Chapter Text
“Do you want to have sex?”
Clark choked on his noodles. Then he devolved into a coughing violent fit, because spicy homemade ramen plus a windpipe was a recipe for disaster no matter how vestigial his lungs were.
“What?” Clark wheezed when he finally regained control of his diaphragm. Bruce, being the closeted menace he was, watched impassively from where he was laying, feet still draped across Clark’s lap. He gave one leg a little kick to dislodge a stray noodle that had escaped in the chaos, shooting Clark an unimpressed look.
“Sex.” Bruce repeated, like he was asking about a damage report Clark had forgotten to file. “I want to know if you’re interested in having it. Preferably with me, but general data points would also be useful.”
Clark felt himself beginning to flush. Thank Rao for the low lighting, though knowing Bruce it would only buy him an extra second or two. “What – B! Why would you — what — are you propositioning me?”
Bruce rolled his eyes. The light of the Godzilla movie they were both ignoring cast stained glass shadows across his face, painting him in technicolor as he lounged across the plush couch. Movie nights had become a fairly common excuse to spend time together in the last few months. Bruce liked them because it gave him an excuse to infodump about random things under the guise of complaining. Clark liked them because Bruce had a bad habit of falling asleep halfway through, which meant Clark got cuddles and Bruce got some actual sleep for once in his life.
They were both dressed down, baggy shirts and soft pants, like teenagers at a sleepover. Bruce was soft and rumpled in a way he never allowed himself to be in public. Yeah, he kind of looked like the sad, wet cat Oliver kept accusing him of being, and he also vaguely resembled a feral raccoon — especially with his eye bags — but he also felt smaller than he usually presented himself. Almost vulnerable. Not the mythical Batman or the larger than life Brucie, just… Bruce. Even his scent was less restrained than normal. Real and awkward and maybe a little off putting, like a hermit crab without a shell, but genuine in a special, precious way. That alone made him more beautiful than all the stars in the sky, and Clark couldn’t be more honored that he got to be the one to behold it.
That said, Bruce was still Bruce, and Clark did not like the glint in his eyes. It was the look that reminded him one of Bruce’s hobbies was seeing what shades of red Kryptonian skin could turn.
“Trust me, boy scout. If I was propositioning you, neither of us would have this many clothes on,” Bruce said. “Right now I’m more curious about your perception of sex. Given that your body is, externally, 96 percent similar to humans, and that three of the remaining four percent is in relation to your genitals—”
“Hey!”
“—It’s safe to assume you’re a virgin—”
“ Hey! ”
“—At least in the conventional sense. That, combined with your non-existent sex drive, means you haven’t been physically intimate with many people, if anyone at all. I am aware of your previous romantic partners, so I know how you feel about that, but I have practically no data on your sexual preferences.” Bruce continued, tone entirely too deadpan for the conversation. “Given that I’ve exhausted all my normal methods of information gathering, I figured it would be best to be upfront about the matter.”
He said it all so casually, like it was a list of groceries. Absent fingers toyed with the ring around his neck, held by a carbon chain not even Bane could break. The familiar silver band glinted in the TV light, the kryptonian gem had been exchanged for a chrysocolla crystal to match the one tucked under Clark’s shirt — though his ring was the steel of a melted down Batarang.
Sometimes, Clark couldn’t believe he was married. In a weird way it was easier to process that he was married to Bruce than it was to remember he was married at all. It was simple to picture Bruce as his partner — in many ways the title applied long before the paperwork. Bruce was Bruce. He was Clark’s best friend, his right hand, his closest ally, his family, the other half of the World’s Finest. They were already bound in so many ways that doing it legally felt like an afterthought.
At the same time, Clark was a husband. It was easy to forget when practically nothing about the relationship itself had changed (aside from a few pet names, a lot of physical intimacy, and no longer needing an excuse to visit as much as they wanted). Clark had always imagined marriage as a huge, life changing event, but in reality he’d been in that kind of relationship for so long without knowing that there wasn’t anything left to change.
Except sex, apparently. Because Bruce wanted sex. Bruce wanted to have sex with Clark. Oh Rao, where in the universe was this going?
Yeah, Clark was definitely red now. “Couldn’t you just — I don’t know, do your Batman thing and just know everything about me? Violate my privacy a little?”
“I tried,” Bruce scowled. “This would be a lot easier if you masturbated more often.”
“I don’t masturbate at all! ”
“I know, that’s the problem.”
Clark buried his head in his hands and made the verbal equivalent of a keyboard smash. “Why are we even having this conversation?”
Bruce had enough pity to sit up and pat him on the shoulder. “Because,” He said, “we’ve been married for six months and I haven’t gotten laid once . Not once, Kal. I love you, kruvuzh, but if we don’t figure this out soon I’m sending my resume to the nearest strip club.”
“You don’t even have a resume,” Clark muttered into his fingers.
“Correction, Brucie doesn’t have a resume. I have eight different resumes under different names, and I’m sure Matches Malone would kill it on a pole.” Bruce ran a hand through Clark’s curls. “Now, are you going to tell your husband how you like things in bed or what?”
“What if I just want to sleep?” There was no hiding the frantic edge in his voice. “You said it yourself, I have no mating drive. Heck, my species literally turned their mating cycle into a mandatory family bonding time to avoid having sex. Maybe I don’t want sex, ever, at all. What happens then?”
“Then we don’t have sex.” Clark felt Bruce’s shrug more than he saw it. The indifference was soothing in a weird way, like Bruce’s apathy gave Clark permission to care about things a little less. “We have a conversation about what that looks like — be warned, it will probably involve Brucie continuing to justify his reputation — and we figure things out. But if sex isn’t an option I need to know now, I’m not letting things spiral out of control again because we couldn’t talk about our genitals.”
A shaky breath escaped Clark’s mouth. “Okay,” He let his hands fall into his lap, though he couldn’t bring himself to look at Bruce yet. “Okay, I can do this.”
Bruce hummed, pleased. “Good. Now, who do you want to fuck?”
Clark screeched like a dog whistle. “What kind of — you can’t just say things like that! ”
“I just did,” Bruce raised an eyebrow. “I’m serious, what genders are you attracted to? Physical features? Immaterial feature? I’m fairly certain you have at least a competence kink.”
“ B! ”
“What? Every single one of your previous partners has been a specialist in some way, usually the best at whatever their chosen skill set is. The only other similarity I could find between them was that you have a preference for people with the initials ‘LL’.” Bruce frowned. “Unfortunately, the person who checks the most boxes is Luthor, which—”
“Nope!” Clark slapped a hand over Bruce’s mouth. “Do not! Bruce, I love you, but never imply that I want to have intercourse with Lex Luthor of all people ever again. I will vomit all over your million dollar carpets, and then Alfred is going to be disappointed in me, and then I’m going to cry, okay? Do not make me think about Lex and sex in the same sentence. I will throw myself out a window.”
“Can’t have that,” Bruce mused, swatting Clark’s hand away. “Autodefenestration has been banned in this house since the salamander incident. My point still stands, though, who are you sexually attracted to?”
“Don’t you already know that?” Clark whined, a little desperate. “We already said I had no sex drive, and I’m literally a plant. Doesn’t that make me asexual?”
“No, that just means you have no libido,” Bruce rolled his eyes. “I want to know about your sexual orientation, not how horny you are.”
Clark blinked. “There’s a difference?”
Bruce stared at him. Slowly, his head tilted in consideration. Onscreen, a kaiju destroyed two buildings and someone died in a cartoonishly violent manner. The scene changed right as Bruce came to his conclusion.
“Right,” He muttered. “Guess we’re having this conversation now. Should have seen that one coming. Okay!” Bruce clapped, abruptly pulling away from Clark to sit with his legs crossed. The switch to lecture mode was familiar, though Clark mourned the loss of intimacy. “Common asexual misconceptions, lesson one! All the things and what they actually mean. To start, what is your current understanding of the asexual experience?”
“You sound like a game show host,” Clark said with a bemused smile. Sometimes Bruce would accidentally invent a new identity on the fly, slipping into a mask when his emotions got too wild, or if he got too bored. Clark considered the question, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head when he realized how little he actually knew. “It means you don’t experience any sexual feelings at all, right?”
Bruce made a buzzer noise, crossing his arms in a large X to fully embrace the persona. “Incorrect! Asexuals can still get horny, even if they have no desire to actually have sex with anyone. In reality, asexuality is defined as the lack of sexual attraction towards anyone. Specifically sexual attraction, too, romantic attraction is different.” He paused, dropping the over the top act. “Actually, if you think about it, most sexualites are defined in similar ways. Hetrosexual can be defined as an attraction to the opposite sex, but it also has the implied definition of not being attracted to the same sex. That’s why labels like bisexual and pansexual exist — to get around the idea that someone who likes one thing can’t like another thing.”
“Huh,” Clark said. “I hadn’t really thought about that. I’m still not sure I get it, though.”
“Okay,” In an instant Bruce was back to being someone more familiar. “Think about Perry White.”
Clark shot him a confused look, but obliged. “Done.”
“Do you want to fuck Perry White?”
“Absolutely not!” Rao, no, he didn't even want to think about that! “Why are you asking me if I want to— to do things with my boss?”
“Because you told me not to talk about Luthor,” Bruce said, like it was obvious. “How you feel about White? That’s how asexuals feel about everyone.”
“Okay, but what about pretty people?”
Another raised eyebrow. “At least one person would take offense to the implication that Mr. White isn’t pretty. Also, have you ever met a pretty person who didn’t do it for you?” He paused. “My point is, you can think a mailbox is pretty without wanting to suck its carrier signal.”
“Please just call it a flag like a normal person. Also, why are we talking about mailboxes?”
“Because you spent twenty minutes ogling mine last month.”
Unfortunately, Bruce had a point. Clark squirmed. He was still barely willing to admit he liked men as anything other than friends, examining the intricacies of the rainbow was making his head hurt. “We’re getting off topic. What does this have to do with anything?”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, if you need to, think about it like food. Libido is how hungry you are, sexual attraction is how appealing each dish looks. You can be really hungry all the time and still not be interested in anything on the table. What I’m trying to do is figure out if any dish looks good enough to eat, even though we already know you’re never going to be hungry. Make sense?”
Slowly, Clark nodded. “I think so, yeah.”
“Now, Clark, with all that in mind,” Bruce looked him dead in the eyes, refusing to even blink. “Do you want to have sex with me? Not, do I make you hungry? If you could eat me, would you want to?”
Clark forced himself to think about it. Did he want to have sex with Bruce? Bruce was attractive, sure, he had the kind of body only found in marble statues. Muscles for days, not to mention his scars. Clark would love the opportunity to make a roadmap of his husband’s scars, or every battle he survived, of every scrap of proof that Bruce had not only lived fully, but had grabbed life by the throat and come out triumphant. Maybe his sweat would taste as good as it smelled, the cool grit of hard work and the sweetness of a moonlit storm. What sounds would he make? His voice was already a velvet orchestra, what notes would it hit if Clark could make Bruce sing for him? How would Bruce’s skin feel against Clark, how would his eyes sparkle when he finally, finally let go of his hard earned control, when the tide of pleasure overtook him and—
“I’m going to take that,” Cold fingers brushed over Clark’s burning cheeks, as tender and smug as the notes in Bruce’s voice. “As a yes.”
“Shut up,” Rao, how was he supposed to look anyone in the eyes now? What if he accidentally thought they were hot? Well, he’d thought people were hot before, but now he knew he thought people were sexy, actually, and that meant he might want to have sex with them even though he couldn’t get horny and for the love of God he needed to stop thinking. “Shut up. You’re ruining my life.”
“Oh, I’m ruining something, ” Bruce purred. Why did his voice get so deep? Who allowed him to have that much power? “Now the next question is, how do we do this?”
Clark’s breath caught.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” There was a hand on Clark’s thigh. It was a very distracting hand, rubbing very distracting circles through his pants. “But you don’t know much about your own body, do you? Never took the time to explore, just leaving everything as an unsolved mystery.” Bruce pressed his lips against Clark’s ear. Clark could feel his breath, hear that pink tongue popping out to lick his cupid’s bow. “As a detective, I’d be more than happy to… unravel things for you. Uncover every little secret, get familiar with the unknown, figure out what makes things tick. ” He chuckled. “You know I love a good mystery, kruvuzh. ”
A desert had formed in Clark’s mouth. He swallowed anyway. “Y-yeah? Where would we start?”
Bruce pulled back, an unapologetically feral grin on his face. Any trace of the suave seductor was gone, replaced by a mad scientist that would make Frankenstein look well adjusted. Clark had a sinking feeling he knew where this was going.
Sure enough, Bruce grabbed him by the shoulders, looking practically giddy. “We’re starting,” he said, “with science. ”
***
Clark had never pictured his first sexual encounter. On the rare occasion he did think about it, it was usually because he was scared his girlfriend would accidentally realize he had something bizarre going on in his pants. In retrospect, he considered what his younger self would have imagined sex looking like if past Clark had been capable of hearing the word coitus without combusting.
It would have been with a girl, for starters, definitely someone who already knew about his alien heritage. She would be freaked out and confused by his bits, because the idea of anyone being okay with it was unfathomable until recently, but eventually she’d come around enough to let Clark make her feel good. Clark didn’t actually know enough about how his parts functioned to fantasize about what the intercourse itself would look like, but probably a lot of thrusting and moaning and kisses, which was basically just vanilla human sex with a side of emotional repression.
Past Clark was not very good at having sexual fantasies.
Neither was current Clark, but current Clark was married to one of the most competent, creative, and sexually active men on the planet, so it was kind of a moot point. Sure, Clark couldn’t have ever imagined sitting naked on an Alaskan King sized bed while his equally naked husband — wearing nothing but the glasses he’d stolen from Clark — crouched at his knees holding a clipboard, but Bruce clearly had no problem dreaming things up and swiftly making reality oblige. Bruce was awesome like that.
Bruce was one of those people who was effortlessly attractive. Unlike Clark, who wasn’t really capable of working out and was stuck with a vaguely pudgy farmer’s build, Bruce was all lean muscle and sharp angles. He didn’t have the thick carpet of body hair Clark did, only a tasteful flourish of dark hair down the center of his chest. Cold, calloused hands moved with graceful precision, almost teasing.
And his scars. Clark swallowed. Bruce was practically a patchwork of past injuries. Normally, Clark found them concerning, but right now he was more concerned by how hot he found them. Physical trauma should not be this much of a turn on!
Even his bones were pretty. A nice blushing yellow-pink color, covered in adorable pores and cracks, dutifully producing O- blood cells to replace what Bruce lost to Gotham’s streets. Clark liked mapping out his circulatory system, tracking the way Bruce’s blood flowed around his body. Like everything about Bruce it was terrifyingly efficient. Even his muscles looked less off-putting than most people’s, even though they were trained for the express purpose of saving others. Bruce, both metaphorically and literally, was stunning down to his core. Clark used his x-ray vision and despaired.
“I don’t understand,” Clark shifted, not entirely sure what he was supposed to be feeling. “Is this a medical examination or foreplay?”
“Both, if we do it right,” Bruce glanced up with a smirk before turning his attention back to Clark’s crotch. “The sheath must be useful in battle, which explains why your suit doesn’t need a cup. It almost looks like a Ken doll.”
“Oh good, I always wanted to be a plastic himbo,” More shifting. “Can I have my glasses back?”
Bruce pushed Clark’s glasses up his nose. On Clark they looked dorky, but on Bruce they looked dignified and intelligent, which was just unfair. “No.”
Then Bruce’s hand was between Clark’s legs. Clark couldn’t help but jump, Bruce’s hands were cold, the man maintained heat like a sieve held water. Normally it wasn’t a problem, Clark ran hot and usually liked using Bruce as his personal ice pack, but the area was so much warmer than the rest of his body that Bruce felt arctic in comparison. It wasn’t a bad feeling necessarily, maybe a bit more sensitive than the rest of his skin, but certainly nothing that induced physical pleasure.
“I’m not seeing any kind of seam,” Bruce mused. “Everything from the Fortress indicated that the organs should be in a similar place to human anatomy, but if there isn’t an opening—” Bruce broke off at the same moment Clark’s breath caught. His fingers grazed a flap of skin around where the top of his pelvis should be. It wasn’t vertical like, Bruce had clearly been expecting, but instead vaguely triangular, with the top point peeling off and downwards, getting thicker the lower it went.
Gently, Bruce started to tug on it. The skin pulled away, helpfully curling slightly as it went. At first the only thing under it was more warm, tan skin, but near Clark’s hip dips it suddenly started to turn bright white.
“Well,” Clark swallowed the dryness in his mouth. “That’s new.”
That earned him a questioning look. “Really? Have you never looked down here before?”
Clark shrugged, trying to stay calm. Was his heart supposed to sound like that? “A few times, mostly in college. It was weird and confusing, so I didn’t really do much. I made myself orgasm a few times to see what it felt like, though I didn’t really understand what was so great about it afterwards.” It always felt kind of like a massage, but nothing special. He frowned. “Then again, everything was – you know – skin color back then. Nothing like—” he gestured at his crotch “—this. Do you think all of it’s like this?”
“No,” Bruce said. “Most of it is blue.”
Clark blinked. “And you know that because…?”
The expression Bruce gave him was fondly exasperated. Instead of saying anything, he pointed to the underside of the skin he’d just peeled back. Unlike the dusty tan it was in Clark’s memories, the back of the skin flap was a vivid, stunning cyan tucked inside a cloud white border. Darker blues peeked out from where it was still adhered to his skin, intertwined with the cyan and white in feathery veins of color. There was something natural about the irregular patterning of it all. Ordered yet chaotic, an ombre of color bound into rivers.
“Oh,” His voice sounded breathy, even to his own ears. “It’s…”
Unnatural. Alien. Blue was not a naturally occurring color. Animals were blue to signal danger, poison, bright colors were a warning sign: do not touch. No food was that color — nothing was that color unless it was fake or deadly.
Suddenly, Clark wanted to push Bruce away and hide. He clenched his fists in the bedsheets and furiously tried to think of a way to call this off. Why had he thought this was a good idea? Bruce was going to hate him by the time this was done, was going to realize what a weird, disgusting monster Clark was under everything. Even his body was trying to warn him. Clark wasn’t normal, he was a freak, an alien, he was—
“Beautiful,” Bruce breathed. “Fuck, Clark, you’re gorgeous.”
Clark made a sound like a wounded animal. Instinctively, he pulled back, trying to escape Bruce’s kindness, but Bruce just followed him like a moth chasing light. He didn’t even seem to notice the change.
“It’s not uncommon for reproductive organs to change during puberty, I bet the color changed after your first kaol-iv’dehdh. ” As he spoke, Bruce rubbed the skin flap between his fingers. The touch felt like fireflies and electricity. “This must be your jurim’throniv , literally meaning skin cover. Apparently, it can be used to store fat reserves, similar to how snow leopards use their tails.” He hummed, tilting his head. “You appear to be on the low end of healthy, I’ll have to tell Alfred to feed you more.”
A sob built in the back of Clark’s throat. Bruce — Rao, Clark was such an idiot. He didn’t understand how Bruce could accept these parts of Clark so easily, like all his weirdness was just as precious as his normalcy. Clark couldn’t understand, but he’d move the stars to give Bruce what he wanted, and for some reason Bruce wanted him.
So instead of surrendering to the impulse to disappear, Clark swallowed. “You don’t seem surprised by the color,” He noted, trying to sound conversational. “Is that normal?”
Bruce nodded, still examining the jurimthroniv. “Very. It appeared in basically all the porn, remember? Colors kept coming up, though I wasn’t entirely sure what they were referring to until now.” He spared a quick glance up at Clark, the first one in minutes. Clark couldn’t but feel grateful – a preoccupied Bruce was infinitely less likely to pick up on his nerves. “I made a spreadsheet of how common each color must be based on how frequently each one was mentioned.” A pause. “Of course, porn tends to be idealized, so I also took that into account, especially in the context of gender, along with a few other commonly referenced features.”
Clark stared at him. “B, did you reverse engineer what Krypton considered conventionally attractive based on porn? Actually, did you seriously use porn to make spreadsheets? ”
“I made a slideshow about it, too.”
A startled laugh bubbled out of Clark’s mouth. “Of course,” he smiled. Rao, it was such a Bruce thing to do. “So how do I rank on your spreadsheet, oh erotic archivalist?”
The face Bruce made pulled another giggle out of him. “One, don’t call me that. Two, fairly high, based on what I can see. I’ll have to get a better look to give you a full breakdown.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“This,” Bruce tugged on his jurimthroniv with a little too much force. It didn’t hurt, because Clark couldn’t really be hurt at the moment, but it wasn’t comfortable, either. “It won’t open anymore. I don’t think you’re aroused enough to continue.”
“Oh, sorry,” Clark rubbed his head sheepishly. “I kind of got caught up in all the science stuff.” He hadn’t. The science was weirdly sexy, Clark had just stumbled into a pit of self loathing for a bit. “I can try thinking about things if that would help. Uh, not that I don’t want you to touch me or anything, I’m very fine with anything you want to try to help things — oh Rao! ”
Bruce licked him. Happily, smugly, while staring up at Clark as his scent thickened with self satisfaction. Then he sucked the tip of Clark’s jurimthroniv into his mouth like a slice of pizza, drooling around the colorful skin. With the barest hint of pressure, his teeth pulled at the alien foreskin. He leaned backwards, pulling the skin away from Clark’s crotch in one smooth motion.
Even if he wanted to stop it – which he really, really didn’t – Clark was helpless. All he could do was moan as Bruce literally pulled him apart. It was fire and lighting, needles playing under his skin.
Distantly, Clark remembered the last time he’d masturbated. What was it, four years ago? It didn’t matter, the sessions always happened out of an obligation to do something that everyone else did, a desire to find the same earth-shattering pleasure that everyone else liked to rave about. It had been fine, mediocre, physically it felt nice but never as good as expected. It was always fine, but nothing like this. Nothing close. Clark hadn’t known he was capable of experiencing things like this.
Holy — this was just the foreplay?
It was official, Bruce was going to kill him.
He didn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he finally opened them again he was greeted by a completely different sight, new and familiar all at once.
Clark easily recognized the many petals of skin and muscle hidden under the covering. They bloomed outwards, downwards, overlapping and hanging like a ceremonial robe. Seven petals total, with three large main ones hanging downwards and four smaller ones framing the bell-like protrusion where his cock should have been. Jutting out of the top of the protrusion’s pitcher shaped opening was a long, semi-transparent nub that curled slightly at the end.
The morphology of everything was familiar, but the colors were entirely new. Instead of blushing skin, the petals were a symphony of blues, periwinkle caught between clear skies and deep seas, sapphire veins tangled with cornflowers, all rich and vibrant. The closer to the center – to the protrusion – the darker the color. The bell itself was a deep, royal violet, so intense it was nearly palpable. Deep fuchsia lined the rim, highlighting the uneven opening and pulling the eye up to the bright magenta nub poking out where the bell was shortest. Honestly, it was strangely beautiful, especially compared to how plain it had been before.
Clark could feel himself blushing again. He pushed his legs a little closer together, trying to hide himself away. His brain was a hornets nest, and Bruce—
Bruce had released his jurimthroniv, now he was leaning backwards, propped up by an arm and staring at what he’d uncovered. He scribbled something on his clipboard while Clark caught his breath, pausing every few seconds to admire Clark. The raw excitement in his gaze, the tender devotion, the glint in his eyes — it was almost too much. Bruce looked at him like an artist examined a masterpiece, like the moon watched the sun.
“Like what you see?” Clark joked, though it came out stiff and forced.
Bruce glanced up to meet his eyes. Rao, his little smile was something precious. “It looks like an orchid.”
“Really?” Clark looked down at himself. It certainly resembled a flower, especially with the petals open. “Huh. Don’t orchids have rounder petals?”
“You’re thinking of the orchids stores sell. In reality, there are over 25,000 different species of orchid, though in this case I was thinking specifically of the Laelia genus.” Bruce pulled a phone out of — somewhere, probably some Batman specific pocket dimension, because there were no literal pockets anywhere in grabbing distance. A second later he was shoving a picture of a light pink flower at Clark. “Note the longer, thinner petals and the labellum. It also has the bilateral symmetry seen in most orchids, though compared to them, yours would be upside down, along with having three extra petals.”
Clark nodded along, doing his best to keep up and mostly succeeding. It was comforting in an odd, sideways way to have such a direct comparison between an Earth plant and his junk. Everything felt less alien when it was just a normal thing with extra steps. Easier to deal with. Easier to accept.
That, and it was hard to hate anything that made Bruce’s face light up like that. So.
“What do you think?” Clark asked. “How do I hold up to your graphs of conventional attraction?”
“Remarkably well, actually, especially for a shom’shesur, ” Bruce poked at the protrusion, sending a wave of sparks through Clark that made his toes curl. “For alphas, bright colors with no patterns or markings was considered ideal. This thing—” He flicked the fuchsia rim of the protrusion “—is a different color, which is good for omegas, but will dock you a few points. Long, straight, thin petals are also a good look on alphas. It’s also a rare color, so even more appealing.”
“Blue is rare?”
“The second rarest, right after black. The most common color is white that fades to either peach or pink, with a yellow or orange center. Patterns like spots were favorable on betas and especially on omegas, and those were usually purple or yellow. Omegas wanted shorter, rounder petals, larger centers that were a different color, and distinct patterns – usually white with bright spots. For betas, it was curly or uniquely shaped petals, and darker, more muted colors.”
Bruce finally put his clipboard down, also removing Clark’s glasses. The stack of stuff disappeared into whatever void the phone had come from. Clark nodded. “You keep calling the bell thing the center, but what is it? I know it’s important, but I could never figure out what it was.” He paused. Then his eyes went wide. “Wait, is that my, you know, my, uh, hot dog?”
“You can call it a cock, I won’t judge.”
“Old habits, B.” This was one of the reasons Clark hated being naked, he could see his stomach turning red in real time. “Please just answer the question before I die of embarrassment, I don’t want my tombstone to have a double entendre on it.”
Bruce snorted, but let it drop. “You’re close. If I’m not mistaken this—” he flicked it again “—is your vagina, and this—” his hand moved up to the semi-transparent magenta nub “—is your penis.”
What. “What?”
Thankfully, Bruce had enough mercy to not answer the stupid question. Unfortunately, Clark’s mouth decided to keep talking. “But– it’s so tiny. How is my — my bun larger than my hot dog?”
“The county fair analogy isn’t doing you any favors,” Bruce deadpanned. “But I assume you have a hyena penis.”
“I have a what? ”
“Hyena penis,” He shrugged. “Female hyenas have an elongated clitoris, also known as a pseudo penis. It’s not identical, but given the surrounding structures, I’d assume that your pzrhig – your vaginal equivalent – is much more external than a human’s. Hence, hyena penis.”
Rao almighty, Clark was going to combust. If it wasn’t for Bruce’s constant, uh, experimentation with his parts – stroking and poking as he spoke — his flower would have shriveled up and died by now. He swallowed, hard, and tried to think clearly through his shame and arousal. “Okay, I’ve got an orchid-hyena thing. That still doesn’t explain the hot dog part. How is this—” He tapped the magenta nub, brain stuttering when the resulting sensation nearly consumed him, “—the other half of the equation?”
“Still working on that. It’s in the right place, and its placement makes sense given that everyone would have the same parts, but it’s too small to do much. Shom’shesur should have larger kahkhyf and less pronounced pzrhig, this feels… backwards.” Bruce tilted his head. “Granted, your pzrhig is only about four and a half inches long, and I’ve slept with men whose penises were smaller than your kahkhyf, so maybe it’s all just relative.”
Clark groaned. “Please don’t turn this into a dick measuring contest. I literally don’t have a dick to measure.”
That won him a snort of genuine laughter. “Not yet, anyway,” an impish grin crossed Bruce’s face. “May I?”
“Sure,” said Clark, entirely unsure. Both of what he was agreeing to and in general.
It didn’t take long to figure it out, though. A moment later Bruce’s face was buried in his petals, pressed against his bell, and lapping at the magenta nub with the gusto of a starving man inhaling a gourmet meal. Rao, for a man who didn’t like talking, Bruce knew exactly how to use his mouth.
An inhuman sound escaped Clark, two toned warbling as his voice failed to limit itself to just one of his vocal cords. Every moment he’d spent forcing himself to be hyper aware of human limits suddenly felt like training for this one moment, a lifetime spent preparing himself to have Bruce between his legs, doing unspeakable things with his tongue, and still resist the urge to trap that breathtaking face between his thighs until his skull cracked. Keeping his legs apart felt like torture when everything Bruce did was another firework in his hindbrain.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this was what everyone was talking about? This is what he had been too ashamed to have with Lois? This was what he’d failed to make himself feel? Was it because of Bruce, his best friend, his chosen mate, his zrhymin? Or was it because through some cosmic joke he’d finally reached puberty, and his body had changed enough to let him feel ways he couldn’t before?
Clark didn’t know. He moaned with one set of vocal cords and screamed with the other, and realized he didn’t really care. The world was music and heat. Bruce was the conductor. Clark, an instrument eager to be played.
He spread his legs as wide as they could go. He’d lost control of his vision at some point, but squeezing his eyes shut only heightened the rest of his senses. There was lava in his veins. Liquid heat, distilled pleasure, coursing through him with every heartbeat. Rao, he’d never felt like this outside of Rut before. It was a beautiful insanity, the kind of fire he’d happily be consumed by.
Bruce was sucking him in deeper, harder, and Clark could feel some deep part of himself growing. Responding. Rising to the challenge. It swelled, bigger, bigger, like an ember finally finding fuel. Bigger still, finally reaching a crescendo and—!
Bruce fell over backwards. Actually fell, toppling over with a surprised grunt. It took Clark a second to realize the muffled quality wasn’t from the ringing in his ears, but because there was something lodged in Bruce’s mouth.
Clark leapt off the bed, collapsing slightly when his shaking legs gave out. He grabbed Bruce’s shoulders, scanning for injuries, because Bruce was Batman and Batman did not fall. “What’s wrong, what happened? Are you okay? Do you need anything?”
There was a bewildered look on Bruce’s face. He settled Clark with a kiss — a dhaikh — firmly pressing their foreheads together. His cheeks were puckered, still holding on to whatever the thing was. It finally occurred to Clark that, even though Bruce was a foot away, he could still feel the warm pressure of a mouth on his parts.
Then Bruce opened his mouth and a brightly colored, vaguely oblong thing dropped to the ground.
Clark looked at Bruce, Bruce looked at Clark. Both of them looked back down at the thing. They looked back at each other in perfect sync.
“Bruce,” Clark said. “Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”
“Okay,” Bruce said. “It’s not what you think it is.” He paused. “Can I tell you what I think it is?”
Clark stared at him helplessly. “Can I stop you?”
Bruce snorted. “No. Also, I’m pretty sure we found your anatomical hot dog.”
“That’s not a hot dog,” Clark was pretty sure he was in shock. “That’s a sea slug. B. B, my cock is a nudibranch.” A hysterical laugh escaped him. “I can’t believe this.”
“And I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve heard you say cock.”
“ Really not important right now!” Clark shot up. Literally, his legs were still shaky so he just launched himself two feet into the air while still kneeling. “What am I supposed to do with this information? I have a detachable penis-slug-thing! What do I do with this? ”
Instead of panicking like a reasonable person, Bruce casually picked up the penis creature and held it up for examination. The thing wriggled in his grasp. “Either take it back or grow a new one, probably. I wonder if it will degrade on its own or not?” Bruce stroked its head(?) with a finger, causing both the creature and Clark to squirm. “Can you still feel it?”
Clark shuddered. “Yep.”
“Hm. Interesting.” Bruce did something with his hands that made Clark jump. “It’s kind of cute.”
“It’s a disembodied penis!”
“It looks like a bright blue leaf sheep,” Even more poking. Clark couldn’t tell if Bruce was back in detective mode, and didn’t know the effect he was having on Clark, or if he was aware and just didn’t care. “The horns must have been the only visible part before. You’re a shy little guy, huh? Mind telling me how you’re transmitting nerve signals back to your host body?”
“Please stop talking to it.”
“No. His name is Beef. He is a delight and he explains so much of the anatomical bullshit in the porn you gave me. Seriously, Clark, Kryptonians are plants, it makes sense that they’d have built-in pollinators. Beef’s just trying to do his job.”
“Beef? Why Beef?”
“Reasons. Can I put him in my ass?”
That was the moment Clark’s brain officially stopped working.
Granted, it hadn’t been working very well up until that moment, but it had still been stubbornly trudging along, thinking critically and overthinking even more critically. But hearing Bruce ask if he could put Clark’s pineal nudibranch kahkhyf into his ass after said semen slug had popped out just in time to interrupt what probably would have been the best orgasm of Clark’s life? After Bruce had named it Beef? That was too much. Abruptly, the energy required to be self conscious was gone. Clark had learned too many wild and insane things about himself tonight, and Bruce’s total non-reaction was more disorienting than a magical lobotomy. He kissed his frontal lobe goodbye and allowed his thoughts to become the scream of microphone feedback.
Thankfully, Bruce was Bruce, and for all his faults, he was still a hero. “Hey,” He said, voice softening. He put down the kahkhyf, rising to his knees so they were almost eye level, lowering his shoulders and opening his body language into something calm and non-threatening. He looked Clark in the eyes, carefully blinking every few seconds to dilute the natural intensity of his gaze. “We can stop if you want. Anytime. I didn’t mean to push things, I…” He broke off, grasping for a word. “I got carried away. If this isn’t good then… just let me know what’s wrong. I’ll fix it, promise.”
Clark folded in on himself, sinking until he was on the same level as Bruce. He hugged his knees to his chest with one hand, wincing when he crushed a few of his petals, and reached for Bruce with the other. Their fingers intertwined, grounding them both.
It took a moment for Clark to get his voice back. When he finally spoke it was with a shaky sigh, almost a laugh. “It’s not a problem, not really. It’s just— me, you know? I’ve never felt anything like this before, and in between having my mind blown I keep learning that I have an alien orchid-hyena-sea slug hot dog thing. It’s all so—” weird, gross, disgusting, “—strange, and I — I don’t know, I guess I’m not dealing with it super well.” He did laugh this time, a dry, disbelieving thing. “Really, I don’t know how you’re handling all this without freaking out. I don’t understand how you aren’t repulsed by everything.”
“Because I don’t understand how you could be repulsive.” Bruce pulled him forward, tapping their heads together. Despite himself, Clark couldn’t help but lean into the gesture. “It’s all you, Clark, Kal, Superman, it’s just you. I don’t think there’s any part of you I could bring myself to hate.”
“But I’m—”
“Kind. And strong, strong enough to restore my faith in humanity, at least.” Bruce rubbed a circle into the back of Clark’s hand. “You’re wonderful. And all your differences just make you that much more fascinating. I told you, kruvuzh, I adore mysteries, and I’m happy to solve them.” Another arm appeared around Clark’s back, pulling him closer. “I… I told you, you’re mine, and that means all of you. If you get to love everything I hate about myself, then I get to love everything you hate about you.” He squeezed Clark gently. “Everything.”
Clark was pretty sure he was crying. Just a little, thank Rao, but his eyes stung with salt and his vision was blurry. He stopped hugging himself long enough to hug Bruce, finally closing the last bit of distance between them.
“I’m trying, B,” His voice was a whisper, the words as fragile as the unspoken thing hanging between them. “I want to be better, I – I’m trying to accept myself, but it’s hard. Just look at me! I don’t want to be neon blue or have a vagina or — or have a slug instead of something normal. I can’t even have a normal sexuality! Or a normal anything for that matter!” A bitter, broken laugh escaped his throat. “I keep telling myself I’m getting better and I’m not. I can’t even calm down long enough to have sex.”
Bruce was silent for a long moment. Clark could practically feel him trying to gather up all the things he wanted to say, carefully arranging everything into neat lines, as if he could outsmart his emotions the same way he did his enemies. Through it all he kept rubbing Clark’s back, offering shelter in the crook of his neck.
“For starters, none of the things you’re experiencing are abnormal,” He said at last. “You have a lifetime of shit that needs to get dealt with, that isn’t something that goes away quickly. I’m not surprised you’re struggling with it.” His words were slow and even, borderline hesitant. “There’s no such thing as a normal identity, sexual or otherwise, just a mess of feelings that vary from individual to individual. The only reason we have defined labels at all is because people like categorization to a nearly detrimental degree.”
“And,” Bruce continued, “You are doing better. The fact that you’re willing to talk about this at all is a huge improvement. Tonight, I’ve heard you talk about sex more directly than you have since I met you. I wasn’t kidding when I said this was the first time you’ve used the word cock outside of the farm. The fact that you’re here at all is a massive sign of growth.” He squeezed Clark like a teddy bear. “Think about it — I asked you point blank if you wanted to have sex, and instead of immediately recoiling, you engaged with the conversation despite your discomfort. That’s incredible, Clark.”
Clark’s chuckle might have been a sob. “You’re talking like a self help book again.”
“...I may or may not be following the advice of several psychologists,” Bruce admitted. “But my point still stands. Give yourself more credit, Kal, you’re not doing as bad as you think you are.”
“It doesn’t feel like enough.” Clark buried his nose in Bruce’s neck. “My best feels like the bare minimum. Most days I still want to pretend nothing’s changed. I feel like an imposter — I am an imposter, I’m literally an alien pretending to be human.”
“Watch it,” Cold fingers pinched Clark’s shoulder. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about.”
“Your best friend is a freak of nature.”
“My best friend is within one standard deviation of almost every statistic when he is examined in the context of his natural habitat, also known as the place his species did all of their evolution to adapt to. It’s not his fault he’s an immigrant.”
“I thought you said blue was a rare color,” Clark murmured.
He could feel Bruce rolling his eyes. “Not in erotica it isn’t.”
A shudder ran through Clark’s bones. “Please don’t tell me I have the equivalent of one of those impossibly big meat monsters that male romance leads always get?”
There was a very long pause. “Your vagina is below average, if it's any consolation.” The worst part was the fact that Bruce actually sounded genuinely apologetic about it. “And your literal meat monster is perfectly average by human standards. Speaking of, Beef is trying to eat my toes.”
The noise Clark made sounded like a malfunctioning vacuum. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. Again, I wasn’t kidding about him being cute.” Bruce said. “What do you want to do with him?”
The question was light and conversational, but in an unnatural way, where all either of them could hear was the bush they were trying to beat around. The elephant (Rao, please don’t let actual elephants get involved, the slug was enough) in the room that neither of them really wanted to mention. What now? Did they stop? Keep going? Bruce was doing his best to let Clark make the call, swallowing his reservations and control problems in an attempt to not overstep any boundaries. Knowing Bruce, he probably would call it here, too worried about Clark to continue and too exhausted by his own emotions to talk about it.
Clark was sorely tempted to agree, but he also knew if they didn’t figure something out now they would never try again. They were too similar in some ways, too reliant on avoidance and retreat. Clark doubted he’d be able to bring sex up without prompting and Bruce, believing he’d crossed a line, would overcompensate by refusing to make the first move. This wound would fester if they left it. Cleaning it might sting, but it was better than the alternative.
And, also, if Clark was being perfectly honest with himself, he didn’t want to stop. He’d barely gotten a taste of Bruce and he was already starving for more. Rao, he wanted. Wanted Bruce like eyes wanted light, like fire wanted to burn. Wanted Bruce to show him everything he’d been missing out on.
“Do you have a jar or something we can put it in?” Clark asked, pulling away from the embrace. He’d almost forgotten he’d been flying. “I— I’d like to do something more human adjacent, if that’s okay, and I don’t want it bothering you.”
Bruce tilted his head, but obligingly pulled a mason jar out of the void, (seriously, how was he doing that?) and plopped Clark’s kahkhyf inside. It looked even more like a pile of leaves with its magenta head and horns obscured under the countless sky blue horns covering its body — the white tips even made it look like it was covered in frost. With one last poke Bruce set it aside, thankfully keeping it in plain sight.
“Define human adjacent,” He prompted. “Humans do a lot of shit.”
Clark rubbed the back of his head. “You know, something simpler. Insert object A into hole B, no nudibranchs required.”
“Counterpoint,” Bruce jerked his head at the jar. “In this context, object A is the nudibranch.”
…And the blush was back in full force. “Not—” he cleared his throat “—not necessarily.”
Now it was Bruce’s turn to glitch. The pure disbelief in his gaze as he put the implications together was almost saddening. Clark let himself drop fully out of the air, falling onto the carpet next to Bruce. In turn Bruce lowered himself from his knees to his butt, putting both of them in a much more comfortable position. Good.
“You want me,” Bruce said slowly, “to fuck your pzrhig? ”
“My hyena pseudo hot dog, yeah.” He coughed. “That’ll work, right?”
“Maybe,” There was a frown on Bruce’s face. “But shom’shesur derive the most physical pleasure from their kahkhyf, it would feel better if—”
“ I would feel better starting with something that doesn’t make me question reality,” Clark interrupted. “We can work up to dealing with… with Beef later, but I really don’t want to think about it right now.”
Bruce paused. He turned his gaze on Clark, the full intensity of his unblinking stare heavier than any physical weight. “Later.” He repeated.
“Yeah,” Ducking his head made it easier to meet Bruce’s eyes. “Later, if you still want to. Maybe next time?”
“Next time.” A smile crossed Bruce’s face. It was small and fragile, more in his eyes than his mouth, but it was there. Bruce looked like he'd finally gotten a breath of fresh air after being trapped in a cave. It occurred to Clark that this was the first time either of them had acknowledged this would be more than a one time thing. “Sounds like a plan.”
Clark couldn’t help but answer with a smile of his own, so big it almost hurt. “Glad to know my ideas are Batman approved! Now, uh, sorry in advance, but you’re kind of going to have to walk me through this.” Sheepishness washed over him. “How are we doing this?”
“On the bed, preferably.” Bruce rose to his feet, offering Clark a hand as he stood. “Just lie down on your back, spread your legs, and enjoy. I’ll handle all of the moving parts, your job is to pay attention to how things feel so you can report them to me later. Feel free to break my arm if I do anything awful.”
“Thanks, I’m not going to do that!” Clark said, because neither of them had the bandwidth for another heart to heart. Also, he had genuinely forgotten this had started as a science experiment — though knowing Bruce, genuine intimacy was probably more associated with research and investigative work than it was with sex. Brucie could (and would) sleep with anyone, but there were only a few people who got to see Batman’s mind in action.
Rao, that was adorable.
Clark did as he was told, sinking into the plush pillows and silken blankets. Bruce had insisted they do things in a guest room, that way they could avoid having negative associations with more important areas in case things went wrong. Still, part of Clark itched to step out and gather something better for his partner, something thicker and heavier, more substantial than the thin silk. Maybe they had a few spares in the nest? It wouldn’t take that long—
Bruce derailed that train of thought by sticking a finger in his hyena penis. A very cold, very lubricated finger.
Immediately Clark spasmed. Reflex told him to fold in half, making his whole body jackknife at the hips. He didn’t make it more than a couple inches, thank Rao, but holy cow was that something.
Bruce gave his thigh and apologetic pat. “Too fast, got it. I wasn’t expecting it to go in that easily.”
“It’s fineeeeEEEEH! Holy— Rao, yes, that, there, please please please!” Clark didn’t know what he was begging for, just that he needed it yesterday. Something — Bruce, it was too wonderful to be anything else — was brushing something else, and it was setting off a fireworks display behind his eyes. Thankfully, Bruce had never needed words to understand him, and happily curled his finger against whatever it was and pulled.
The sound Clark made could only be described as a wildfire’s applause.
“Hm,” Bruce grinned. “So that’s what the hooks are. Interesting.” He did something mind breaking with his finger, watching with delight as Clark’s legs twitched. “These seem sensitive. Mind if I play with them?”
Clark couldn’t agree harder. He gasped, not to breathe, but to fill his lungs with enough supercooled air to not combust on the spot. His muscles kept jumping. The distant, foggy part of him that still had some sanity left worried that he probably looked like he was being electrocuted. Bruce didn’t seem to care, though, so Clark didn’t waste energy thinking about it. His time was better spent trying to get Bruce to touch there right there yes please oh oh Rao—
Another finger, pushing deeper than the first. Hitting several of those heart stopping spots at once, pressing and dragging, pushing the areas like buttons before pulling them back, as if he was trying to take Clark’s soul with him. Then a third. And a fourth. Each one felt like someone was running a livewire through his bones.
Something in the back of his head growled, half confusion, half rage. This wasn’t right! Clark was supposed to be the one inside Bruce, he was supposed to be the one keeping his best friend – husband – mate — full and happy. This was backwards, why wasn’t Bruce panting and open beneath him? Why was he making his B do all the work? How could he put his own pleasure before Bruce’s?
Then Bruce giggled — actually giggled — a soft, giddy thing that only Clark’s hearing could catch. Like everything honest about Bruce it was nearly silent, a sound Clark had never dreamed of hearing before. Bruce didn’t giggle. He snorted and chuckled and huffed. But it was impossible to deny the raw delight it held, bubbling up like a pot boiling over, like Bruce couldn’t help but be happy.
Bruce was happy. Clark was making him happy! Who cared what was where or who did what, Bruce had giggled because of him. To Hell with everything else, Clark was clearly doing something right.
“Good news, these are blunt enough and flexible enough that they probably won’t hurt me,” Bruce’s voice washed over him like the tide, rolling in from far, far away. Understanding came delayed, but it was grounding nonetheless. “Honestly, they feel more like the teeth on a comb than anything. They start around the base of the external structure, arranged in a double helix in the walls of the channel. I wonder…”
Bruce curled his fingers at just the right angle, aiming for a specific spot with the accuracy of a sniper. Clark’s vision exploded. He must have made a noise, he was pretty sure he’d lasered holes in the ceiling, but he was too swept up to notice.
“Knew it. I bet it has something to do with how the kahkhyf produces the reproductive material. Each hook seems to be an erogenous zone, though more so when it’s extended. Fuck, Clark, that’s so much stimulation, not to mention how the yellow sunlight must be amplifying it.” Something in Bruce’s tone was starting to fall apart. Less controlled, less even. “No wonder you’re so sensitive. If you get mad at yourself later, I will punch you. This is a feature, not a bug, got it?”
“Yesssssss,” Clark slurred, hips bucking frantically. “Yes, B, Bruce, yes anything. Yes!”
Bruce rewarded him with a sharp breath and a particularly hard thrust. Drool fell out of the corner of Clark’s mouth. He heard something tear and realized, distantly, that he’d ripped one of the mattress springs out and crushed it. No wonder the bead was starting to creak.
The smell wafting off of Bruce was mouthwatering. Dark and damp and sweet, the countless layers of complicated beauty giving way to the sheer overwhelming scent of desire. Clark could taste the spice in Bruce’s pheromones, hear his heart kick up a notch until it was racing – which, honestly, just meant it was the speed of a regular heart at rest – feel his blood pressure start to rise. It was a powerful feeling, being the person Bruce lost control for.
“Look at you,” A hand caressed Clark’s cheek, impossibly gentle. He leaned into it, eyes fluttering open just enough to see the awed expression on Bruce’s face. He looked like an angel. “So good, so incredible. God, Clark, I can’t believe it took this long. I’m going to make you feel so good, so fucking good, as good as you make me feel. I’m going to give you everything you want, going to make you come until you pass out, show you how amazing you are. Shit, Kal, do you have any idea how honored I am to love you? I’m going to make you feel better than anyone in the motherfucking universe. Would you like that, kruvuzh? Would that feel good?”
It was too much. “B,” Clark whimpered. “B, Bruce, please. I want you. Rao, B, I want— ”
The words weren’t there, but Bruce was. Clark was pretty sure he’d heard an impassioned “ Fuck, ” before the fingers suddenly vanished, leaving him too hot and too empty.
Clark’s sob didn’t have time to escape. Bruce all but rammed his dick into Clark’s eager embrace, quickly outdoing himself. Bruce felt so God damn filling. Homemade, gourmet, a cold meal on a hot day, a nice, hearty, divine thing to stuff Clark until he was bursting. Bruce fit like a glove, as if he was handmade for Clark. A perfect match.
The thrusts came slowly at first. Then faster, and faster, until the bead was bouncing with the force of it. Clark pried his eyes open long enough to see where they met, where Bruce disappeared into Clark. His petals were curling up, trying to wrap around Bruce’s hips and pull him closer, shrouding him in glorious blues. The violet bell of his pzrhig clung to Bruce’s cock like a second skin. Its fuchsia rim was secured at his scrotum, happily expanding and contracting like a Chinese finger trap with every thrust. It was shorter than Bruce’s dick, keeping him from pulling out all the way, locking them together.
And God, the things Bruce was doing to him, of course that would be the breaking point. Of course it would be the blurring lines, the barrier between them growing so thin that, for a moment, it disappeared entirely, and it didn’t matter where Bruce started and Clark ended because they were both here. Together. Converging down to a single point. Everything else fell away, and in that heartbeat they could be one and the same.
Clark buried a hand in Bruce’s hair. With all the control he had left he leaned forward, pressing their heads together in a Kryptonian kiss.
Orgasming felt like a tornado.
Pleasure, swirling, whirling, violent in its intensity. Dragging everything in its wake up, up, up to the clouds. The world was sweat and heartsong and sex and the smell of storms in moonlit caves. It was screaming in harmony. Connection, pulled taught, pushed deep, full, so full, so much, so, so good. Heat and light burning him from inside out. Beautiful explosions rocking his body like tidal waves. Clark was being torn apart, ripped to shreds, coming undone from the force of his own pleasure. He was everything. He was nothing. He was a star, he was joy, he was the blinding concept of love.
He was Bruce’s.
The eye of the storm. The sudden drop. And Clark came back to himself.
It took a minute for his vision to return and for his ears to stop ringing. The first thing he noticed was Bruce, curled on top of him, one arm braced next to his ear and the other clutching Clark’s face like it was a lifeline. He was panting, Clark realized, gasping and shivering like he’d just run a marathon or two. A particularly strong tremor wracked his body just in time for Clark to feel the pressure in his crotch, the familiar weight of Bruce’s dick and – Clark moaned – what could only be a load of cum.
“B…?” Clark muttered. His tongue felt like a lead hackysack. Honestly, most of his being was doing its best impression of a beached whale. Nothing hurt, exactly, but he felt wrung out in a cozy way, the same lethargic haze he fell into after Thanksgiving dinner. Tired but sated. Still, he had to make sure Bruce felt the same before he could truly relax.
It took Bruce a long, long moment to respond. Clark was feeling the beginnings of panic when Bruce finally pulled away, releasing Clark’s face so he could support himself with both arms and—
Bruce was blushing.
Bruce was blushing.
In all honesty, Clark had been fully convinced that Bruce wasn’t capable of blushing. His complexion was too light to hide any sort of flush – lighter than Clark’s even – and yet nothing ever seemed to bring any color to his cheeks. Not anger, not shame, not joy. He wouldn’t have believed it was possible if he hadn’t been seeing it with his own eyes.
Bruce’s blush was nothing like Clark’s. He wasn’t bright red or burning with color, no, in typical Bruce fashion it was subtle. A halo of shell pink under his eyes, a glow at the tips of his ears. It felt absurd to describe anything about Bruce as ‘delicate’, but Clark’s brain refused to give him a better word for the softness painted on his face.
It wasn’t just that. The more Clark looked the more he noticed — Bruce’s eyes were bright, practically glowing with emotion, pupils blown so wide Clark could barely make out the ring of blue-grey iris. Sweat trailed down his face, dripping onto Clark’s dry skin. His mouth was open slightly, lips red and puffy, like he’d been chewing on them, or maybe Clark had missed a few kisses. Wayward strands of dark hair tumbled in all directions, hopelessly disheveled. Bruce swallowed and Clark watched his Adam's apple bob, utterly transfixed.
“Wow,” Clark managed.
“Yeah,” Bruce said. “Yeah. That was…”
“Good?” Please say yes, please say yes.
“Good.” Bruce nodded. “Very good. You good?”
“Great,” a smile split his face. “You?”
“Processing.” Rao, this man. “Jesus, boy scout, you didn’t even swear.”
“Wait, really?”
“Nope,” Bruce looked him over, as if he’d somehow managed to hurt him. As if Clark was the one to be worried about. “Seriously, if you ever want to trade, I’d be happy to see what your pzrhig was doing to puree your brain like that.”
“Sex does make a lot more sense now.” Clark reached up, wrapping his arms around Bruce. “That was something else.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Good,” Bruce flopped down on top of him, going completely boneless and he used Clark as a pillow. “Because that was the best sex I’ve had in years. Still up for another round some time?”
Despite himself, Clark could help but smile. “Yeah,” He agreed. “Anytime.”