolute last person Bruce should be fantasizing about getting down on his knees for. 

But even after months of not functioning properly, Bruce never changed course. He hadn’t gotten off in an eternity and he decided he’d rather never do so again til his grave than have to live with the knowledge that he’d climaxed while thinking about his pure-sunshine teammate. There are worse tortures to withstand than sexual frustration, and if anyone knew that it was Batman. 

He didn’t expect to be in any situation where he’d actually be forced to process his repressed feelings. 

And he definitely didn’t expect that situation to be at the hands of his greatest enemies. 

The second Bruce dropped into the abandoned warehouse his clues had led him to, he knew something was very wrong. 

Detective work was rarely difficult for Bruce anymore but even he knew “too easy” when he saw it. Three hostages sat in the center of the room, bound to one another by green tendrils. Ivy stood near them, sneering down through her long lashes. 

He was surprised to see her — this wasn’t her typical M.O. 

No long-winded speeches about Gotham’s suffering ecosystem? A shockingly minimal amount of flirtation with her captives? 

The location itself was obviously intended to lure Batman, that much was obvious. 

Still, there was something not clicking. Some piece of the puzzle he didn’t understand yet. He scanned the area — both with his batcomputer and with his regular eyesight. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary and he had synthesized antidotes for any drugs she could throw at him in his belt already. 

Deciding he had nothing better to do than play along and see where the red carpet led him, he repelled down to the warehouse floor. 

“Poison Ivy,” he said — some version of a greeting. 

She turned around and placed her hands on her hips, looking him up and down in her usual suggestive manner. 

“Hello there, Batman,” she smiled, waggling her fingers at him in a flirty wave. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

Bruce barely suppressed an eye roll. 

“What do you want,” he snapped, tired of her already. 

She sighed, growing a thick, branch-like tendril from a crack in the concrete and plopping down on her makeshift chair. “It’s all work and no foreplay with you,” she sighed. “Maybe I was just a little lonely on the love holiday. Can’t blame a girl, can you?”

Bruce was no stranger to Pamela flirting with him, but it typically wasn’t her entire motivation for drawing him out of the shadows. He respected her devotion to the environment — even if he couldn’t support her means of activism. 

Behind her, the three hostages on the floor squirmed in their plant bindings, eyes wide and mouths gagged. 

“Let me guess, they littered?” Bruce asked, brushing past Isley’s earlier comments. 

“They thought it would be romantic to carve a lover’s initials into the bark of one of the oldest living trees in Gotham,” Pamela glared, eyes welling up at the thought. “I heard the poor tree crying in pain from miles away.”

“Vandalism is a misdemeanor,” Bruce refuted. “Kidnapping is a felony.” 

“Oh come on,” Pamela complained. “Maybe I should return the favor — justice, and all that. Carve ‘Ivy + Bat’ and a little heart into their skin. Then you’ll know what it’s like to hear something scream and wail from some innocent romantic gesture.” 

This was getting serious. “What do you want, Ivy,” Bruce growled, still avoiding saying her civilian name in a non-confidential context. 

“You,” she replied simply. “Isn’t it obvious?”

She stalked towards him. Bruce held his ground. 

“I know there’s a man under there,” she hummed, tracing a slender finger around the perimeter of the yellow oval on his chest. “A big, strong man with his sexy, growly voice.”

Bruce let out a sharp, annoyed exhale of air — completely unaffected by her over-the-top ministrations. 

It wasn’t until it was already too late that he noticed the syringe she was holding behind her back. Just as he was raising his gloved hand to block her, she stabbed it into the muscle of his cheek.

 He groaned and knocked her hand away but not before almost all of it had been injected into his bloodstream. He yanked the syringe out and tossed it to the ground. The glass shattered and a plume of pink, sparkly smoke made a little mushroom cloud above it. 

“What was that?” Bruce demanded, grabbing both of her wrists in his much sturdier grasp. 

“Nothing!” she protested, writhing in his hold. 

“Isley!” he roared. He transferred her wrists to be both held by one hand as he reached down to pull out his handcuffs. 

Before he could maintain a steady grasp, however, the wind was knocked out of him by the blow of a baseball bat to his back. 

“Take your stinkin’ hands off my girl!” roared the all-too distinctive voice of Harleen Quinzel. 

The impact made him lose his grasp on Isley who proceeded to wrap vines around his legs and arms, keeping him right where he was. He pulled against the restraints with all his might but the bark wasn’t giving. 

From the shadows of the warehouse, out stepped The Scarecrow, Dr Freeze, The Calendar Man, The Riddler, Joker, and a few others. 

“What the hell?” Bruce groaned, fumbling as he tried to reach his distress signal. It remained stubbornly out of reach. 

It was about then that he began to notice the first real signs that something was definitely different. He was now overly aware of his own pulse — the wash in and out of blood coursing through his veins and arteries. 

His face was hotter as well. He felt a little drunk, almost. His usually laser-focused mind began drifting without him allowing it to. His mind’s eye began to focus not on the deadly situation around him but on… sunshine. Red and blue. Dark curls. Warm smiles. Thick biceps. 

Jesus Christ, she gave him an aphrodisiac. 

“God, I wonder who he’s thinking about. Any’a you read minds or do you all just, like, torture people?” Harley asked the group of enemies. 

No answer came — which resolved the question anyways. 

“Who are ya thinking about, Mista Bats,” Harley teased, poking his heaving chest with the end of her bat. 

He gritted his teeth, grateful that their love toxin hadn’t included any truth-compulsion chemicals. Bruce’s arm was twisted in such a way that he was able to get to his lock pick set. He grabbed one with a jagged edge and abruptly began sawing into the bark that held him in place. 

Ivy howled in pain as he scratched the vine she was empathetically connected to. The vines involuntarily loosened, enough so that Bruce was able to wriggle out of their hold. His body moved at the same speed his lust-addled mind did — if not faster. 

He grabbed the blue labeled syringe in his belt. Custom benzodiazepine analogue, a mixture that would knock a grown adult out in ten seconds flat due to its concentrated dose and lead only to mild headaches when the victim woke up. 

He twisted the top to auto inject and threw the syringe like Isley’s neck was his own personal dart board. Even as Harley rushed to remove it, the entire chemical emptied itself in her neck. 

He turned to Joker, who was approaching fast. 

Bruce ripped a part of the thick branch that had him incapacitated earlier and knocked it against his head with a sickening thud. Joker giggled through the pain, even as consciousness slipped. 

As Bruce fought off the remaining villains to the best of his ability, his mind was brought back again and again to his raging hard-on. 

His breathing remained stubbornly shallow as his blood roared through his bloodstream. 

Memories of fantasy and reality alike echoed back to him, all centered around a certain individual.

The thing was, he’d been hit with sex pollen and aphrodisiacs before. Most of them registered as mild to his above-average metabolism, but there was a specific incident with Poison Ivy about a year and a half ago. It had been embarrassing and inconvenient, but after about an hour of jerking himself through unsatisfying orgasm after unsatisfying orgasm, it was at least over and out of his system. 

This was so much worse. 

The antidote he’d synthesized in his last run in with sex pollen wasn’t doing nearly anything to mitigate what he was going through. The throbbing at the edges of his field of vision also reminded him of Scarecrow’s fear toxin but his antidote for that didn’t do anything either. 

This was some sort of variant. Some unresearched strain that defied chemical resolution and made every shift of Kevlar over his aching cock feel like torture. 

Curly hair. Caring eyes. Warmth personified. 

He cursed himself every time those images flashed back to him. He didn’t even know if Kal was interested in men, much less him. 

It was rare that Bruce ever credited his victories to luck, but in this distracted state he didn’t know what else to attribute to getting all but one of his greatest foes incapacitated. 

Harley Quinn. 

The last one standing. 

“What. Did. She. Give. Me,” Bruce growled, circling her as she gulped nervously. 

“It's… well we didn’t really come up with a name — I mean you can imagine how hard it is to get a team of supervillains on the same page about anything much less—”

“Harley!” Bruce barked. 

“Horny toxin!” Harley squeaked, startled. “That’s sorta what I been calling it, anyhow. A variation of fear toxin with some sex pollen from veneris-noctiflora, a plant containing a very concentrated, natural aphrodisiac. Then Scarecrow and Freeze refined the stuff to contain certain… properties.”

“If you did it so one of you would be able to easily take advantage of me, it’s not working,” Bruce snarled. 

Harley’s eyes opened wider and she shook her palms in a defensive gesture. “Woah, woah, woah! Nah, we just want you to get laid. I can tell it’s been a while.”

Bruce’s drug-induced blush burned a little brighter with embarrassment. 

“So you think this is, what, a favor?” Bruce scoffed, incredulously. 

“No we were just kinda hoping it would take you at least a few days to a week of fun to get it all outta your system so we can have a little peace and quiet,” Harley shrugged. 

Whatever. 

He was tired of asking questions. Maybe she was being honest, maybe she wasn’t. It didn’t matter. He was getting needier by the second — which meant had to get back to the Batcave and handle this however possible. 

“Oh, also, I’m pretty sure if you don’t get things flowing within like ten hours you’ll have a heart attack and die — or at least that’s what happened to all the test rats.”

Clark soared through the Metropolitan skies. All was well—mostly. There was something weighing on him and it wasn’t lifting even as he darted through clouds and chased over skylines. 

Bruce was clearly avoiding him. 

It wasn’t like he was the chattiest individual, so for the first few weeks Clark tried to convince himself that nothing had changed. The next few weeks he tried to convince himself it wasn’t personal. And for the weeks after that… he tried to accept that there was something Bruce was upset with about him that he didn’t want to tell Clark about. 

Clark had very casually tried to ask him whether he was okay or not a couple times but he always just got a very curt nod in response. 

He internally battled for minutes over whether flying over to the manor to talk to him would be a good idea or not. He didn’t want him to feel smothered and he didn’t want to come across as desperate but he was… worried. 

Yeah, worried. That’s the right word. 

Clark wouldn’t admit it to anyone, barely even himself, but he did have feelings for the vigilante. He cared about what Bruce thought of him more than anyone else. He had to hold back how flustered he was around him. 

Golly, he’d barely survived that one encounter when they went undercover together in their civilian identities and Bruce got all, ahem, handsy with him. 

Bruce apologized profusely afterwards — which told Clark all he needed to know about whether he meant it or not. 

The truth was, Clark hadn’t minded it at all. He wanted Bruce’s hands on him again. They were warm, solid, strong, commanding. 

If Clark had a crush on Bruce and Bruce was upset with him for some reason, flying over had to be an awful idea. Clark would probably blush too hard and say things that were too affectionate and whatever Bruce was pissed about would only intensify in negativity. 

But if there was a chance he could make things better…

Certainly this was a better time to talk things out than in the midst of battle, right?

“Master Kent,” Alfred greeted (no matter how many times Clark tried to get them on a first-name basis.) “I wasn’t expecting your company — I apologize.”

“Oh, no need,” Clark smiled. “This is a surprise visit. Is Bruce here?”

“Ah,” Alfred clicked his tongue. “He is but I’m afraid he’s… unavailable, at the moment.”

Clark frowned. “Is he okay?” 

“To be quite honest with you I’m not sure,” Alfred admitted. “He returned through the batcave entrance a couple hours ago and sent me a message to leave him quite alone but to have masters Dick and Tim at the ready to handle the threats in Gotham.” 

Clark was only more nervous at that. 

“If he were gravely injured he would have come to me,” Alfred reassured, “but I will admit I am concerned for his well-being. He trusts you more than almost anyone, if you would like to check in on him I will not hinder your approach.” 

If Bruce didn’t want company Clark didn’t want to invade his privacy but if even Alfred was willing to sidestep direct orders this could be something serious. 

What he found in the batcave was… confusing. 

Bruce sat hunched over the batcomputer, frantically typing and pressing buttons as the machine that made his chemicals poured colored liquid after colored liquid. He was sweatier than Clark had ever seen him — panting so loudly and heart beating so rapidly that it probably could have been audible to non-metahumans. 

Bruce was also so focused that he didn’t notice Clark enter—which might have been the most concerning part of all. Sneaking up on the Dark Knight is no easy feat. 

Clark cleared his throat, floating a bit closer. “Bruce?”

Bruce startled, hard. “Clark,” Bruce said, voice almost cracking from strain. Clark’s heart beat double time as his chest flooded with concern. The amount of discomfort Bruce seemed to be in pulled at his heartstrings like nothing else. 

“Are you okay?” Clark worried, “What’s going on?”

He floated to the ground and walked over to Bruce hastily. He was about to place a comforting hand on Bruce’s shoulder but he swerved away from the touch like Clark would burn him. He looked away immediately, his face redder than Clark had ever seen him. 

He was still wearing the lower half of the batsuit but the cowl had been removed. He scooted his chair further under the desk. (Batdesk?)

“Bruce?” Clark asked, quieter this time. 

Bruce closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and out that seemed to barely make a dent in his flushed disposition. “… I’ve been given a chemical compound. I’m currently focusing on making something strong enough to undo its effects but I’m hitting dead ends. It was created by Poison Ivy, Scarecrow, Dr Freeze, and Harley Quinn.”

“Oh my gosh, Bruce!” Clark fretted. “You’re poisoned?”

“Something like that,” Bruce gritted.

It was wrong, very very wrong, but Bruce looked… so distractingly beautiful. Red, flushed cheeks, skin shining with sweat, hair far more disheveled than he ever typically let it get, mouth red and bitted — parted in his concentration. 

Clark closed his eyes and forced his mind back to the task at hand. 

“Kal… you should go,” Bruce groaned, running his hands over his face. “I’m not fully in control of myself right now.”

“I won’t let you hurt me if that’s what you’re worried about,” Clark reassured. “Though I don’t want to affect your concentration.”

Clark shifted his weight backwards, but Bruce’s gaze immediately snapped to him — reeling him back in. His face completely contorted with something Clark honestly wasn’t sure how to name. Need, almost. Want, maybe. 

His eyes dragged over Clark inch by inch, head to toe — making Clark’s face go bright red — eyes eventually returning to make contact with Clark’s. No, not Clark’s eyes… somewhere a little south. 

His mouth, maybe?

He had no idea what was happening, but he didn’t have to be an expert in human behavior to know that Bruce didn’t want him to go. 

“I don’t want to leave you like this,” Clark gulped. “You’re clearly not yourself right now.” 

“Clark…” Bruce hummed, breathlessly. 

“Are you sure there isn’t any way I can make things better?” Clark pleaded. “Any way I can offer a helping hand?”

Despite the evident peril of the situation, Bruce let out an exhale that was something akin to a laugh. 

“You don’t understand,” Bruce shook his head. “What they gave me…” he looked away from Clark, seeming to be steeling himself towards some big confession. “It’s an alteration of Scarecrow’s fear toxin, as well as a heavy component of, essentially… sex pollen.”

Clark’s face immediately went bright red, eyes widening. 

So that’s what Bruce’s composure was all about. 

“Do you—” Clark cleared his throat and lowered his pitch so he didn’t sound so nervous “ —want privacy?”

“No,” Bruce blurted. “I mean— yeah. I mean… want is a very strange thing for me right now,” Bruce groaned, burying his angelic face in his hands. 

This had to be one of the most compromising situations the World’s Finest had ever come up against. 

Clark had no idea what to say in this moment. 

Want, he supposed, was a very strange thing for him too right now. 

Bruce looked back up at Clark. The expression on his face was so desperate — so needy — that Clark had to fight like crazy to maintain composure. 

“So the, ahem, chemical is making you want… companionship,” Clark chose his words very carefully. “But you, Bruce Wayne, don’t actually want me to be here right now? Do I understand you correctly?”

Bruce closed his eyes, attempting to take steadying breaths before looking back up to Clark with his eyes wide and his pupils blown — almost pleading. “I… the chemical doesn’t seem to be changing anything just… magnifying certain things. I—” he gulped “ —I respect you as a teammate. I appreciate your company. It’s rare that I don’t welcome your company. Just right now I worry about… maintaining composure.”

And Clark wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was he supposed to stay or leave? 

“I’ve encountered aphrodisiacs before,” Bruce said, though every word seemed like it was aggressively ripped from his chest. “They’re usually… much easier to manage. None of my chemicals are working and trying to mitigate the effects due to my own efforts currently won’t bring about release.”

If it was possible to blush even harder, that’s exactly what Clark’s face was doing. 

“Quinzel said if I don’t get this handled within 10 hours I might have a heart attack,” Bruce finally admitted. 

Clark gasped, unthinkingly placing a concerned hand on Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce moaned at the contact. 

Bruce’s eyes flew open and his mouth gaped with unarticulated apologies and embarrassment. 

“Bruce…” Clark licked his lips, his mouth suddenly very dry. “I can’t just… I can’t let you die.”

“And I can’t ask you for this,” Bruce disagreed. “Checkmate.” 

“Well do you know of anyone I can call?” Clark offered. “Selina or—”

“Not Selina,” Bruce snapped immediately. “Or any of the others. I’m pretty sure no one else will work.”

The word ‘else’ caught in Clark’s ears. He wondered if it was an accidental slip. 

“How long do you have left?” 

“About four hours,” Bruce admitted. 

“Bruce, are you sure…” Clark pleaded. 

“Kal, no.”

“Okay,” Clark took a steadying breath that he didn’t truly need to live. “I absolutely won’t take advantage of you in this state. If you want me to leave, just say the word and no matter how worried I am I’ll trust you to handle it. If you want me to stay, I’d be more than happy to. And if you want me to help… I’ll do anything in my power to get you through this.” 

Clark’s chest felt tight with emotion he didn’t know what to think of. He knew Bruce didn’t truly want him. He knew that once the substance was handled he’d tell Clark just how much it didn’t mean anything and just how sorry he was. He knew whatever Bruce was upset at him for would only be exacerbated by this and he might never speak to him again. 

But all of that was risks Clark was willing to take if it meant saving Bruce’s life. Anything was worth that. 

“I… I can’t,” Bruce looked down, averting his gaze. “I know you don’t really want this. I can’t take advantage of your good will. I won’t pressure you into something like this.”

“You’re not pressuring me,” Clark admitted. “If anything I’m pressuring you. I… I do want this. I mean, this situation is awful and I wish you weren’t experiencing it but… I’ve wanted something like this for a very long time.”

“Stop, Clark,” Bruce hissed. “You’re just saying that so I’m not worried about you. Stop looking at me so concerned. That look on your face, it’s… fuck, it’s more than I can bear right now.” 

Clark’s heart pounded so hard he could barely hear above the din. “Bruce, if you tell me to leave I will.”

A pause, Bruce didn’t speak. 

“Just tell me what to do,” Clark urged. “Whatever you want from me.” 

Bruce whined, still not saying anything. But this time Clark was willing to wait. 

“... Please forgive me, someday,” Bruce pleaded. 

“I could say the same,” Clark replied, barely above a whisper. 

“Just… can you…” Bruce struggled. 

“Yeah?” Clark encouraged, crouching down slightly to be level with Bruce where he sat. 

“Can you just put your hand on me— my shoulder, again? It helped the haze clear a bit,” Bruce gulped. 

Clark’s breath shuddered in and out of his chest as he reached out to place his hand tentatively on Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce closed his eyes and leaned into the contact, letting out a shaky exhale like water going over a burn. 

Clark moved his thumb back and forth in comforting circles, watching as Bruce’s eyebrows raised and his stiff posture melted. 

“Yeah?” Clark asked vaguely. 

“Yeah,” Bruce breathed, nodding distantly. 

Clark knew their friendship might not survive anything that had happened thus far (much less anything that might be to come) but knowing that he was alleviating at least some of Bruce’s intense discomfort was enough to make Clark’s worries temporarily dip from radar. 

“Is it getting better?” Clark asked, though he knew a shoulder massage wouldn’t be quite enough to satisfy extra-strength sex pollen. 

“It’s…” Bruce faltered, collecting his words. “I’m not drowning. The closer you are.” 

Clark’s heart swooped. The rushing blood in his body very quickly routed South. 

“Can I…” Clark offered, noncommittally. Bruce nodded enthusiastically without even knowing what Clark was asking. Clark barely knew, himself. 

He experimentally dragged his hand up higher, to the exposed skin of Bruce’s neck. 

“Hahhh,” Bruce breathed at the contact. His eyes flew open to see Clark’s own fiery blush. 

Then, faster than Clark’s brain could keep up, Bruce’s gloved hands flew to either side of Clark’s face and pulled him in for a desperate kiss. 

Clark’s heart plummeted like he was freefalling the second their lips connected. They were officially past the point of no return — if they hadn’t been already. Clark’s eyes drifted closed as he let himself drink in the musky, grounded flavor of Bruce’s desperate mouth. 

Clark fought to keep up with the whirlwind, his hands carding through Bruce’s sweat-damp hair. Bruce vocalized at his touch the way he did with any skin-to-skin contact. 

It wasn’t long before Bruce was biting his way between Clark’s lips, licking the roof of his mouth like a man starved. Clark’s mind spun as if Bruce’s sex toxin was somehow contagious. Or maybe getting horny is a perfectly understandable reaction to making out with your unbelievably attractive teammate currently moaning against your mouth. 

Even as the moment swam with overwhelming ecstasy, Clark already felt unpleasant emotion tighten his chest. He knew this moment was fleeting. Bruce might lust after him, but he didn’t want a relationship with Clark. 

Clark broke away from the kiss for a second. 

It did nothing to stop the currently-ravenous Bruce Wayne who immediately began assaulting the skin of Clark’s neck with bites, kisses, and licks. 

“Bruce… are you sure this is okay?” Clark panted. “We can figure out something else to solve this if you, hmnnn, if you don’t want this.” 

“Shut up, Farmboy,” Bruce growled. “I haven’t gotten off in months because I want you so bad.”

What did that mean?

Clark’s mind swam. “Wha— huh?” 

“I didn’t want to cum while thinking about you,” Bruce hungrily explained while shamelessly groping every inch of Clark he could get his hands on, occasionally nipping at Clark’s parted, panting lips. “So I haven’t been having sex with anyone else. Haven’t even been jerking off.” 

That was the toxin making him say that… right?

Bruce didn’t seem to be in the mood for conversation, though, as he immediately returned to Clark’s mouth. He breached Clark’s mouth — coaxing Clark’s tongue into his own mouth, proceeding to suck, hard, on the sensitive muscle. 

Clark moaned, eyes unfocussing as Bruce’s hands tugged at his hair. 

“Bruce, wait,” Clark insisted. Immediately the spell Bruce was under seemed to recede its clutches over his brain chemistry. He pulled back — panting, eyes beseeching Clark’s. 

“Okay,” Bruce nodded. “I’ll, ahem, I’ll go back to finding some chemical antidote. I apologize for losing control like that. I… I can’t say sorry enough—”

“No, Bruce,” Clark sighed, immediately missing the contact of Bruce’s lips. “I just want to do the right thing. You’re not in the right state of mind to consent to this and… I’m not sure what to do.”

Bruce breathed in and out — carefully, measured. “Clark… I know you don’t know what it’s like to be drunk but this sensation and that one are similar. My inhibitions are lowered, my urges are a little more narrow-sighted, but my brain hasn’t been traded for a different one. My wants are my own. But… you don’t have to keep worrying about this, I think the chemical takes note of consent. Your rejection worked.” 

“When you say ‘worked,’ do you mean it’s somehow out of your system or… you’re just less eager to kiss me and such?” Clark asked. 

“My pulse is still concerningly fast, as I’m sure you can hear,” Bruce explained. “But my body isn’t urging me to take that out on you anymore.”

“Bruce, I didn’t mean to reject you,” Clark complained. “And your pulse still is accelerated— accelerating still. You’re still in danger. I’m only worried about your state of mind and what this could do to our partnership. It’s not… it’s not that I don’t want you.”

Bruce’s eyes snapped to Clark again. “Yeah?”

Clark was beginning to figure out the part he played in solving this puzzle. “Yeah, I want you, Bruce.” 

Bruce’s breath became shuddered again, his eyes involuntarily dropping to where Clark was biting his own lip. 

“Don’t just say that…” Bruce warned. 

“I’m not,” Clark breathed. “I… I want you. I want all of you. I want to feel you. I want to kiss you and hold you and do… more than that, even. I want to make you feel good — not just because of the pollen stuff but because I’ve always wanted to make you feel good.” There was something utterly relieving about saying those things out loud after feeling them for so, so long. And if this would help Bruce too… it was a win-win situation. “Please, Bruce, I want you so bad—”

“Fuck,” Bruce moaned, surging forward to connect his mouth to Clark’s once more. 

Clark braced Bruce’s back with his hands, urging him to a stand so he wouldn’t have to stay on one knee. Standing, they had a whole new range of motion. Bruce’s one-track mind led him to immediately grope Clark’s ass through his uniform. Clark let out a noise that was part laugh / part moan. 

“I want you too,” Bruce confessed, like a solemn vow. 

They kissed for a few moments more. 

“And now that we’re on the same page, I need you to help me get off so bad,” Bruce moaned. Clark’s face reddened, even as he found the bat’s desperation just a little bit cute. 

Knowing that he wasn’t really in the right frame of mind for strategy in this moment, Clark took control. He urged Bruce down to the chair in front of the desk. Bruce whined at the loss so Clark quickly got to a kneel between his knees. 

Bruce looked at him with a somewhat shocked face, raising an eyebrow. 

“What?” Clark asked, self-consciously. 

“Just,” Bruce faltered, “not where I expected my evening to lead me.”

He reached out and placed his hand to the side of Clark’s face, his gloves discarded at some point during their making out. Clark nuzzled into the touch eagerly — chest swimming with need. 

He looked down at the interlinking Kevlar near Bruce’s crotch, noticing how it pushed out more than usual even as the armor itself mostly did well at concealing his erection. 

“Um, I don’t really know how to get through your armor,” Clark admitted, bashfully. 

Bruce breathlessly laughed, even in his lust-dazed state. He unlatched and pushed apart several hidden seams until the two halves of his suit were separated. Clark helped him pull the bottom section down, exposing Bruce’s boxer briefs. A wet patch of precome soaked the front.  

Clark leaned towards his trapped cock, unintentionally ghosting hot breath over the sensitive flesh. 

A disbelieving exhale escaped Bruce’s mouth as his head lulled back. 

Here goes everything, Clark thought as he finally pulled the material of Bruce’s underwear down to fully expose him. 

His dick was so neglected and aching that it was bright red — nearly purple. Clark took the appendage in his hand and softly stroked him once, twice. 

“Hng, Clark…” Bruce moaned. 

It was such a beautiful noise, one Clark never would have expected to hear from the stoic bat. 

Immediately, Clark was addicted. Immediately, he needed more. 

Clark stroked him again, setting a rhythm designed to sooth some of the ache — provide release. Bruce melted in his hold, his breath becoming natural even for the first time since Clark entered the cave. He also noticed that Bruce’s heartbeat was actually slowing, as opposed to the usual pattern people assumed during sex. 

Clark leaned forward and took the first inch or so of Bruce’s dick into his mouth, suckling softly. Bruce practically cried out at the new stimulation. 

Clark’s heart sang as small little noises escaped Bruce’s lungs — seemingly from the pure compulsion itself. 

And who was Clark if not eager to please?

His mouth opened wider to accept more and more of him, before pulling back and repeating the two motions. 

Clark wasn’t a virgin but he wasn’t particularly experienced either. He’d had two girlfriends and one boyfriend his entire life — this very situation bringing Clark’s body count to a modest 4. Still, his attention to detail and his nature as a purely selfless lover typically left his partners satisfied. 

He glowed with pride when it seemed that Bruce would be no exception.

Bruce was bigger than his only other experience with a man but it wasn’t anything Superman, of all people, couldn’t handle. 

He thanked his biology for not needing to come up for air. Then he thanked it a second time when the head of Bruce’s cock breached Clark’s throat without a gag reflex to get in the way or make things uncomfortable. 

“God, Clark,” Bruce praised. “You’re so, hmngg, so good.” 

Clark’s own costume suddenly felt much more restrictive. It didn’t matter, though. The only thing that mattered was Bruce and those pretty little sounds he couldn’t help but make — adding fuel to Clark’s already-raging fire. 

Clark swallowed Bruce’s cock even deeper; until he was nosing his abdomen. His throat dilated and contracted around the unfamiliar intrusion, but the squeezing certainly didn’t seem an issue to the very debauched Bruce Wayne. 

Bruce still seemed to be shying away from Clark’s gaze, embarrassed almost. Clark wasn’t having any of that. He placed his hands on Bruce’s clothed thighs, massaging them through the kevlar in what he hoped would be a comforting touch. It worked, actually, and Bruce seemed to snap out of his emotional guard. 

His eyes made contact with Clark’s pleading gaze as Clark’s mouth stretched around Bruce’s warm flesh. 

Clark pulled his head back until only the tip remained in his mouth before diving down again and swallowing him all the way. Another languid, wanton moan wrestled its way out of Bruce’s chest. Clark looked up at Bruce through his lashes, concentrating both on the vigilante’s reactions and on Clark’s task itself. He pressed his hands more firmly against his thighs; wishing he could kiss and cuddle Bruce and suck his cock at the same time. 

He deserved comfort. Even as Clark’s actions brought about relief it was still just aloe over a burn. 

Soothing — not remedying. At least, not yet. 

Clark’s tongue massaged the underside of Bruce’s dick as he nodded his head up and down over the length. 

“Holy— how are you so good at this?” Bruce gasped, encouragingly sliding his fingers into Clark’s hair. 

Without pulling off, Clark moved his hand from Bruce’s thigh to his forearm — giving him permission to guide Clark's head. 

“God, you’ll be the death of me,” Bruce moaned, even as he gently fisted Clark’s soft curls in his hand and began to set the pace of Clark’s mouth around his cock. 

Clark’s eyes nearly rolled back as Bruce used his mouth to chase his own pleasure. 

Being one of the most powerful beings in the entire universe had a way of making a rare loss of control something incredibly sexy. 

The pace sped up and the sound of Bruce’s cock impacting the back of Clark’s throat became borderline pornographic — filling Clark’s entire field of hearing with it. 

Clark let his posture and jaw go even more slack as Bruce picked up speed. 

His hips began to falter — mouth hanging open, moans increasing in volume. “Clark, I’m gonna, hahhh,” Bruce panted. 

Brushing past Bruce’s warning, Clark swallowed around Bruce’s length again. 

… but something was off. Bruce’s expression was clearly one of pure ecstasy and yet his peak never reached him. He let out little broken sobs as he slammed into Clark’s throat over and over to no avail. 

Despite how hard it was to get his bearings under the circumstances, Clark forced his brain to cooperate. 

He thought about how Bruce had been suddenly able to resist Clark at the smallest rejections. He thought about how Bruce told him that he wasn’t able to mitigate the want with his own hand. It was clear to Clark that something about him, personally, existed as a key for some sort of lock. 

Wincing at the ensuing whine, Clark pulled all the way off of Bruce. 

“I— I can’t— why can’t I—” Bruce pleaded, eyes completely unfocused as sweat drenched him. 

“Bruce,” Clark said, to get his attention. Gosh, Clark’s voice was wrecked. He pushed past that fact anyways. “Bruce, I think my involvement matters here.”

“What are you saying?” Bruce whined, his entire composure so thoroughly destroyed that Clark realized the lack of contact so close to the edge was probably worse than he’d been when Clark started. 

Mercifully, Clark wrapped his hand around Bruce’s cock again and languidly pumped to keep Bruce from losing his entire mind. 

“There’s something I have to do that I’m not doing,” Clark mused.

“Wha– no you’re perfect, Clark. So good for me,” Bruce insisted, the words making Clark weaker in the knees if that was possible. 

“N-no Bruce,” Clark continued, making sure to keep the pace of his hand. “I’m not being self-deprecating, there’s just some missing piece.”

Bruce groaned, hips trembling against his chair. “Do not ask me to do detective work right now.” 

“You’re so beautiful, Bruce,” Clark said, sincerely. It was his first try and it clearly was doing something. He kept trying words of affirmation. “You’re so good. I want you so bad.”

Bruce moaned, hard. “Jesus, Kent.”

“You can come for me.” Clark blushed at the words the second they left his still-sore throat. “Whenever you’re ready, baby, you can come for me.”

Aannddd open sesame. 

Some gear in Bruce’s biology changed at that and he was no longer teetering endlessly on a precipice that remained stubbornly. At the last second, Clark sealed his lips around Bruce’s dick again and sucked — catching all the ensuing spend in his mouth. 

Clark’s head spun wildly with the knowledge that Bruce hadn’t been able to get off earlier because Clark hadn’t let him. 

Bruce—who’d been so loud earlier it was nearly creating echoes in the cave—was so thoroughly enraptured in his pleasure that he went completely silent. His mouth hung open and his eyes rolled back as warmth spilled down Clark’s throat. 

It wasn’t until Bruce began to tremble with aftershocks and he seemed to be trying to move away from Clark’s mouth that Clark let up. 

Clark slowly and carefully dragged his mouth off of Bruce’s dick. 

He had to swallow, cough, and clear his throat several times before he had any confidence in what his voice would sound like once he spoke. 

“...Bruce?” Clark asked. “Are you… is it better?”

“Much,” Bruce sighed, averting his eyes with embarrassment. He tucked himself back into his underwear and swiveled the chair forward towards the computer. 

The previous negative emotion tightened Clark’s chest again. 

“Okay,” Clark breathed. “Well, um, I guess you probably want me to leave now. I’m… I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t hurt or harm you in any way. We can talk about this later. Or, y’know, not — knowing you that is probably what would make you more comfortable.”

Clark ignored his own erection as he stumbled to his feet. He was only a couple inches of the ground when:

“Wait,” Bruce blurted. Clark dropped back to the ground so fast it felt like falling. Bruce’s eyes still had the wanton expression of earlier. “It is better, but… it’s not gone. According to Quinzel it will take an extended number of orgasms with another person to fully get it out of my system. I don’t want to ask more from you—” 

“I’m yours, Bruce,” Clark rushed. Maybe they weren’t the right words to say. He hardly paid them mind even as they left his own mouth but it was the truth. 

Bruce looked at him with reverent disbelief. 

“I can’t believe this is real,” Bruce breathed, and the expression on his face tore Clark between his heart melting with affection and it beating even faster with lust. 

“Need me to pinch you?” Clark joked, if only to ease some of the pressure in his chest. Bruce rose to his feet, practically throwing himself into Clark’s hold as he attacked his mouth with kisses that gave and took at the exact same rate. 

Clark moved his lips to the side of Bruce’s mouth and kissed a trail over his cheek and down his neck. 

He laved over the hot skin with his tongue, occasionally sucking it into his mouth and reveling in the ensuing moan Bruce so generously let fall out of his mouth. 

“You have…” Bruce airily sighed, “... a very talented mouth. Anyone ever tell you that?”

Clark smiled pridefully against his neck. 

He both heard and felt how Bruce’s amped-up pulse returned to the frantic thumping that indicated the relief brought by Bruce’s last orgasm was soon expiring. 

Bruce clutched Clark’s face in his hands and yanked him back up to kiss him desperately, filthily. 

“Where — do you want — to go,” Clark asked, interrupted by needy kisses. 

“Bedroom. Now,” Bruce whined.

Clark knew Bruce didn’t particularly love being carried by Clark, but in this state he doubted that he’d mind. He wrapped his arms around Bruce’s back and lifted him enough so that he was resting his entire weight on Clark. 

Superspeed came in handy as Clark rushed the two through hallways, corridors, and grand staircases, eventually coming to a rest in the room in the manor Clark knew to be Bruce’s primary bedroom. 

Bruce gasped with… relief? Anticipation? As Clark sat him down. 

But any amount of disorientation clearly didn’t last long. Bruce immediately returned to his relentless contact to Clark’s mouth — pushing Clark up against the wall for all the more control. Clark distantly heard himself let out high, needy whines against Bruce’s mouth and could barely believe they’d come from himself. 

Bruce’s groping quickly shifted from appreciative grabbing to searching for how to take his supersuit off. 

“How,” kiss, “does,” kiss, “this damn thing,” kiss, “open?”

Clark laughed against Bruce’s mouth. He placed a tentative hand on Bruce’s chest to gently push him away. Bruce reluctantly retreated his assault to Clark’s lips long enough for Clark to press the unseen buttons and seams to make his suit release. He pulled it over his head and let the cape and upper half fall to the floor, followed by the removal of his trunks and pants until he was standing just in his underwear. 

Thankfully in the time Clark had been undressing, Bruce took the initiative to do the same. 

Clark took a rare moment of slow appreciation to look over Bruce’s body. His scarred skin stretched taught over his hard-earned muscles. All in all, Bruce was so beautiful. 

Clark had always thought so but he’d never gotten a chance to bask in it before. 

Of course, it was only a matter of moments before Bruce’s mouth returned to Clark’s — though this time his lips were far more tentative. Appreciative. Passionate without being aggressive. Maybe it was a stupid or juvenile thing to think, but Bruce Wayne really was a perfect kisser. 

“You’re so beautiful, Bruce,” Clark panted, in between kisses. The words gave Bruce pause, for some reason. He held Clark’s face in his hands and looked at him like Clark was something he’d never seen before. 

“I’ll miss this moment for the rest of my life,” Bruce breathed, as if he barely intended to say the words, they simply fell out of his mouth. 

“Maybe you don’t have to,” Clark whispered, his lips ghosting over Bruce’s. 

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” Bruce sighed. 

“I won’t if you don’t,” Clark promised. 

Bruce connected his lips to Clark’s once more before urging him away from the door and towards the bed. 

Clark eagerly followed, placing appreciative hands along Bruce’s body as they did so. He knew every amount of skin-to-skin contact provided relief to his fever. Every time Clark stole a glance at Bruce he felt his heart wrench at the sight of his eyebrows furrowed together in sorrow like something about this moment brought him sadness instead of relief. 

Clark held him tighter. 

Following Bruce’s lead, Clark started with his back against the mattress and Bruce straddling him. 

“You haven’t gotten off yet,” Bruce pointed out. 

Clark blushed. “Yeah, um, it’s fine.”

“But—”

“I’m just… regular turned on,” Clark insisted. “You’re chemically in need right now, I promise I’ll be fine. 

Before Bruce could complain again and insist on doing anything that would delay his own pleasure, Clark pulled him back down for a lingering kiss. He ran his fingers up and down Bruce’s spine in a calming motion. 

He knew Bruce was extra-sensitive along his spine due to the number of nerves. Bruce’s many years of one battle after another meant that he had entire areas on the surface of his body where the nerve endings were completely dead. The spine being the central hub seemed to scratch a deeply uncomfortable itch.

He noticed the way Bruce’s erratic heart slowed — his heartbeat becoming like a steady wash in and out of an ocean tide.  

“Thank you,” Bruce breathed against Clark’s ears. 

“For what?”

“Everything. You.”

Bruce’s lips connected to Clark’s once more as if he simply couldn’t get enough. Clark distantly heard a drawer opening and a bottle cap opening but every time he tried to shift to see what was happening Bruce’s mouth became all the more insistent. 

Clark knew himself to be a fairly vocal lover, even while making out. It was almost as if affection itself was his turn-on. He was the kind of person who typically enjoyed the other person’s pleasure — as well as foreplay and aftercare — to be more enjoyable than his own release. Though that was certainly a cherry on top, no doubt about it. 

He noticed that Bruce was getting a little louder against his mouth and he was also only bracing himself with one hand. 

Clark turned his head to the side to break the kiss, and then finally put the pieces together about what Bruce was doing. The slide of Bruce’s lubed fingers going in and out of himself made Clark’s mouth water. 

“Can I? For you?” Clark offered, still too shy to say much more than that. 

“You don’t have to,” Bruce exhaled. 

“I want to,” Clark smiled, placing a quick peck to Bruce’s forehead. 

Bruce let out a shaky breath before nodding, allowing Clark to maneuver them so that Bruce had his back against the bedding and it was Clark who planked above him. 

Bruce looked so stunning. Lying below him, lips reddened and parted, hair messy, face contorted with need. 

Clark looked deeply into Bruce’s icy blue eyes at the same time that Bruce’s eyes beseeched Clark. The silent eye contact somehow proved to be the most intimate thing to happen thus far. Clark felt exposed, vulnerable. Peeled open for Bruce’s eyes to see. It was perfect. 

Clark reached up to place his hand on the side of Bruce’s face. Bruce nuzzled into his hand, breath catching. 

Nothing seemed worthy of saying in this moment. English couldn’t do any of this justice. 

So Clark just sent one final smile to Bruce before leaning back on his haunches and spreading Bruce’s legs open a bit farther. Bruce had already lubed up his own fingers earlier but Clark still applied some to his own hand and warmed it in his palm. 

Slowly and carefully Clark pushed a digit into Bruce’s warmth. Bruce’s eyes fluttered closed at the sensation. Clark’s fingers weren’t drastically longer or thicker than Bruce’s, but the angle made him able to go far further. 

After a few moments of tentative drags in and out, Clark added another finger. Bruce groaned — part discomfort, part ecstasy. Clark soothed him through it, whispering words that neither quite heard but both of them felt. 

Hooking his fingers slightly led to a much more desperate, separated moan. His prostate. 

Clark kept up the pace, but now made sure to massage the spot with every insert as his fingers pumped in and out of Bruce’s hole. 

Bruce moaned, hard. 

The simple drag of fingers in flesh was bringing Bruce closer to a peak in his pleasure. 

Clark added a third finger and was practically mesmerised by the way he met resistance on the way in but Bruce clenched down on the way out — silently begging for more. Sucking him back in. Begging for Clark not to stop. 

“Feels so good,” Bruce panted, looking up at Clark reverently. Clark leaned down and kissed him on his perfect, parted mouth as his fingers continued pumping in and out, curling to abuse his prostate on every thrust. Each and every drag and twist of Clark’s fingers in Bruce punched out moan after moan. 

The beautiful sounds crescendoed until they sounded like they bordered on discomfort. 

“Clark—” Bruce pleaded. 

Clark wasn’t sure what Bruce was asking for at first until he remembered what Bruce had needed earlier. 

“Come when you’re ready, baby,” Clark encouraged. “Taking this so well.”

Bruce mewled louder, reaching up and grabbing Clark’s face to drag him into a rough, bruising kiss as he came in spurts across his stomach without any direct stimulation to his cock. 

They kissed for a few moments more but Clark really was struggling to focus with how turned on he was. And now that Bruce was prepped…

“Do you want me to…?” Clark began, awkwardly petering out at the end of his statement. 

“Fuck me, Kal,” Bruce moaned. 

Clark blushed, the corners of his mouth lifting. He considered how best to do this, before deciding he wanted to be sure he could see Bruce’s face. He took a pillow from the top of the bed and wedged it under Bruce’s hips. 

Clark lifted Bruce’s thighs so he had clear access to him. 

“Comfortable?” Clark checked. 

“Mhm,” Bruce hummed. 

Clark slowly nudged forward, the tip of his aching cock breaching the rim of Bruce’s hole. They moaned in harmony — the sound now burned into Clark’s eidetic memory. 

After the extended amount of time Clark had spent painfully turned on, he had to fight not to come the second he entered the unbearably tight, velvety heat. Clark nudged forward, inch by inch, until he was fully bottomed out and the top of his thighs connected with the bottom of Bruce’s. 

Bruce sucked in and out shuddering breaths as he moaned through the stress. Clark’s hands were bracketed on the sides of his head on the pillow. He shifted his weight to fully rest on one of his hands, using the other to caress the side of Bruce’s face. 

“Okay?” Clark asked. 

The word seemed to barely reach Bruce through his haze of overstimulated pleasure. Then Clark made out a few blissed-out nods and proceeded to slowly move. 

“Hah, you’re so tight, Bruce,” Clark moaned. “Feel so good. So so good.” 

Bruce mewled, both from the words and the stimulation itself. His hands reached up to loop around Clark’s back. Clark rested both of his hands on the pillow again as he ever-so-slightly picked up speed. 

Bruce’s fingernails dug into Clark’s impenetrable skin as he moaned and arched against Clark’s motions. 

“S-so good,” Bruce said shakily, his voice jostled by the impacts of Clark’s hips against his — even as Clark refrained from going at a high speed. 

The pace Clark set was too slow to bring either to orgasm just yet — just enough to build low, warm pleasure as both adjusted to the fucking. 

After a few minutes, “Fuck— faster,” Bruce pleaded. 

Clark moaned, immediately complying. His hips snapped forward faster, until he fully rested in Bruce’s tight heat before dragging back until he was almost completely out. He repeated this over and over and over. 

Clark and Bruce were both panting, moaning messes as the sounds of skin against skin accompanied those of lube and precome squelching around Clark’s cock. 

“You’re perfect,” Clark was panting. “You’re so beautiful, I want this forever. You’re mine.” 

The words were utter babble, leaving Clark’s mouth with abandon due to his brain attempting to melt out of his ears. 

Clark tried to go slower. Tried to make this moment take longer just in case he never experienced it again, knowing that was likely the case. But he couldn’t. Especially not when he saw the way Bruce reached down to wrap his own fist around his cock and pump up and down in tandem with Clark’s thrusts. 

“Clark,” Bruce cried out. “‘M close. Fuck, it’s sss-so big.”

Clark moaned incredulously. “Come for me, Bruce.”

Clark’s hips snapped in and out once, twice, three times and Bruce was coming harder than he had thus far. The orgasm lasted, too. Not just one, fleeting moment — rather an extended amount of time; his hole rhythmically clenching around Clark almost too tight to bear, his eyes unfocusing as his mouth opened to accommodate for a blissed-out moan so loud Clark couldn’t help but blush. 

He fucked him through the orgasm until finally he was trembling with post-coital overstimulation. 

Clark panted as he pulled out of Bruce. 

“Y-you didn’t?” Bruce nodded to Clark’s still-hard cock. 

“Yeah,” Clark brushed off. “It’s fine. As long as you did we’re fine.” 

Bruce frowned. Clark was about to open his mouth to insist that Bruce ignore his erection when Bruce began to hook his ankles behind Clark’s back and pull him back towards his well-fucked hole. 

“I want you to come,” Bruce growled. “In me.” 

And there wasn’t a person alive who could deny that. 

Clark let out an incredulous laugh as he gave in, entering Bruce again with an open-mouth moan. 

Chasing his own pleasure, Clark set a punishing pace. Bruce’s eyes went wide as the bed rocked against the wall. 

“Fuck,” Clark moaned, losing himself in the moment. He rammed forward over and over and over again as his pleasure built until he was drowning in it. 

“Rao, Bruce,” Clark groaned, “Taking me sooo well.”

He felt his vision get hazy as he watched Bruce’s spent body twitch with every thrust until Clark was finally reaching his peak with a shouted, “Bruce,” and emptying into Bruce’s overstimulated hole. 

Clark stayed right where he was, softening while still fully steaded in Bruce. Eventually his sanity returned to him and he was able to once more properly appreciate the person beneath him. He brushed Bruce’s hair out of his face while keeping his other hand braced beside him. 

Bruce’s facial expression wasn’t one Clark knew how to interpret. 

His eyes were still glazed over and welled up from the heated sex, but his face as a whole contained that almost sorrowful expression. Beautiful despair, because Bruce was always beautiful, but it made Clark worry that he was doing wrong. That he should have denied Bruce all this and prayed for an effective chemical antidote. 

“Clark?” Bruce asked, noticing the shift in demeanor. 

Clark wasn’t sure exactly how to explain his concerns, so he simply asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” And his face really did soften to reflect that. 

Clark slowly pulled out despite Bruce’s wince at him doing so. Clark lowered himself to the bed beside Bruce. 

“How are you feeling?” Bruce retorted. 

Clark didn’t know what to say. “I’m worried about you,” he answered honestly. “I can’t help but to worry whether I’m doing the right thing or not.”

Sympathy passed over Bruce’s face like a cloud. 

And then Clark’s breath caught halfway in his chest when Bruce rolled over to lay against Clark’s side — draping his arm and leg over Clark in a possessive and encouraging hold. The weight of his head on Clark’s chest was an anchor in a sea of emotions too difficult to name. 

“If you’re not okay with this I’ll figure something else out. You know that, right?” Bruce assured. “What you’ve done already is more than enough to clear my head and buy me some time to find another solution.”

Clark laced his hands into Bruce’s hair and Bruce shivered at the contact. 

“It’s not my comfort I’m worried about, here,” Clark sighed, pulling Bruce closer with his warm arms. 

“Clark…” Bruce seemed to hesitate over his next words. “My life is literally in danger right now and I share your concerns over the fact that we’ve never even talked about this until now and yet… I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy. Peaceful.” 

Clark looked down, searching Bruce’s face for signs of deceit or chemical compulsion. 

He found none. 

Bruce smiled, bittersweet. He let his eyes flutter closed as he rested his head over Clark’s heart. 

“Hmm,” he breathed. “No wonder you love listening to heartbeats so much.”

Clark laughed, shaking Bruce where he laid. 

“Shh, I want to hear it,” Bruce admonished. 

Clark forced himself to be quiet — letting the room fall into near-silence. His breath caught at the intimacy of it all: Bruce’s head over his heart, soft hair brushing Clark’s jaw as they rested their hands on each other wherever was within reach. 

There was a very big conversation to be had once Bruce was fully sober. 

Eventually, Bruce pulled his ear away from Clark’s heart, only to start brushing his lips against the side of Clark’s neck. 

“Hmm,” Clark hummed, drinking in the gentle touches. 

Bruce ran his hand back and forth across Clark’s chest. “You’re so warm,” he remarked. 

Clark closed his eyes and exhaled in some quieter, softer version of a laugh. 

“You taste so sweet,” Bruce breathed, his kisses now having much more pressure and insistence. 

He laved over Clark’s neck with his tongue — occasionally sucking the skin into his mouth with the intention of forming hickies that would never actually stick. 

Clark noticed that Bruce’s heartbeat was notably picking up in pace like before.  

The toxin was overtaking him again. 

Just as Clark noticed that, he also felt Bruce’s fully-erect cock against his thigh from how Bruce was moving around his body. 

“Sorry,” Bruce pleaded. “I just… I need more.”

“It’s okay,” Clark assured.

Bruce’s mouth returned to Clark’s again and Clark barely knew how he’d gone without it for the past minutes. Bruce kissed so perfectly — in a way that made his head spin and his stomach plunge. It felt like being wanted. 

Bruce adjusted to straddle Clark’s hips, shamelessly squeezing and massaging Clark’s pecs in his hands. 

“I’m setting the pace this time,” Bruce whispered, the words melting into Clark’s ear like smoke. 

However hot Bruce had looked laid out below him was only beaten by how hot he looked straddled above him. 

This is going to be a long night. 

Clark woke up slowly to the refreshing sensation of sunlight dawning over his bare chest. 

For a split second he was in a mild panic at not being in the bed in his apartment before the events of the previous night (and early morning, technically) slammed back into him like a freight train. 

And sure enough, the warm, solid something he was wrapped around turned out not to be the pillow his sleepy brain had catalogued it as. 

Bruce’s hair in front of him smelled like expensive shampoo and sweat. 

The gentle rise and fall of Bruce’s chest was somehow hypnotic, as simple as it was. Their previous night had been a never-ending chain of wave after wave of kissing, sex, and cuddle breaks. A couple times Clark used his superspeed to retrieve water or a towel here and there, but mostly he stayed with Bruce the entire time — knowing that every absence stung Bruce due to the attaching effects of the chemical. 

After a particularly intense blowjob, Bruce reported that he felt legitimately back to normal — and no, he wasn’t just saying that because he felt bad — and they called it a night. 

They fell asleep not long after without really discussing whether it was appropriate for Clark to spend the night… or really anything else for that matter. 

Yes, as good as it felt to have the warmth of Bruce in his arms, as good as it was to know that he was finally relieved after all that stress, the moment was tainted by the anticipation of an awkward morning. Clark knew that the second Bruce woke up, he’d probably be kicked out of bed and— shit. 

Bruce’s heart indicated that he’d woken up. 

“Bruce?” Clark asked, his voice cracking a bit. 

Bruce took a deep breath in and sighed, hard. He pushed on Clark’s arms to loosen their hold and Clark complied, immediately. 

Clark’s heart dropped as it seemed his nightmare was actualizing. 

But his fear was premature. Bruce simply wriggled until he was facing Clark — looking just as apprehensive as Clark felt. 

“Um,” Bruce paused. 

“Yeah,” Clark agreed. 

A moment of terrible silence fell.

“Bruce,” Clark said, too quickly. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Bruce looked wary, but he nodded.

Clark swallowed. “What I said last night — it wasn’t just the adrenaline. Or the situation. I meant it.” His voice softened despite himself. “I’ve had feelings for you for a long time.”

Bruce went very still.

“I know things have been… strange between us,” Clark continued, forcing himself not to look away. “And I figured you didn’t want this. So I tried to ignore it. But I can’t pretend last night didn’t mean something to me.” A fragile huff of breath left him. “I don’t do casual, Bruce. Not with you.”

Silence again. Heavy. Unreadable.

Clark’s chest tightened. “You don’t have to say anything. I just— I needed you to know. I’m not going to make this complicated. If you don’t feel the same, I’ll— I’ll handle it.”

He started to pull away.

Bruce caught his wrist.

“Clark. Wait.”

There was something raw in his voice now.

“Last night,” Bruce said carefully, “I told myself you were only saying those things to keep me conscious. To keep me alive.” His jaw flexed. “I didn’t let myself believe you meant them.”

Clark’s heart stuttered.

“I’ve had feelings for you for months,” Bruce admitted, quieter now. “And when that toxin hit my bloodstream… you were the only person I wanted. Not because I had to. Because I already did.”

The air shifted. Warmed.

Clark stared at him, something bright and stunned rising in his chest.

“You idiot,” Clark breathed — fond, overwhelmed.

Then he leaned in and kissed him.

And this time there was no urgency. No fear that the moment was borrowed or artificial. Just Bruce’s mouth against his — certain, deliberate — and the quiet, astonishing relief of knowing it was real.

Bruce held Clark’s face in his hands like he was something precious as their mouths moved together with now-practiced precision. 

… And then a terrifying thought snapped Clark out of the perfect moment. Bruce felt Clark still against his lips and pulled back. 

“What’s up?” Bruce asked, eyes still hungrily flicking between Clark’s eyes and his mouth. 

“Um, Alfred was the one who sent me to check on you,” Clark recounted. “I never gave him any sort of, well, update.” 

Bruce snorted with laughter. “I’m sure he connected the dots.”

Clark was confused at first. “What? Like he–? OH NO, DID HE HEAR US?” 

“Shhh,” Bruce laughed. “We weren’t exactly quiet but don’t worry, he’s dealt with me since before I was a teenager — he’s used to this. If he caught even a little bit of what was going on, he absolutely retreated to a soundproof area of the house.”

Clark’s face was still bright red as he collapsed with shame on top of Bruce. “Jeeze Louise,” He murmured into Bruce’s neck. 

Bruce ran his hands through Clark’s hair soothingly. 

They spent a few more minutes making out and talking through past feelings. A rare moment of peace for two people who were typically occupied with the fate of the world. 

“Hey, Bruce,” Clark said, after an extended silence. 

“Hm?”

“Can I take you to dinner this Friday? Seven o’clock?” Clark offered, somehow nervous even after everything they’d shared together. 

Bruce smiled warmly, nuzzling into Clark’s bare chest. “You’re such a gentleman.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes,” Bruce confirmed. “As long as you take me back here afterwards and fuck me like your life depends on it.”

Clark blushed and choked a little on his own spit. “You make my head spin.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes,” Clark confirmed. 

~~~

Harley Quinn kicked her feet up on her makeshift interrogation table. “So… tell me what the code to the safe is and we all go home happy little campers. Ya got that?”

“I– I can’t, I signed an agreement,” the squirming man insisted. 

Harley rolled her eyes. Why did men always have to make everything so difficult?

“I don’t give a fuck about your agreement, comprendo?” she sneered, poking him in the chest with her bat. “I haven’t totally decided what the consequences will be if you don’t cough up those eight digits in the next — say — sixty seconds, but, spoiler alert, it’s gonna hurt.”

And then an all-too familiar voice sounded out from behind Harley, nearly startling her out of her skin. 

“Torture already?” the very distinct growl of Batman sounded. “I admire your devotion, if nothing else.”

She stood and whipped around. “What the fuck?” 

“Batman!” the hostage gasped, nearly sobbing his relief. 

“You shut up!” she screeched, before turning back to the caped crusader. “How the fuck are you back already? That was supposed to incapacitate you for days!” 

“I got it out of my system,” the bat said, simply. 

She faltered. “You would have had to lap the finish line, like, ten times to get it all gone!” Harley shrieked. 

The corner of Batman’s mouth quirked up in a smirk in lieu of a response. 

“Holy— really? Jesus, can you get me the number of whoever you fucked?” Harley asked, in a girl-talk sort of way. 

“No,” Batman said, curtly. “But you can call whomever you like from your cell in Arkham.”

Harley groaned petulantly. “God fucking damn it, not again.”

She extended her wrists in surrender. This was not how she wanted her evening to involve handcuffs.