Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bruce wasn’t sure how to react when Clark appeared in front of him, eyes blown and breath heavy. He’d just finished his nightly patrol and had returned to the cave to slip out of the Batman regalia and take a well-deserved nap when Clark — or Superman, he supposes, eyeing the blue and red of his suit — flew down in front of him. He has no clue how Clark got into the Cave, but just the fact that Clark didn’t tell him he was coming beforehand was enough to grant concern.

“What?” Bruce asks, eyeing him with suspicion. Clark’s face looks way too red for him to be okay, and Bruce prays he isn’t dangerous.

“Bruce, I— I need your help,” Clark replies, sounding choked as he lands on his feet, gracelessly stumbling forward.

Bruce says nothing, just watches as Clark regains his footing and places a hand over his stomach like it’s hurting him.

“You still have kryptonite, right?”

Bruce is a little taken aback at first. Sure, he does have plenty of kryptonite — he never knows when it may come in handy; and he also knows Clark knows he has some, but he thought they had an unspoken agreement not to mention it. Apparently not.

“Why?” He keeps his face blank, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little worried for his friend. Not that he’d ever say that out loud. 

“Where?” Clark counters, and Bruce grunts at the lack of an answer to his own question. “Please, Bruce. I need it.”

Bruce sighs and shakes his head before walking past Clark to lead him to the room he keeps a small amount of kryptonite in, but before he can get anywhere Clark puts a steel grip around his wrist and yanks him backward. As soon as it happens, Clark is pulling away like he’s been burned, cradling his hand against his chest and looking anywhere but Bruce.

“I’ll go first. You just— just tell me where to go,” Clark croaks and Bruce nods. He can already feel the grip Clark had wrapped around his wrist bruising and there’s no question that he’ll have to wear a shirt with long sleeves tomorrow.

Bruce does as Clark asks and leads him to a small room in the back of the cave. Not all of the kryptonite Bruce owns is in the room — no, that’d be stupid — but there is a good amount of it anyway, all secured in separate lead-lined boxes. 

Clark stays in the doorway so Bruce decides to walk past him and pick up a box that he’s pretty sure has a simple chunk of kryptonite in it. “I’m not sure how much you need or what you’re going to use it for,” he starts throwing an accusing glance at Clark, “and I’m not going to ask. I’m sure you’ll find what you need.”

Clark takes a shaky breath and looks down at the box in Bruce’s hands. “There’s kryptonite in that?”

Bruce follows his gaze and looks at the box, reading the coded label he put on each. He knows there’s kryptonite in it, yes, and it isn't a too dangerous amount, but he’s starting to get suspicious of Clark’s intentions. “Yes, but—”

Before he can finish the sentence, Clark runs at superspeed to rip the box from Bruce’s hands and tear it in half, taking the green stone in his hands and tossing the box to the side.

As soon as Bruce registers what just happened, Clark is on the floor, breath labored but with the kryptonite still secure in his hands. 

“Clark!” He shouts, leaning forward and trying to pry the stone from his hands, and as soon as his hands touch Clark’s, Clark is flipping them over and slamming him to the floor, knocking the air from Bruce’s lungs, the kryptonite skittering across the room. 

Clark pins his shoulders to the floor, their noses mere inches apart. Bruce can feel the heat from Clark’s hands seeping through the Kevlar of the batsuit, which is unnatural, considering that Bruce made sure to make the suit able to regulate its temperature. Clark’s panting heavily and squeezing his fingers into Bruce’s shoulders hard enough to bruise, and despite the worry for his friend and fear for his safety, Bruce maintains eye contact, staring Clark down. 

“Clark,” he warns, voice show and deliberate. Clark swallows obviously enough for Bruce to see his Adam’s apple bob. He repeats Clark’s name once more and Clark jerks away from Bruce a second time. 

“I— I’m sorry Bruce, I just…” he trails off and looks into the distance at the door behind Bruce. 

Bruce shakes his head and stands up, leaving Clark where he sits on his knees, still staring at the door. 

“I should… I should go. I’m sorry.” Clark stands and tries to walk past Bruce, but he puts out an arm to stop him. 

“No,” Bruce growls, pushing him further into the room. “You explain what the hell is going on first.”

Clark swallows again and glances at the kryptonite still laying innocently on the floor before looking back at Bruce. “Look, Bruce, it’s… it’s personal, I can’t—”

“Clark, you come into my cave, looking for my help, almost kill yourself with my kryptonite, and now you tell me it’s personal ?”

Clark sighs and wobbles slightly on his feet. “Please, Bruce.” He sounds broken down and pitiful and it makes something flare in Bruce. Clark is Superman . What the hell could be making him act like this? Was he exposed to some new type of kryptonite?

Bruce rubs at the bridge of his nose over the cowl for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a patient breath. Something’s wrong with Clark, and he needs sympathy — not to get yelled at. 

“Alright.”

Clark looks surprised, raising his brow and widening his eyes slightly. “Alright?”

Bruce shakes his head. I can’t believe I’m doing this. “I have a room you can stay in, if that’s what you want. To be quarantined.”

“Yes! That’s— that’s exactly…” he hesitates, losing some of his enthusiasm, “exactly what I need.”

Bruce nods, picks up the kryptonite from the floor, and turns around without a word, signifying Clark to follow. He hears the man take in a sharp breath and he recalls his request for Bruce to follow behind him, but if Clark won’t point it out, neither will he. 

He leads Clark to another room not too far from the one they were in before. Bruce takes one last breath before opening the door and gesturing for Clark to enter. 

“You can stay as long as you like,” he mumbles. 

Clark swallows hard enough for Bruce to hear the click of his throat and Bruce looks back at him questioningly. 

Clark’s entire body is tense, his hands squeezed into fists and his jaw clenched. His eyes are even more black than before and his breath is slow and deliberate. 

“Clark?” 

In a flash, Clark’s entire demeanor changes. He relaxes significantly and his shoulders drop, his jaw going slack before shutting again. “Bruce? Is this, ah, is this the right room?”

Bruce looks back to the open doorway. It’s a temporary bedroom he has set up for the nights when he doesn’t want to leave the cave. Inside is a simple, queen-sized bed with crisp white sheets. There’s a small dresser on another wall and beside it is another door that leads to a master bathroom. 

“Yes,” he says simply, and Clark gawks at him. 

“This is a bedroom.”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

Bruce sighs and steps away from the doorway to give Clark room to enter. “I’m not putting you in a prison. You can stay here, I take the kryptonite.” He holds up the green stone and puts it into one of the many compartments in his utility belt. 

“Bruce…” he starts, taking a step forward before faltering and stepping back. “Uhm. Thanks. Thank you— I just… can I, um…”

Bruce understands the butchered attempt at requesting privacy and begins to walk back to the manor study, stripping off the batsuit as he goes. Not long after he peels off the cowl does he hear Clark slam the door to the bedroom. Bruce glances at the closed door and shrugs before walking to the washroom and taking a quick shower. 

He dresses in a simple T-shirt and sweats and exits the room, meaning to walk back to the cave before Alfred interrupts him. 

“Master Bruce,” he acknowledges, making Bruce nod in response. 

“Alfred. Wait on dinner, if you would. We may be having a guest.”

Alfred cocks a brow but otherwise says nothing, nodding politely and leaving Bruce in the study alone. 

Bruce watches Alfred leave the study before opening the grandfather clock and trekking back into the cave. He’s not sure what to do, as leaving the cave is impossible with Clark in such a state, but there’s no way in hell he can focus with Clark right next to him going through something. 

He chews his lip for a moment before running a hand over his face and deciding to check on Clark. Just to make sure he’s not dead, he assures himself. If Clark’s fine, he will leave him alone because as much as he wants to deny it, Clark’s personal life has nothing to do with them. Even if they’re friends, as Clark just loves to put it. 

He approaches the door to the room he let Clark into. It’s silent on the other side — unsurprising, considering that the room is sound-proof. He raises his hand to slowly turn the doorknob, opening it a crack to look in the doorway, and—

Oh. 

Bruce swallows thickly at the scene in front of him. Clark is facing the perpendicular wall, completely nude minus a pair of briefs pulled down his hips, legs dangling off the side of the bed and hand tight around his cock. 

It looks like he’s scratching an itch that won’t get less itchy more than pleasing himself. His eyes are squeezed shut and his jaw set as his hand pumps twice and a thick trail of cum shoots out over his fingers and stomach. It leaves no question to Bruce — Clark is clearly going through some type of Kryptonian heat. 

“Rao,” he hears Clark sigh under his breath, and then his cock is hardening in his lax grip again, and Bruce closes the door silently, only to lean his back against it and place a hand over his heart. It’s beating too fast, and his own prick is hard in his sweats and he wants so desperately to pull it out right there and then and jerk off right outside Clark’s room and—

And the door opens. 

Bruce falls backward into something solid and hot and he feels his entire body tense as he slowly turns his head back to see Clark standing behind him, eyes almost completely black, save for a small sliver of the usual blue left, and locked on him. 

“Clark,” he starts, not entirely sure how he’ll end, but then Clark’s grabbing him by the shoulders and under the knees, carrying him bridal style, and Bruce curses himself for not keeping the kryptonite on himself. 

Clark tosses him onto the bed and only then does Bruce notice that the man is now completely naked before him. 

He opens his mouth to say something, to calm down the fire in Clark’s eyes, but before a word can escape, Clark is yanking Bruce’s pants down along with his briefs, leaving him half-naked on the bed.

Clark isn’t even sure what he’s doing anymore, just that he has to. 

Bruce is under him, cock half-hard and legs spread on either side of Clark’s hips and how is Clark not supposed to do anything? All common sense that Clark could hope to have was lost when he heard Bruce’s quickened heartbeat from the other side of the door, and the small voice in the back of his head that told him Bruce wasn’t interested was squashed immediately. 

How couldn’t Bruce be interested? 

“Clark,” Bruce says again, or at least Clark thinks it is again, but he’s already forgetting how Bruce even got in his bed in the first place, instead only being able to think about how his own cock is hanging heavy between his legs and Bruce is right there and all he has to do is move his hips a little more and—

“Clark, listen to me.”

Clark looks up from where he was staring intently at Bruce’s still half-hard cock to Bruce’s eyes. They’re blown slightly, but there’s still plenty of the gray-blue iris visible. Too much, if you ask Clark. 

“Top drawer to your left,” Bruce tells him, eyes not leaving his. He hesitates, questioning what could be in the drawer. Would Bruce have thought to put kryptonite in it? The thought leaves Clark’s head immediately after thinking it, because why would he say no to Bruce? He trusts Bruce with his life, so why would Bruce try to trick him? Clark leans forward over Bruce to reach for the drawer and yank it open. 

Definitely not kryptonite. Instead, there’s a small bottle in it that Clark picks up and tries to read the label, but he can’t focus on the letters and they all dance around in front of him so he gives up, instead flipping the cap of the bottle open and squeezing some of the contents into his hand and—

Lube.

It’s lube. 

Clark lets out a shaky breath as his cock hardens even more between his legs. Bruce just told him where his lube is. He has lube in the first place and even that thought makes Clark’s head spin. Has Bruce had sex in this room before? With someone other than Clark?

A wave of possessiveness hits Clark as he tightens his jaw and frowns.

Why would Bruce have sex with anyone but Clark? Clark’s wanted him for ages and Bruce has fucked other people during that time? Why? A growl rises up from his chest before he can catch it and he feels Bruce shudder under him. 

Clark raises a hand and uses little pleasantries as he rips Bruce’s shirt in half, exposing his toned stomach and scarred torso and—

“ Rao , you’re beautiful,” Clark hears himself whisper as he leans over Bruce’s chest, but his own voice sounds light-years away as he leaves a trail of wet kisses from the center of Bruce’s chest to his neck, allowing himself to suck at the skin and leave bright red marks in his wake. 

He can feel Bruce’s throat tighten as he swallows under his lips and then Bruce’s scent suddenly gets even stronger. Clark leans back to see what’s happened, only to see that Bruce’s cock is now completely hard as it lays against his stomach, and Clark has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment to keep himself from fucking into Bruce at that very moment. 

“Bruce,” he groans as he moves the hand he covered with lube to Bruce’s cock and strokes firmly, earning a slight gasp from the other man. Clark’s mind clouds even more as he realizes that Bruce made that sound for him, that Bruce wants him as much as he wants Bruce. 

Bruce thrust forward into his hand, but Clark can tell he’s holding back, which is no good. He releases Bruce to squeeze another healthy portion of lube into his hand, but this time instead of placing the hand on Bruce’s cock he trails it further down until he’s circling Bruce’s rim with his fingers. Bruce’s breath stutters and Clark sees the other man swallow; he wants to say something to Bruce, to comfort him and tell him he won’t hurt him, but he doesn’t trust his own mouth, so instead he leans over again to leave another path of kisses on Bruce’s torso. 

After a while of just rubbing his fingers against Bruce’s hole and covering Bruce in wet, open-mouthed kisses, he feels Bruce relax against him significantly. 

And so he presses in a finger.

Bruce has never fucked a man before. 

The tabloids would be shocked to hear that about the billionaire playboy, but it’s true. 

He’s found some men attractive, sure. Hell, he found Clark attractive. He’s just never played out anything with another man. 

So of course he’s going to be nervous during his first time, and of course he’s going to panic when Clark pushes his finger into him. 

It’s an internal panic, obviously. There’s no way he’d let Clark know he’s not one hundred percent sure about this, so he keeps his panic to himself. 

Clark’s finger burns inside him, and he wonders if all the porn he’s watched in the past has lied to him because it really doesn’t feel good at all. He feels a stinging at his entrance and burning further inside and all the while he feels empty, like there isn’t enough inside him even though he knows that if Clark were to put another finger in it’d be excruciating. 

He’s not sure if Clark can tell what Bruce is thinking, but if he can’t then Bruce is thankful that he’s at least being considerate because Clark’s finger hasn’t moved an inch. Honestly, Bruce almost wants to tell Clark to pull out, to order a sex doll or something for Clark online and then pretend this never happened, but he knows he can’t do that. 

Bruce isn’t a coward. He’ll pull through. 

He looks to Clark and sees the man’s face has flushed completely red and he’s breathing heavily. He’s not looking at Bruce, instead staring at his hand and where his finger is buried deep inside Bruce. 

“Fuck,” Bruce murmurs and lifts his arm to hide his eyes in the crook of his elbow. If this is ever going to feel good, he's going to need to go further. 

He knows Clark would be looking at him now, and he’s thankful to his arm for hiding him from the other man’s gaze as he says as confidently as he can, “Put in another.”

Bruce can’t be serious, can he? He wants more? Already?

Clark swallows and moves his empty hand onto his cock to stroke it as he stares at Bruce’s body. It’s quivering ever so slightly and taught like a bow and Clark wants to do nothing more than make him relax, make him so overwhelmed with pleasure that he can’t do anything but lay down and take it. 

And Bruce must want that too, right? Why else would he be asking for another finger?

And why the hell would Clark deny him?

He already has his pointer finger pushed into Bruce to the knuckle, so he pulls it almost completely out in order to line his middle finger alongside it. He sees Bruce’s thighs tense as he does so and he moves his hand from his cock to Bruce’s thigh and pets it comfortingly as he slowly pushes the two fingers in, feeling the tight muscle fight against him and hearing Bruce’s heart speed up. He almost wants to stop as he feels Bruce tense even more than before. Almost. 

“Fuck!” Bruce shouts when Clark’s fingers are about halfway in, and Clark hesitates, watching the lower half of Bruce’s face that isn’t hidden by his arm. As he does so, though, Bruce removes the arm and glares at him, his eyes even more black than before. “Just—” he hisses before trying to thrust himself onto Clark’s fingers. “Hurry—up!” He punctuates each word with a thrust and Clark takes the hint, pushing both of his fingers into Bruce roughly. 

Clark wants to ask him if it’s good, or if there’s something he can do to make it better, but words are so far away from him that he can’t put together the sentences to ask him, so instead he crooks his fingers, feeling the walls of Bruce’s entrance until he hits something harder than the rest of Bruce and Bruce’s back arches as he shouts a moan. 

“Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck,” he hisses on an exhale and his entire body is shaking now, no longer the little tremble it was before. His legs are twitching on either side of Clark and his upper body is shaking like a leaf. 

Clark lets his fingers press against the spot again, earning another reaction as Bruce’s eyes widen and he throws his head back against the bed, pushing against it so hard he lifts his back up. 

He’s widening his legs to a point where it must be uncomfortable and moving his hips, trying to push Clark’s fingers against the spot again. 

“Clark— Clark, come on— again, I need—” his voice is rushed and shaky and he moves both his hands down to grip onto Clark’s arm and try to direct it back to his prostate again, but instead Clark withdraws entirely, earning a whimper from Bruce and it’s taking everything he has to keep himself from thrusting into Bruce without any regard for the other man’s pleasure in this. 

He needs to keep himself above the cloud that’s been threatening him this entire time, but it’s damn near impossible with Bruce as needy as he is right now, so he presses in three fingers. 

Bruce curses again and tosses his head back, trying to thrust his hips upwards on Clark’s fingers, but Clark’s other hand holds him steady at the hips as he pointedly avoids hitting Bruce’s prostate, instead working on stretching the man further.

The porn was definitely not lying when it showed how good sex between men could feel, Bruce decides. Sure, it still burns and stings but every time Clark’s fingers even brush against that spot inside him it’s like a burst of pleasure that makes his mind fog over. 

Bruce isn’t even sure how many fingers are in him at this point, only that they are and that there’s no way that Clark isn’t avoiding his prostate on purpose. 

“Clark, again,” he growls, trying to sound commanding but all he gets is a groan from the other man as he moves the hand not buried deep inside Bruce to trace the outlines of the scars decorating his body.

“Clark,” he tries again, but to no avail. He growls and squeezes his hands onto Clark’s arm as tight as he can to direct his hand to his prostate, but it doesn’t even slow Clark’s pace as he thrusts his fingers in and out of Bruce, continuously avoiding any spot that earned even a moan from Bruce. 

He swears and bites his lip as Clark’s hand rubs across a nipple and then quickly avoids coming even close to the nub again. Clark is trying to keep this from feeling good for Bruce. The thought that maybe Clark isn’t feeling good passes through his mind, but that can’t be the case, judging from how hard he is. Then again, if what Bruce saw earlier had any substance than it seems that it doesn’t particularly have to feel good when Clark’s hard. 

Bruce takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He feels Clark slow his fingers against him and he wonders what Clark’s thinking. Is this all just because of his lustful daze? Does he actually want to do this with Bruce , or is this just him fucking the closest person? 

He swallows and prays it’s not the latter. 

“Just fuck me already,” he grits out and Clark’s fingers completely stop against him. He opens his eyes again to look at the other man and sees his eyes are wide and black and he wets lips as he stares down at Bruce. 

Clark has said next to nothing this entire time and Bruce considers that he might not even be able to say anything, so he squeezes Clark’s arm again to reassure him. “Do it, Kal.”

It’s like a whirlwind as Clark’s fingers are ripped out of him and then the head of his cock is being pressed against his entrance as Clark grabs his hips in a bruising grip and he presses Bruce’s hips down into his cock. 

The burning stretch is almost excruciating and Clark’s dick is far bigger than his fingers but Bruce relaxes as much as possible and Clark continues to press in, slowly at first but progressively faster as he gets deeper. For a moment Bruce wonders if the aching stretch will ever end, but then he feels Clark’s hips press flush with Bruce and he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. 

“Fuck,” he hears Clark mutter and Bruce tries to move his hips and make Clark’s cock hit his prostate, but Clark’s hands are still holding him in place as he adjusts to the stretch of Clark’s prick inside him. 

“Clark, it’s okay, just—” he doesn’t have time to finish the sentence before Clark’s hips are pulling back until the tip of his cock is barely in Bruce and then he’s thrusting roughly back inside. Bruce makes a choking noise at the first thrust but it does nothing to slow down Clark’s hips and the brutal pace he’s thrusting them at. 

Bruce tries to lean forward, to grab at Clark’s shoulders, but one of Clark’s hands moves up and presses his chest back, forcing him to play flat on the bed as Clark pulls almost completely out and thrusts in over and over again. 

It takes a few tries, but eventually each thrust is punctuated with a hit of Bruce’s prostate and it takes everything Bruce has not to ramble on about how good it feels, how perfect Clark is as he continues to ram into him. 

It’s nearly no time until Clark’s thrusts become shorter and faster. He stops pulling completely out for each thrust and instead only gets halfway until he’s pressing into Bruce again and Bruce can feel Clark’s cock get even bigger until he’s gone completely still and is coming into Bruce. He can feel the hot liquid flow from Clark’s throbbing cock and into him as he closes his eyes and sets his jaw, letting Clark rut a couple more times as he rides out his orgasm. 

And then he’s thrusting again. 

Bruce opens his eyes and locks onto Clark’s, giving him a questioning look until he remembers that they aren’t doing this for fun. This is because Clark is sick and he can’t be relieved and he’s already growing to his full size inside Bruce yet again.

Coming inside Bruce had to have been the best feeling Clark could ever imagine. The feeling of Bruce tightening against him, going stock still as Clark fills him up— just thinking about it is enough to make Clark hard and aching yet again. 

Bruce is looking at him, something in his eye that makes Clark feel like he should ask what’s wrong, but looking down he sees that Bruce is still hard so it can’t be that he doesn’t want this anymore, so he says nothing. 

He moves the hand that he still had pressed against Bruce’s chest and grabs one of his legs, hooking the crook of his knee over his shoulder and moving his own legs so they’re straddling Bruce’s other thigh. 

The position forces Bruce onto his side, chest heaving as he tries to prop himself up on his elbow. His arm gives out quickly and he falls back to the mattress. 

Clark begins to thrust roughly at Bruce, feeling the smooth skin inside Bruce’s thigh rub against his balls and reveling in the fact that Bruce is under him, Bruce is moaning every time he thrust forward and letting out a shaky breath every time he pulls out and how the hell have they not done this before? It feels so good for both of them and their bodies are a perfect fit for each other and Clark’s eyes lock on Bruce’s lips as he bites at them and then he wonders why they haven’t kissed yet. 

He tries to think of a reason not to press his lips against Bruce’s and fails to find an answer before he’s leaning over Bruce, angling his head so it’s facing Clark, and biting his bottom lip, earning a drawn-out groan from him. 

Clark tries desperately to grab onto consciousness, to remember to hold back his strength as he slams his hips into Bruce again. Bruce moans open-mouthed into the kiss and Clark pushes his tongue into his mouth, licking at the dull sharp of Bruce’s teeth. Bruce joins him, pushing his own tongue into Clark’s mouth and they both moan in sync, lapping at each other as Clark keeps pace with his hips. 

Bruce lets out a particularly long moan, punctuated with crescendos at each of Clark’s thrusts, and Clark snaps again, releasing into Bruce yet again, feeling Bruce twitch against him when he realizes what’s happening. 

The fog in his mind dissipates slightly this time as he breaks the kiss to lean back and presses Bruce’s chest into the bed, lifting his hips so he can grab at his cock and pump the leaking member. 

Bruce whimpers and grabs at Clark’s wrist, groaning, “Fuck— fuck, Clark, I can’t— I’m gonna—” but Clark doesn’t slow in the slightest, instead he gets spurred on and begins to pump his hand faster, to squeeze Bruce’s cock harder until Bruce is thrusting his cock forward into his hand and backward onto Clark’s dick sporadically and Clark can feel the telltale throb of Bruce’s cock and the warmth of his cum as it drips down his hand, and just like that Clark is coming again — but this time is different. He feels Bruce go slack in his grip, his rim getting significantly more pliant and his breathing more even, and Clark realizes belatedly that he’s passed out. Not soon after he realizes that he’s not getting hard again, and that he’s slowly getting more exhausted as he watched Bruce sleep.

He pulls out with an obscenely lewd sound and winces when he sees a glob of cum drip out from Bruce’s hole. He’s not sure whether to be turned on or worried for Bruce's physical wellbeing — if maybe he pushed Bruce too far, so he decides to get up and grab a towel from the bathroom he had seen when he first entered the room, ignoring the way his limbs weigh him down and his head spins from exhaustion. 

He cleans them both the best he can before collapsing onto the mattress next to him, dreading the morning.

Bruce wakes up on his back with Clark laying on his side facing him, the arm not pressed against the bed draped over his chest. It’s strangely domestic, and Bruce couldn’t help the little ache in his chest which only adds to the other pains he’s feeling, especially the ones further down.  

Clark hums and tightens his grip around Bruce, starting him from his thoughts before opening his eyes and giving Bruce his best deer in headlights look.

“Good morning, Bruce,” he says, the closest thing to an innocent smile that he can make, considering he’s lying in Bruce’s bed and both of them are naked.

“Good morning, Clark.”

Clark swallows but makes no move to remove his arm from Bruce’s chest. “I, uh. I guess we need to talk, huh?”

“Yes, we do.”