Chapter Text

.∘☀︎∘.

The music was the only thing he was enjoying about this gala. 

Everything else was too much. The echoing sounds off the walls were too loud, the dresses and suits too flashy, the throne he sat on was too hard, and the people themselves were too confident. His anxiety as his eyes quickly scanned the crowd for midnight black armor was too overwhelming. Everything felt like too much and his magically heightened senses were not helping. 

Yet another ball to celebrate their victory in battle was happening too soon, and he himself was tired of celebrating the deaths of people on both sides of the conflict. Still, he knew the people needed it. They needed to celebrate what they could, lest they sink into despair. Their despair was too overbearing. 

But the music was just right. 

So as he sat on his uncomfortable and rigid throne with perfect posture, King Kal-El Clark Joseph Kent would remain the picture of dignity and grace as long as he focused on the music. He would be the pillar that held his kingdom up as long as he blocked out how much he wanted to crawl into bed and read a book. However, as more ambassadors and nobles approached him in an attempt to strike up rank-climbing conversations, it became more difficult to block out that yearning. 

In the space between conversations and songs, the anxiety and yearning mixed in a cocktail of dangerous emotions. As another noble-lady sulked away and left her failed attempts of flirting in her wake, Clark found himself scanning the crowd once again. It was a stupid, foolish hope that he would find the one he was looking for. He wasn’t even sure what he would do if he spotted him .

The Dark Knight.

It was ridiculous, Clark’s infatuation with the knight. A boyish crush that developed through passing interactions and thrilling rescues—rescues, mind you, that he genuinely never needed. Clark was practically invincible but had concealed his powerful magic from the entire kingdom except his closest advisor. The kingdom didn’t need to know about their king’s true power, or else they might fear him as a monster. Even as a monster, it felt nice to be saved sometimes, despite the fact that the assassination attempts would always fail. 

Still, the invincible king could feel his heart begin to race as he thought of his frequent savior whom he didn’t even know the face of. It almost raced as quickly as it had the last time their paths had crossed, when Clark had taken a chance to invite the Dark Knight to this stupid ball. 

After hours of dancing and wine, the night was drawing to a slow crescendo. If the knight had not made an appearance yet, it was highly unlikely he ever would. The king should have known. With his savior’s tension-filled muscles, curt nod, and lack of words at the invite, Clark should have known that he would not show up; and still, a secret part of his heart had hoped he still would. 

A flash of black in the corner of his eye and Clark’s gaze quickly snapped to the figure in the crowd. Those broad shoulders, that steady heartbeat, that confident gate, and—

The king slumped back into his seat, letting out a small disappointed sigh as his attention was only met with another noble. A noble he was less than fond of. A noble who wore that deceptive , beautiful black and silver tunic and had a heart beat so similarly steady to the Dark Knight’s. The Duke of Gotham—Bruce Wayne—was the exact picture of what a wealthy lord should be. His hair sat perfectly styled on his perfect head, which held his perfect smile and his perfect ice blue eyes. 

Clark could not stand him. 

The duke was too charming, too charismatic, too casual, and yet so cold. He was too much while simultaneously being impossible to read. And the king could read everyone. His magic allowed him to hear conversations behind closed doors, see through walls to spy on secret meetings, hear people’s heartbeats betray their words, and yet Wayne’s heart never seemed to betray him. 

The king valued candor and genuine kindness, neither of which he’d witnessed from the Duke of Gotham. There was always a mask on those perfect features that made Clark completely annoyed with him. Which he acknowledged was completely counterintuitive compared to how he admired the Dark Knight, who always wore a mask and was also impossible to read. Except at least the knight never faked it—his brooding, cloudy demeanor was always real. 

Clark grit his teeth and tried to focus on the music, attempting to pry his eyes away from the duke and finding himself unable to. The more he watched, the more he noticed the glaze that had settled over ice eyes; the more he noticed the slight stumble in Wayne’s usually steady stride. 

Was he drunk?

The king tilted his head in contemplation. While the duke was known as an eligible bachelor, a relentless flirt, and a total rake, he usually did not drink more than two glasses of wine while at palace events; holding his reputation in too high of standards to let anyone see him like that. So Clark had never seen him drunk. 

This was quite new, bringing a fresh crack to the flawless composure that made up Bruce Wayne. 

Not the only one to notice Wayne’s faltering, Clark watched as a noble-lady approached him—the same who had tried to flirt with the king earlier—and practically draped herself across the Duke. Wayne was obviously too drunk to even remember the girl's name, much less lead her in a dance. 

Clark knew he should be amused to see this man whom he didn’t like making a fool of himself, but he just couldn’t bring himself to revel in it. Curse this damned kindness trained into him by the late queen. 

He was already standing and bounding across the ball-room before he realized what he was doing. 

.∘☾∘.

Bruce was almost never disappointed with his station in life.

He was usually beyond thankful for the privileges and power he was granted by birthright, relishing in the opportunity to better others’ lives with that power. And maybe relishing in the riches he inherited, but was it a crime to enjoy finery? However, this was one of those times he yearned to be a normal civilian. 

Maybe then he would have been able to please King Clark by showing up as the Dark Knight. He’d get to drop the precedences and distance he upheld as a noble and truly get close to the king he deeply admired. The personality of the untouchable, flirty, perfect bachelor that he played up would be toned down and he’d get to be his full self—but was the quiet, brooding hero personality he took on for the Dark Knight truly him either? No, Bruce liked to believe he was a healthy mix of both. Brooding and flirty, if there was such a thing; and he wanted to show King Clark that formula that made him his truest self. 

However, his duties as the duke took precedence. Especially over a stupid crush. 

So, he had shown up as the Duke of Gotham. He had charmed and flirted with half of the room, as he normally did at these formal parties, and tried to ignore the disappointment that sat in his king’s gaze every time Clark had scanned the room to no avail. Despite how rigid and regal the king tried to act, sometimes his emotions sat right on his face if you knew how to look past his intimidating size and status. The poor monarch was a hopeless romantic. His personality was sweet and clumsy, but only for those who knew how to see it.

Those deep blue eyes scanned the room, and Bruce almost tried to hide himself from that toiling ocean of a gaze. He couldn’t bear to disappoint Clark in such a way, but he had no other choice. The worst was when hope flickered in that stare only to immediately go out and the king’s frown tried to cover up his child-like pouting. It would be adorable if it wasn’t so heartbreaking. 

So, Bruce had begun drinking. Using alcohol to ease his own turmoil was cheap, but he had kept downing glasses of sweet summer-wine anyway. Drinking in the privacy of his own home had built up Bruce’s tolerance, but the press of bodies and hum of stringed instruments made him feel drunker faster. 

At first he felt like the wine wasn’t working, because he couldn’t stop thinking about those big blue eyes shining with hopelessness. So he kept chugging.

Faces and names were starting to get hard to remember, and soon his vision felt bleary. 

His hands felt sluggish as he tried to gently remove the woman from his arm, tongue like lead as he tried to ask her politely to get off of him. As he was led towards the dance floor, a faint alarm of panic rang in the back of his head, telling him that he was in no shape to lead a dance. 

“I am not sure that the dance floor is calling my name at the moment, my lady,” His words were slurred, but he tried to put on his charming smile. The lady didn’t seem to hear him and tugged his arm harder. Bruce tripped over the hem of his own black cape and silently cursed himself for wearing the long piece of clothing. His world was suddenly turning sideways. As the floor drew closer, all Bruce could think about was how odd the light from candle-lit chandeliers made the room look.

Suddenly a hand was on his waist, catching and righting him before he could hit the ground. It felt like his vision was lagging as he looked at his savior; very sure that the lady’s hands hadn’t been that large or firm just moments ago. 

A true smile lit up on his face before he could think better of it when he stared up at the king holding him steady. Everything felt muffled as he looked up at the taller man, never realizing just how large the king was; even though Bruce himself was a significant height and size. The duke studied the warm, dark curls that sat under King Clark’s crown and the golden tan of his breathtakingly handsome face. That indigo stare and beautiful smile weren’t trained on him though, and Bruce’s brain caught up slowly to realize those full, beautiful lips were saying something. Not to him, to the lady who had been dragging Bruce around like a rag doll.

“The Duke promised me a dance before the end of the night, my lady. I hope you don’t take offense to my cutting in?” King Clark’s voice was deep and beautiful. Firm and confident, just like the hands on Bruce’s waist holding him up. 

Oh yes, his hands were on his waist. It was so warm and suddenly the duke wanted to go to sleep on him. Bruce couldn’t help but sink into that touch, leaning on the king’s chest. 

The duke didn’t hear the lady’s response, too busy admiring Clark’s face. Vaguely, he knew he probably looked like a foolish idiot looking up in awe, but he didn’t care.  Were those light freckles on the monarch’s nose? Barely even noticeable unless you were this close, but they just added to the beauty that made Bruce’s heart begin to race. 

That perfect gaze fell down to him instantly. Clark’s charming smile faded as he made eye contact with Bruce, and the duke had half the mind to feel self conscious in the arms of the man he’d fallen for. Figuratively and literally, now. 

“Your eyes are like the night sky. Filled with stars,” Any idea of self consciousness faded as the slurred words spilled past Bruce’s lips and he continued to stare at the king, completely awestruck. 

The king let out an amused chuckle and shook his head, taking the brunt of Bruce’s weight in his strong arms, and leading him to the dance floor, “Let’s get you out of here after this dance. Okay, your grace?”  

“What, why?” The duke tried to stand on his feet, but his world spun when Clark began the dance, and the king went back to holding Bruce up for the most part. Bruce’s thoughts didn’t have time to keep up with his mouth, “I want to stay here with you, your majesty.”

The royal honorific was very fitting for Clark. He was truly majestic.

“You're inebriated, Duke Wayne,” The king said, an amused smile tugging at his lips and revealing a dimple. Bruce liked his smile, it was gorgeous. He wanted to know what that smile felt like pressed up against his mouth, but he still had the brains to not just go kissing the king without consent. So instead, he kept staring at this beautiful and kind man. Clark kept talking, not looking back down at Bruce as they danced, “I would hate to have one of the most influential nobles in my kingdom ruin his flawless reputation.” 

Bruce let out a giggle, head spinning, “Your smile is really pretty…” 

.∘☀︎∘.

Perhaps the duke was a little more tolerable when he was heavily wine-drunk—which would doubtlessly leave him with a brutal hangover the next morning. 

It was hard for King Clark to admit to himself, but Wayne’s intoxicated smile was pretty. Not the veneer of perfection that Bruce usually wore, but a real, blissful smile. Bruce’s heartbeat acted normally; no longer freakishly steady, but betraying him like everyone else’s normally did. 

Plus, his slurred words were quite funny to listen to. Wait, had he just giggled ?

“Thank you, yours as well,” Clark rolled his eyes playfully; admitting to himself that this was at least more fun than watching Bruce stumble around drunkenly. If he hadn't been so focused on holding up the grown man—who was almost his very large size—the king would have sworn that Wayne’s cheeks turned slightly red, “I hope you’ve enjoyed the party. Well, from my understanding, you’ve definitely enjoyed the wine.” 

The duke licked his lips, before tilting his head curiously and looking up at Clark through long, thick lashes, “I can think of other things I want to enjoy after the party.”

Clark’s heart would have fluttered if this was anyone other than the Duke of Gotham, whose remarks were just drunken rambles from an infamous rake. Something about this flirtatious look Wayne was giving him was different from his usual playboy demeanor, though. It felt real. 

Then Clark again noticed that the duke’s heart was racing. He sighed, glad that the song was almost over. 

“Ah yes, like getting in your carriage and going home to sleep? I understand looking forward to that,” Clark deterred the flirting, but should have realized that Bruce was too drunk to take the signal. That heartbeat sped up more and drew the king’s gaze back to those ice-blue eyes. 

“I can always go to sleep in your bed,” Bruce laughed, probably thinking he was incredibly smooth in his drunken state. Clark rolled his eyes, trying not to laugh with him; not wanting to lead him on. 

“You don’t know what you're saying, your grace.” 

“I’m saying I want to have intimate relations with you,” Bruce grinned, and Clark wasn’t quite sure what to do with the drunk mess he was holding up. When the song finally came to an end, the king quickly guided the duke off of the dance floor.

“I  hope you have a good night, Duke Wayne,” King Clark smiled, and like always, Lois appeared when he needed her. His most trusted advisor held out an arm to take the drunk duke away from Clark, winking back at him as she guided Wayne away.

Her smooth voice disappeared out one of the many exits, “Let’s get you back to Wayne Manor, your grace.”

.∘☾∘.

Everything was horrible. 

Despite his debilitating headache and even more debilitating embarrassment about his conduct the night before, the duke had shown up to the council meeting that morning. Why the hell they’d agreed to have a council meeting the morning after a huge party, Bruce would never understand. The moment he’d woken he regretted all the choices he had made up to this point of his life. 

Anyone else would have sent a messenger saying illness would result in his absence, yet the Duke of Gotham had still shown up to this ridiculously timed meeting. Bruce sometimes hated his own integrity. 

As he took a chair at the table, he tried to sit the farthest possible distance from King Clark, unable to meet his gaze. Despite how drunk he’d been, Bruce still remembered everything that had happened even when he could not control those actions. Embarrassment rang through him.

A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his brooding, and Bruce turned with his perfect smile to see Viscountess Diana. She raised a dark brow, “Don’t give me that look. You’re in my seat.”

He looked down and was in fact in her seat. He knew this, and had been planning on begging her to trade seats just this once, but her tone wasn’t messing around.

“Please, my lady, just this once. I fear my pounding head after last night requires me to sit as far away from the window’s sunlight as possible–”

“Get up, Wayne,” She rolled her eyes and he let out a defeated sigh as he trudged back to his normal seat. 

Directly to the left of the king, as he was the second highest ranked noble.

Tension filled his muscles as he lowered himself into that chair, forcing calmness and control over his body despite how much it wanted to reveal his shame. The king’s deep blue eyes slowly traced to him and Bruce could have sworn there was a flicker of a smirk on his amazing lips. 

“Good afternoon, your grace,” King Clark said politely and Bruce had to resist the urge to sink in his chair. 

“And to you, your majesty,” His voice was much more chipper than he felt and it made his head ache even more. The knowing, teasing look in Clark’s eyes made his heart almost stop, but he kept steady control over his breathing. Clearing his throat, Bruce decided to just face the issue head on, “I apologize for my conduct last night. I fear the wine went straight to my head and I–”

“It’s quite alright,” Clark held up a hand to stop him, shaking his head, “I found it all quite amusing.”

For some reason that hurt more than the king being angry at Bruce. Amusing ? The king almost never seemed to enjoy being around him when he wasn’t the Dark Knight, but now that he had been drunk and a complete fool, Clark had enjoyed his presence? What the hell was that supposed to mean? 

Slowly, Bruce just nodded without responding, leaning back in his chair with an easy smile that they both knew didn’t meet his eyes. Clark moved on to the most boring, painful meeting Bruce had experienced in quite some time. 

By the halfway point, he was staring out the large stained-glass windows in complete boredom. Attempting to will the pain throbbing in his head away, Bruce blinked slowly as he watched a robin flap through the sky gracefully. 

“–but the Dark Knight’s concealed identity and lack of actually being knighted by his majesty calls into question the true purity of his intentions,” Some old, fossil of a lord rambled on. The mention of his alter-ego snapped him to attention.

“I have to disagree with you, my lord,” King Clark shook his head. His words commanded the respect and attention of the whole room despite how gentle they were. Bruce felt breathless as he listened to the man speak about him , “After the Dark Knight has saved me countless times with no reward demanded, I can not accept that his intentions are anything but pure.”

The lord shook his head, “But, your majesty–”

“But what?” Clarks words were not harsh, but the way that he tilted his head was almost dangerous. It made Bruce’s heart stutter and that strong gaze flickered straight to him, “Comments, Duke Wayne?”

Bruce’s mouth went dry with pure attraction, but he shrugged in a casual motion, “I am of the opinion, your majesty, that if we are going to call the actions of the Dark Knight into question, then we must do the same for other rogue heroes such as the Man of Steel.”

Something else stirred behind blue eyes as King Clark pinned Bruce with his stare before he nodded, relaxing in his own chair, “I agree. That is why I believe it’s simply not that pressing of an issue.” 

“Agreed,” Bruce nodded before glancing at the lord who’d brought up the subject in the first place. The old man just sunk into his chair and Bruce felt a pang of pity for him. 

He’d truly only been concerned for the king’s trust in the caped crusader, it just so happened that the Dark Knight did have completely pure intentions. After all, he was very familiar with his own intentions. Clark cleared his throat, “If anything, I think the Dark Knight should be formally knighted for his acts of bravery.”

Bruce’s eyes snapped back to Clark, all his muscles at attention. That was not a good idea, for no one would have a question of who the knight was if Bruce did not show up to the ceremony.

“I realize that his majesty is grateful to the Dark Knight for his service, but is that truly a good idea? Especially if the knight does not come forward with his identity?” Bruce’s mind was working fast.

“Well I think the offer could still stand at the knight’s discretion,” Clark raised an eyebrow. Bruce knew he might be pushing the issue a little too hard, but he couldn’t let that happen.

“If I may be transparent, your majesty, I hold the same respect for the knight as you. However, I do not think offering an honor saved for noblemen and men of valor to someone we do not know the identity of is wise.”

“And if him, why not the Man of Steel?” Viscountess Diana offered. Bruce bristled internally at being compared to that pompous copycat. The Man of Steel had only appeared after the Dark Knight and did not even attempt to protect nobles from assassins or end evil. He was more of an every day do-gooder than anything, wasting his powerful magic for everyday tasks, and Bruce hated him for it. 

All that power just for someone to never use it for something important. 

Shaking his head, Clark frowned, “Yes, I suppose you are both right… Let us move on to more important topics.” He began to look through written notes, and Bruce couldn’t help but notice how messy the king’s hand writing was. It was completely enduring, “Duke Wayne, is everything in order for the negotiation of Gotham’s border expansion?” 

Ah, that. After their most recent victory in battle, Gotham was the territory set up to inherit the land and people. Well, it was more like they were taking it back because their neighboring kingdom had seized the city after his parents’ death. A low blow on their part, taking advantage of the momentary weakness. The people themselves were traditionally his citizens, so many were happy to be back. 

“Yes, my carriage leaves right after this meeting,” Bruce sat up straighter, looking through his own documents, “I will be meeting with the previous lords before sundown.”

The king gave a firm nod before they began discussing all the boring details of the negotiation.

.∘☀︎∘.

Wayne truly was a mystery, which infuriated him. Was he on Clark’s side with the entire Dark Knight situation or not? From where he stood, the king just thought Wayne was trying to play both sides in order to gain favor. It was infuriating and he felt like he was being manipulated. Why had his heart raced when Clark had been speaking to the other lord? He was hiding something. 

The king had moved on from the subject all together, but it still nagged at him. The only problem is that the moment the Man of Steel was brought up, he could no longer argue. The king knighting the Man of Steel was an issue, for one could not knight himself. 

It was a long kept secret only between him and Lois, that the king would sometimes sneak out to serve his people as someone they did not know. It was a sense of freedom he didn’t have as a monarch, being able to help and use his magic freely without objection. 

After the report of an attack on a village that his soldiers could not get to in time and his guards would not let him attend to, Clark had adorned a suit of armor and flown to the incident to defend his people in a way the king would never be able to. 

It became a habit after that. The Man of Steel is what they’d begun to call him after arrows were deflected by skin in the places armor did not cover, and the name had stuck. Clark never objected.

With this new freedom, though, came a new roadblock; he could no longer advocate for the Dark Knight without himself being brought up, as evidenced by the meeting. So he had to give in on this small thing.

As everyone dispersed and the Duke was well on his way to the border negotiation, Clark’s ears perked up at a single word: assassination .

He blinked, fully turning and looking through the walls to see two lower lords murmuring to each other, one being the ancient lord who’d questioned the Dark Knight before, “Everything is set in motion. They promised to make Wayne’s death look like an average carriage burglary.”  

The king blinked slowly before calculating how far away that steady heart beat belonging to the duke’s had traveled. At least two hours. Not enough time for anyone else but him.

Despite Clark’s disdain for Wayne, he would never wish death upon him. With the speed of lightning, Clark raced to his chambers where he kept his armor.

.∘☾∘.

Sleep was welcome, however his body did not let it take over. A feeling of wrongness settled in his chest and Bruce cursed as he leaned against the carriage wall and forced his eyes closed. His headache had dulled to a faint pulsing, but if he could just get a short nap in, then it would probably be gone by the time he got to his destination. He needed to be in top shape for the negotiations. 

The shaking of the carriage usually lulled him into rest, but now he couldn’t stop seeing the way Clark had looked at him. That piercing gaze was all that peered back at him behind his eyelids, making a soft smile draw across his mouth. As much as Bruce enjoyed the king smiling at him, he also loved when the monarch glared at him. It was exhilarating to have his attention.

With a small sigh of defeat, Bruce opened his eyes and pulled out some documents concerning the land negotiations. If he couldn’t sleep, at least he could be productive. 

Except, then he read the name King Kal-El Clark Joseph Kent and once again he could not stop his mind from wandering. The way Clark’s warm hands had felt the night before, gripping his waste with worry and a sense of protection. It was enough to steal Bruce’s breath as he imagined it again.

Bruce was so busy battling between daydreaming over King Clark and trying to force himself to focus on the papers in his lap, he didn’t even think to question why the carriage was pulling to a stop in the middle of the countryside. 

The only thing that truly caught his attention was the carriage door opening. Immediately, Bruce was bolting for his sword, but it was too late. 

“Get him!” Someone, a hooded stranger, shouted. Someone else, the tallest one, grabbed his arms and immediately Bruce was swinging for them. The man stumbled back when the duke’s fist made contact with his face. 

Someone else was grabbing him and another was swinging a sword at his head–how many of them were there? He cursed as he dodged the sword and tried to kick another attacker off of him, only for a different sword to swing at him. In the commotion, he rolled onto the floor of the carriage, but the blade sliced his arm. 

Blood was already flowing down his sleeve. Bruce panted as he was grabbed by his hair and dragged out the carriage with a pained shout. In the blur of being dragged across the dirt, he saw his carriage driver’s dead body and anger rush through him. 

“Get the fuck off of me!” He growled, and suddenly blinding pain shot across his face as someone sucker punched him in the jaw.

“Repaying the favor,” the tall one laughed before kicking him in the gut. Bruce let out a wheeze, blood welling in his mouth and leaking out of the corner of his lips, “Boss said to rough him up a bit first, yeah?”

“Make it look like a burglary gone wrong,” The one who’d grabbed his hair shrugged, “I think that means roughing him up.”

“Gladly,” Someone said, “Let's ruin that pretty face.”

Bruce’s body was assaulted from all sides, grunts and shouts of pain coming from him as he tried to get away. But there were at least seven of them from what he could see. A sword swung for him and shallowly cut the flesh around his knee. Someone swung for his face, and with speed Bruce only developed through his time as the Dark Knight he caught their arm and flipped them off of him. 

On his feet again, Bruce kicked the assailant in the head before spinning to immediately meet another with an elbow to the ear. They stumbled away, but someone punched him in the mouth, splitting his lip on impact. Bruce kicked their knee out but three more assassins wrestled him to the ground, and he weakly looked up at ten more men. He couldn’t help but smile, and it made his lip burn with strain. 

“My murderer sent twelve people after me?” Bruce spit out the blood pooling in his mouth, “They must overestimate my fighting skills.” 

That earned him another kick to the gut and Bruce doubled over, curling up around his stomach. As he stared dazedly up at the hooded figure, who was once again holding their sword, the duke accepted that his time might have finally come. It was only a matter of time before he got killed, he just didn’t think it would happen so soon. 

Closing his eyes, Bruce imagined his parents' faces.

Then nothing.

Absolutely nothing 

Not the nothingness of death or unconsciousness; simply put, nothing happened. Confused, Bruce opened his eyes and looked around only to find the other assassins standing in momentary shock. Their leader was no longer standing in front of the duke with his sword ready to chop off his head. Instead, the man was half way down the road on his ass like he’d just got thrown. Bruce didn’t take long to figure out who had thrown him, for towering above him in a protective stance was the Man of Steel.

“I suggest you all leave his grace be, before I make you regret it,” The Man of Steel said, voice low and distorted by the metal helmet he was wearing

If Bruce wasn’t so focused on not being dead, he would have rolled his eyes. Instead he was laying on the ground coughing up blood and questioning whether or not one of his ribs were fractured.

The duke vaguely noted that the assassins were not, in fact, going to ‘leave him be’. Instead, they took on the superhuman knight who had just launched their leader 15 feet down the road and expected it to go well. Meanwhile, Bruce sat up and just watched with exhausted eyes.

Once the original dozen were dwindled down to 2 conscious people and 10 incapacitated ones, the remaining duo decided running was probably the better option. Finally, the Man of Steel turned to acknowledge him.

“Are you alright, your grace?” His voice was still deep, but softer than it had been before. Despite having just beat up 8 people—of course minus the two that Bruce had put out of commission—the Man of Steel seemed to be gentle as he knelt down to the duke, “Is your head alright?” 

“I’ve never had any complaints,” Bruce shrugged, taking on his normal flirty persona, but the knight didn’t flinch. The flirty smirk slowly fell from Bruce’s beautiful features, and he knew he probably looked like a mess.

“Do you think you are concussed?” 

All Bruce could think as he stared at this abnormally large, armored man standing in front of him was how insufferable he was. After being a copycat whom the duke loathed, how the hell could he be so cool and kind? So attractive ?

Bruce hated him for it.

“I’m alright, thank you,” The duke stood and refused to show any signs that he was anything but alright. Except when he did stand, his leg completely gave out and he was crumpling to the ground when two gauntlet covered hands swiftly grabbed him. Bruce tried to put on his normal, charming smile, “Apologies, I suppose I lost my footing. If I may just stand on my own–”

And then he was cradled in the Man of Steel’s arms like an infant; and the knight was holding him as if he weighed less than a sack of flour. Bruce couldn’t tell if that was attractive or infuriating. 

“I do not think you’re in any shape to keep traveling. I will escort you to the nearest inn and send word to the lords about the delay,” And then they were in the air. If Bruce’s many injuries hadn’t been actively catching up with him, he would have had half the mind to be pissed off and turned on. Of course though, he was too focused on trying not to pass out.

And yet, he still failed. 

.∘☀︎∘.

Clark was letting his opinions on the duke change a lot lately. 

First, it was allowing himself to admit the man was tolerable while drunk. Now, he allowed himself to admit how ruggedly handsome Wayne looked right now. It was a completely morally wrong thing to think, Clark knew that, but the blood and bruises coating that perfect face made warmth pool in his stomach for some strange reason.

What was it with Clark and seeing this man’s untouchable facade crumble? Why did he like it? Why the hell did he want to see Wayne falter even more? 

The duke slept on the inn-room’s bed, his breaths evened out in his unconscious state—at least as even as they could get with his obviously broken rib—and the Man of Steel let out an annoyed breath. How could Clark even dare to think these thoughts about a man whom he hated and who was also incapacitated? It was completely unacceptable. 

Despite how much he tried to tell himself that, he allowed his thoughts to wander a little bit as he looked down at that peacefully blank face. The duke’s lips parted slightly as he slept, sucking in breaths, and damn that split lip looked so enticing—

Clark snapped himself out of it as he looked around the room. The only one left for the night, it was somewhat nice. A bathing chamber, a large bed, and a lounge for the king to sit on. If anything, he probably could have just left the duke where he was and gone back to his kingly duties, but that integral part of him refused to leave Wayne here alone and dazed. Clark could only imagine how confused the noble would be if he woke up here without any sort of company. 

Instead, he went downstairs to find supplies to treat the duke’s injuries. The least he could do is make sure that Wayne’s wounds wouldn’t get infected, at least that’s what Clark told himself as he opened the room door with medical supplies bundled in one of his arms. As he opened it, icy eyes stared back at him from the bed, where the duke now sat up stiffly. 

Clark would have raised an eyebrow at him, but he realized he still had his helmet on. Instead, he cleared his throat as he kicked the door closed behind him and approached to drop all the bandages and such on the bed.

“I suppose I should thank you for saving me,” Wayne tilted his head up at Clark, his voice rough and exhausted. It made Clark’s mouth go dry for some reason. When he didn’t respond, the duke gave him a curious look, “Unless a simple thank you isn’t enough? Do you want payment of some kind? I thought the Man of Steel was more noble than that.”

This caught Clark off guard, and he wasn’t quite sure what to say. It didn’t help that the man below him was looking up at him through thick lashes and his raven hair was a complete mess—it was beyond attractive. Much more so than that put-together look Wayne usually had in court. If the duke could see Clark’s face, he was sure he’d look like he was drooling over the noble, which Clark despised himself for. 

Wayne’s heartbeat was steady as always and it pissed Clark off that he couldn’t read the duke’s odd expressions. Though, he seemed to interpret the Man of Steel’s silence as something else as he shrugged and stood, “Let me go wash up before anything.”

Clark’s heart stopped and he quickly held up his hands to try and stop him, “No, no I don’t want that kind of payment. Actually, I don’t want payment at all.”

One dark brow raised at him and the raspy laugh that drew from the duke was enough to bring anyone else to their knees, “I was talking about washing up before you treat my wounds. Unless you’re thinking I wanted to wash up for something else ?” 

Gods, what the fuck was he thinking? Why the hell would he think the duke was offering to sleep with him as thanks for the rescue? Clark could feel his face, ears, and neck heat up with embarrassment as he shook his head, “No, apologies. I just thought— well earlier you mentioned that you— nevermind. Please ignore me, I do not know what is going through my head.” 

A mischievous grin crossed the duke’s face and it made a spark of both rage and lust flicker in Clark’s chest. Wayne took a step towards him, looking him up and down.

“I mentioned what exactly, sir?” 

“Please, your grace, go wash up, so I can attend to your wounds.”  

“I will. I think I hit my head rather hard, though, could you remind me what I mentioned earlier?” Wayne was so close, Clark struggled not to stumble back. The bastard was going to force him to say it, wasn’t he? They both knew he remembered.

“You… mentioned not having any complaints about your…” Clark sucked in an embarrassed breath, “Your oral pleasure.” 

The laugh that came out of the duke this time was pleasantly surprised and it made Clark’s heart begin to race. It was beyond humiliating and he wasn’t sure why he was acting like this. The duke’s hand was suddenly on his armor clad chest as he leaned towards him. 

“Maybe we can negotiate some kind of payment when I’m not covered in mud and blood, hmm?” And with a swish of his hips, the duke locked himself in the bathing chamber. 

Clark was left behind, breathing heavily and trying to ignore the blood flowing towards his crotch. 

.∘☾∘.

Bruce had no idea what the fuck he was doing.

He had begun to play the part of the sensual duke so well that sometimes he didn’t even realize when he was doing it; and now that led to him flirting with the godsdamned Man of Steel. The knight, whose stammering and embarrassment thinly veiled his obvious lust, was a complete conundrum to Bruce. The man was so noble and polite, and yet a few sly words and swishing hips had him completely worked up. 

If anything, it was highly amusing. 

Despite how the man infuriated him, Bruce couldn’t help but also be attracted to him. Furthermore, it had been so long since he’d actually slept with anyone. Sure, there had been the nobleman or lady every now and then who he’d drag out of parties to kiss, but nothing more than that. 

After cleaning himself with soap that smelled of pine tar, Bruce decided to prepare himself for the possibility of something happening. Even if it was most likely that nothing would happen. 

As Bruce prepared himself with experienced fingers, he was half aware of the fact that the Man of Steel could probably hear his soft grunts and hard breathing. It made him bite his lip with a smile, enjoying the idea of making the knight squirm. So he allowed himself to be a fraction louder as his fingers thrusted in and out. 

The sound of something in the other room crashing made a coarse chuckle escape him before he judged himself sufficiently stretched and got out of the warm water. All there was to wear were his dirty, bloodied clothes or a towel. Hopefully the knight had gotten him a change of clothes, or else he’d be stuck with the duke only in a towel for the rest of the time he was there. 

As he left the bathroom, Bruce saw the knight sitting awkwardly on the bed next to some bandages, a strange liquid, and a salve. No clothes. So, the poor man would, in fact, be stuck with the duke only in a towel. Devilish delight curled in Bruce’s gut and he could help but smirk down at the fidgeting man on the bed.

“Sorry, I’d hate to put on dirty clothes and let my wounds get infected. I don’t suppose you got me any spare clothing?” 

The knight shook his head too quickly. Even though Bruce couldn’t see his eyes, he seemed to be trying to look anywhere else other than the half naked man in front of him. A sense of confidence took over the duke; he knew he looked good. Toned muscles, a light brush of dark hair, and flecks of many scars made up a body that was very nice to look at.

“Um… Sit down, please, and I’ll begin disinfecting your injuries,” The knight suddenly stood and motioned for Bruce to take his spot. It was adorable. 

Bruce sat, letting his legs spread slightly but not enough for the towel to reveal anything; just the suggestion. The knight’s metal-gauntlet-covered hands fumbled with the bottle of what he now knew was disinfectant. The duke reached out a hand and gently touched one of those clumsy fingers, tilting his head in faux-innocence. 

“Why don’t you take off your gloves? It will make everything easier,” His smile was sweet with an undertone of seduction, and Bruce knew it. The Man of Steel’s breath hitched at the implication, but he took off his gauntlets nonetheless. 

The hands underneath were calloused, tan, and strong. Bruce could only imagine how they would feel on his skin. So, he decided to put aside his disliking of the copycat-knight for the evening because he really wanted to fuck the goody-two-shoes. The need to make this perfect, noble hero fall apart in sinful delight began to fog Bruce’s brain. He’d go back to hating him tomorrow. 

Neither of them said anything as the knight knelt down and began disinfecting Bruce’s wounds with impossible gentleness. The sting was dull, nothing the Dark Knight hadn’t felt before, and he was easily distracted by the tension in the Man of Steel’s shoulders. The way he was very careful not to touch the duke for too long or linger anywhere too close to that towel. 

Fingers softly pressed against Bruce’s side and he jolted, letting out a hiss of pain. The Man of Steel looked up at him, “Apologies, your grace. I think your rib is fractured.”

Bruce shrugged and didn’t think about the words before they left his mouth, “Nothing that hasn’t happened before.” 

The knight’s silence lingered, confusion palpable, but he didn’t ask. Just continued with applying the pain relieving salve and then bandages. Bruce was thankful his blunder hadn't been questioned, and he tried to think about anything else to change the topic. 

“That breastplate can’t be comfortable to be bending over in,” He suddenly murmured. The knight’s covered face raised up to stare at him through the dark slit in the visor, and he shook his head.

“Your grace, if I may be so blunt—”

“You may be as truthful as you’d like,” Bruce leaned closer to his helmet-covered face, ignoring the strain on some of his injuries. The knight’s sigh was heavy with incredulity. 

“Duke Wayne, you are in no shape for… strenuous activities,” There was a restrained quality to the Man of Steel’s voice that made the duke’s mouth water. What would it take to make the Man of Steel lose control? 

“Strenuous activities?” Bruce feigned confusion, “How would you treating my wounds be strenuous?” 

The knight stared at him before shaking his head. He sounded like he wanted to say something, but chose silence as he moved on to bandaging the shallow cut on Bruce’s knee. The duke shifted slightly, in a movement that could have been mistaken for just trying to give the Man of Steel easier access to the wound, but they both knew it was a move intent on making his towel fall slightly. It revealed the thin trail of hair going down Bruce’s naval and the beginnings of his upper thighs. 

The Man of Steel’s body began to slightly tremble, “Your grace, please .” 

“Please?” Bruce looked down at him with the definition of bedroom eyes and a smirk that made the cut on his lip sting. He ignored it, “Please what?” 

“Please stop before I do something we’ll both regret,” The knight’s voice was gravely and filled with desire that the helmet could not hide. Bruce’s fingers traveled down to the knight’s hands resting on his knee and gently grasped them. His stomach curled in delight as the Man of Steel put up no resistance when the duke guided those calloused hands up to his thighs.

“I have dealt with worse injuries before. These are hardly anything,” Bruce reassured before licking his lips, “Would you like to find out what I’m a lot better at than ‘oral pleasure’?” 

Something snapped in the knight staring up at him as those strong hands gripped Bruce’s thighs, “Fuck, yes.” 

And then his towel was on the floor and warm hands were dragging him closer to the edge of the bed. The duke didn’t hesitate, reaching to help the Man of Steel out of his armor with skilled hands that knew how to easily remove it. Underneath those layers of metal were a simple blue tunic and black pants that did nothing to conceal the straining in the crotch. 

Without thinking, Bruce reached for the helmet only for hands to grasp both of his wrists in a firm grip.

“Everything but the helmet,” The Man of Steel growled. Bruce blinked through lust-hazed eyes and nodded dumbly. If anyone knew the weight of a concealed identity it was him, so instead he reached to rip the tunic off of that giant, muscled body. The knight worked open the laces on his pants and finally his clothes were entirely gone. Quickly, the Man of Steel grabbed a bottle of oil from the bed’s side table. 

The knight pushed Bruce onto the bed, and he landed on his back with a breathless gasp, staring up at the perfect body above him. Tanned muscles bigger than his own and a mysterious lack of hair stared back at him, everything smooth and unmarred except for a single birthmark. A small, odd looking shape that was like a mix between a triangle and pentagon sat right below the man’s sternum, but Bruce quickly moved on as his hands traveled down those giant pectorals. 

As his own hands squeezed at the knight’s chest, the Man of Steel’s hands sat on Bruce’s waist and manhandled him into a position where their hips were pressed together. A slow moan dragged out of Bruce’s throat as they ground their hips together, and he raised himself to begin kissing and biting at the knight’s chest. Quickly, he took a nipple into his mouth and sucked while swirling his tongue around it.

The strained groan that escaped the man above him was delightful. 

“Shit, your grace,” The Man of Steel removed the cork from the oil-bottle and poured it on his fingers before his hand quickly traveled to Bruce’s ass. The duke moved up to suck and kiss at the knight’s shoulder, letting out a moan when thick fingers easily slipped inside of him, and the knight cursed again, “I knew you were preparing yourself in the bath.”

“Guilty,” The duke moaned into his shoulder before trying to kiss the parts of his neck that the helmet didn’t cover, “Also, please call me Bruce.”  

The knight nodded before flipping their position so that he was sitting back against the headboard and Bruce straddled his lap. 

“Will you ride me, Bruce ?” The way his name sounded on the Man of Steel’s tongue sounded like both a curse and a prayer, and it made the duke’s legs feel like jelly. 

With an enthusiastic nod, he took the oil from the knight and began spreading it all over the other man’s dick. His very large dick. As Bruce’s fingers slid up and down the gigantic appendage, he couldn’t help but appraise it. However, the Man of Steel’s moans quickly snapped him out of his admiration, and need took over. 

Bruce planted one hand on the giant man’s shoulder before using the other to guide himself down onto the knight.

Fire exploded in his gut, pleasure making his head spin as he quickly sunk all the way down. The only sounds in the room were loud moans and strained panting as they both tried to adjust to the sensation.

“Holy shit, you’re huge,” Bruce gasped out, fingers digging into the Man of Steel’s shoulders as he tried to work up the strength to begin moving up and down. Instead, the knight’s hands were on his hips and easily helped him slowly move. Super strength helped a lot, Bruce concluded, as he cursed and moaned like a bitch in heat. 

“Gods, you feel so good,” The cold metal of the helmet made Bruce shiver as the knight rested his face in the crook of his neck, “So, so good.” 

Without warning, the Man of Steel began to thrust up into him with a ferocity and speed that made Bruce’s throat raw with screams of pleasure. His bandaged wounds dully strained, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The duke reached around to grab onto anything for leverage, but he didn’t have access to the knight’s hair like he usually did with his other partners. So instead he clawed at the knight’s shoulders and back, nails digging into golden skin. 

“You’re doing so good, just keep going,” The Man of Steel murmured close to his ear, roughly thrusting into that perfect spot and making Bruce see stars. The moment he hit it, a high whimper escaped Bruce that he had never heard himself make. The knight perked up, “Right there?” 

A sob clawed from Bruce’s throat as he nodded, gasping for air and holding on for dear life as this literal god fucked his prostate without mercy and whispered sweet nothings to him. And the praise? Bruce had never considered having a praise kink, but the gentle words of encouragement from the knight made his head turn to mush. The duke had never experienced anything like it before, and he could only imagine how much better it would be when he wasn’t moderately injured. If it was better than this, Bruce was more than happy to be saved by the Man of Steel over and over again.

“Look at you, so pretty as you fall apart for me,” The knight’s words barely registered with Bruce as the warmth and pressure inside him drew close to exploding

“I’m gonna—” Bruce’s thighs trembled as the Man of Steel reached forward and began jerking him off while still fucking every single thought out of his head. With a loud, broken moan Bruce came all over their chests, and the knight continued fucking him through his orgasm. 

“Gods, yes, Bruce— so good,” The Man of Steel moaned his name over and over again as he thrusted. The duke's head spun and his whole body was shaking with overstimulation. With one last deep thrust right into that perfect place, the knight came inside him with a soft groan. 

They sat there, holding each other for a long moment as sweat slid down both of their bodies. Bruce felt like he couldn’t put together a single coherent thought for a long time, even as the knight laid back on the pillows and held the duke to his chest with a gentleness that was starkly different than the violence he had fucked him with. 

Bruce would have fallen asleep if it weren’t for spikes of pleasure shooting up his spine because of the dick still inside him. Still inside him and still rock hard. 

.∘☀︎∘.

Shame had disappeared long ago, alongside every other reasonable thought Clark had. 

He couldn’t bring himself to care about anything else but the Duke of Gotham writhing and whimpering on top of him, falling apart with every brush of Clark’s hands or cock. It was beyond anything he’d ever imagined, especially for someone he claimed to hate so much. 

When they’d both finished, Clark finally brought himself to think about the fact that his inhumane, magical body would almost immediately recover. Meanwhile, Wayne’s body would need at least a few minutes of rest and that was without the injuries marring him. Gods, had he just fucked a man who was injured??

Even as he was still inside the duke, Clark sat up slightly and held Wayne’s sex-hazed face. The king’s voice was rough from moaning as he murmured, “Are you alright? How are your ribs?” 

“Oh shut up,” Bruce growled, pushing him back onto the bed and rolling his hips much to Clark’s surprise, “I’m not letting a single moment with this perfect body go to waste.”

The king’s eyes widened as he tried to hold the duke still.

“You need a break—” Before he could think, Wayne hissed in pain and Clark realized he’d gripped his side a little too hard—super strength and all. Immediately he sat up to hold the man like a wounded animal, “Gods, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?”

The duke let out an incredulous laugh, “After fucking me like that, how can you be so gentle like this?” 

Despite those words, Bruce leaned his cheek into Clark’s hand and closed his eyes. It was like he melted in the king’s arms. Clark felt his face physically soften, a harsh frown disappearing as he let a soft breath escape his lips and he pulled out of the duke—much to the noble’s protest. 

“Wait, I’m okay—” Wayne tried to stop him from standing, but Clark ignored him as he reached for his blue tunic. More whines that bordered on bratty came from the man still sitting on the bed, but they ended as Clark turned around to carefully pull the blue shirt over the duke’s head. Soft blue eyes just stared up at him in surprise, “Oh. Thank you.”

Clark almost melted at the expression Bruce made, but instead pulled on his pants and sat back down on the bed. The duke adjusted to make more room for him and they sat there in an odd but not uncomfortable silence. Wayne laid his head on Clark’s bare shoulder and hugged his arm, and Clark let him. It was odd to see him this… soft. Like he just wanted to be held, so the knight held him.

After a long while of borderline cuddling, Clark’s eyes lazily traced over to the window and he realized the sun had already gone down, which meant he needed to get back to the castle soon. As he looked down at Wayne to say something, the duke was already looking up at him with a hardened expression, “You’re leaving.”

“I need to,” The knight’s voice was softer than he’d wanted it to be. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn that the duke began pouting.

“The least you could do is stay the rest of the night and make sure more assassins don’t come back for me.”

Clark let out a soft laugh and shook his head, brushing some of Bruce’s unruly hair out of his eyes without considering how romantic the gesture might be, “Something tells me that if I stay, I won’t be spending my night keeping watch.”

“Don’t you have superhuman hearing? Just use that and multitask,” Wayne scowled, and took Clark by surprise that this nobleman knew so much about his magic. Was it through field reports? How much had the duke studied his persona? Bruce leaned away from Clark’s touch as he sighed dramatically, “It’s alright, you’ll simply hear about my tragic death tomorrow morning and wish you’d stayed with me. 

“There’s no winning with you, is there?” Clark sighed, giving in once again to this unfathomably attractive asshole. 

“Nope,” Wayne smirked, leaning back on the pillows, with his hands behind his head “Everyone knows that.” 

As he leaned back, Clark let his eyes wander to the duke’s now exposed thighs and he wished he could run his mouth over them. Instead, he distracted himself with conversation, “Is that so? I do hear rumors about your ferocity, charisma, and wit when it comes to politics at the royal court.” 

Wayne opened a single eye to look at the knight, “Oh? Nothing about my skills with oral pleasure in those rumors?”

Clarks laugh came out easily as he shook his head, “Not that I can think of. Though I have heard of your dance skills while drunk on many, many glasses of wine.”

The king knew it was probably stupid to bring up, but he realized a little too late. Bruce cheeks turned a fraction more pink, and for most people it would have gone unnoticed—but Clark wasn’t most people. And yet, that heartbeat remained steady.

“It was less my own skills and more his majesty’s holding me up right,” Bruce chuckled. It was already odd to be referring to himself in the third person, but Clark played along.

“Oh? And how did you offer to repay him for the rescue?” 

“The same way I did you,” Bruce smirked, all smugness and sex-appeal, but there was something else in that expression as he sighed, “But, alas, his majesty did not accept my advances.”

Clark had to hold back his laughter. It was true, he had rejected the duke the first time, but he was still just a man. The second time was a different story. 

Then something else sprung to mind and Clark tilted his head, “What do you think of the king? Truly?” 

Bruce’s eyes lazily gazed up at him, almost bored as he thought out loud, “I… admit I am very fond of him.”

“Really?” Clark couldn’t help but let his actual shock shine through. Still he pressed forward, “How so? I thought you had… a disliking of each other.” 

Bruce gave him an odd look before he shook his head, “Maybe he distains me, but… I hold him in very high regards. He is strong… kind. His majesty can be ruthless when need be, but he does so with tact and a gentleness that is befitting a leader. I don’t think many people see how good he is, morally speaking.”

Clark’s mouth hung open as he heard the duke talk about him like this. Was that truly what he thought? In all honesty, Clark had genuinely believed that their disdain was mutual. Despite the one night of drunken advances, Wayne had continued to challenge and avoid him. At the council meeting, he’d stared daggers into his head and his heart’s irregular beat seemed to reveal a certain kind of anger towards or fear of Clark. But was this all the truth? Even if it was, Clark felt like he was none of those things. He shook his head.

“Surely not. King Clark lacks all the grace and integrity that Queen Martha held, and he is completely absent of King Jonathan’s—”

“You’d best choose your words about his majesty wisely.”

Once again, Clark was completely caught off guard by the duke. The actual anger that laid in his tone, the icy rage that laid in those eyes each made guilt and flattery fill him. It made the king’s heart begin to race, “Why? After this war in the east, I have begun to question how he rules this kingdom. So far, he’s proven to be—”

“Hold your tongue,” And suddenly Wayne was sitting up and very angry, finger jammed into Clark’s chest, “How dare you? You, a simple commoner who plays hero and knows nothing of what it takes to rule. How dare you insult him? Shut your mouth.”

Gently, Clark took the hand that was pushing him off the bed. Trying his best to defuse the tension, he did all he could think of, “Why don’t you shut me up yourself?” 

Wayne’s rage did not immediately disappear like he’d hoped. Instead, Bruce looked like he wanted to punch the knight, but there was something else in his expression as he worked his jaw, “I’m not sure if I want to scream at you or just scream in general.”

“Scream… in a good way?” 

“Obviously,” Bruce rolled his eyes, then his eyes flickered across the helmet, “But I very much would like to shut you up.”  

In a single movement, the duke was tearing the bottom of Clark’s tunic into a single strip of fabric.

“What are you…” Clark trailed off as the duke tied the strip securely around his own eyes, and the king’s eyes narrowed as he caught on, “How do I know you won’t take it off?”

“Oh please, if I had wanted to know your identity, the helmet would have been removed before I had sex with you,” Even though his eyes were now covered, Clark could still tell that Wayne was rolling them. It was a little weird how comfortable Duke Wayne was with having sex with a complete stranger. For all he knew, Clark could be completely hideous. A soft laugh huffed out of him as he shook his head.

“Whatever you say…” And in a burst of lust-fueled courage, the king took off his helmet and tossed it to the ground. He gaged Wayne’s body for any kind of reaction to his now exposed identity, but there was nothing—and surely after defending King Clark’s honor like that, Bruce would at least react to finding out the man he was having sex was King Clark. The duke truly couldn’t see him, but his chest was heaving in anticipatory breaths. So this was what the noble was into? 

The king brought his hands up to gently cup the back of Wayne’s head, fingers intertwining through soft black locks, but Clark didn’t move; just continued studying the duke’s face.

“I feel like this is an odd way of going about shutting me up when you’re the one—”

Suddenly, Wayne’s fingers were tangled in his hair, as if he knew exactly where Clark’s head had been the moment he spoke, and he dragged him forward. The kiss was clumsy, starting with the duke kissing his chin, but it quickly deepened into something of tongues and stolen breath. 

The helmet was the worst decision he’d ever made, Clark realized. If he’d never worn it, then he could have been kissing Wayne a lot sooner. Which at this moment, was all he ever wanted to do—kiss Bruce Wayne; but now all he could do was make up for lost time as he climbed back on top of the duke. 

Gasps and soft noises escaped the both of them as the king’s tongue explored the duke’s very lovely mouth. Those perfect lips were everything he’d wanted, and he vaguely realized that Wayne’s cut lip probably hurt with the intensity of their kiss; but until the duke had a problem with that, Clark wouldn’t object. 

And gods, Wayne was just such a good kisser.

It had either been hours or seconds that they were making out for, Clark didn’t know, but he didn't want to stop. Wayne’s fingers tugged at Clark’s hair, pulling the king’s face away slightly as they both caught their breaths.

With kiss swollen lips the noble murmured, “Fucking hell, you can save me any time you’d like,” Before he was dragging Clark back down to keep kissing him. 

Those pale, oddly calloused hands traveled down the king’s bare torso, stopping to give his pecks a delighted squeeze, before Wayne was untying Clark’s pants again. A soft groan escaped him and he was rock hard again as he dragged his lips down to Wayne’s jaw and neck. He couldn’t help himself as he bit and licked at the skin below Wayne’s ear, coaxing a soft moan out of the noble. Yes, he decided, the helmet was a very bad idea because being able to kiss Bruce was very nice. 

They both worked Clark’s pants back off of him before he unceremoniously pulled his shirt off of the duke. Naked bodies pressed together at the same time their lips did and hands roamed once more. Quickly, Clark noticed that the duke was louder and more sensitive than he had been before; and it didn’t take him long to figure out the blindfold was heightening his other senses. 

Sitting back on the bed and looking down once more at Wayne, he saw the man was trembling with anticipation and delight. It made Clark’s cock twitch. Featherlight fingertips ran down Wayne’s torso, drawing a sharp inhale from him, and the king smirked down at him. 

“I wish you could see yourself right now,” Clark shook his head, voice deep and rough from lust and strain. The knight’s hands continued to roam, teasing Bruce’s thighs and cock. 

Wayne let out a small breath before smiling, “I wish you could hear yourself right now— ah —you sound quite attractive.” 

The thought that the duke might recognize his voice did cross his mind, but Clark thought that he sounded different enough compared to his normal regal speech pattern. Plus, Wayne had other things to think about as Clark lined himself up and slid back inside him, earning a long moan and curse from the duke. 

“My sounds don’t even compare,” The knight groaned, leaning back down to kiss Wayne and swallow his whines of pleasure. Clark’s hips moved slow and deep, using his strength to drive into that spot the duke loved so much, but being careful not to hurt him. With each thrust, the duke’s kiss became sloppier and more frequently interrupted by his shouts. The praise just seemed to flow out of Clark as his own mind became muddled, “Gods, you’re so perfect. Sound perfect, look perfect, feel perfect.”

Wayne tightened around him at those growled words, and Clark was glad to know the duke enjoyed being praised as much as he enjoyed praising. Maybe even more so. 

“Gods, please ,” One of the duke’s hands continued clawing at his back leaving faint, stinging red lines that would fade too quickly and the other one tugging roughly at Clark’s hair. The pressure against his scalp earned more moans of his own. 

“Please what, Bruce?” He asked.

“Please go faster, you bastard,” Wayne growled, biting at Clark’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. 

The king chuckled, but kissed him back and began moving his hips brutally before purring in the noble’s ear, “Since you asked so nicely.”

A whimper came out of Wayne that made Clark almost come instantly, and he began fucking him even harder, if only to hear that sound again. The opportunity to see the duke fall apart, to make him fall apart was delightful. The king wanted to do it over and over again. He deliberately angled his hips to hit that spot Wayne seemed to love, earning more whines and whimpers from that broken voice.

Dark spots began to stain the blindfold. Tears, Clark quickly realized, but from the sounds and fast pace of the heartbeat below him, he knew they were tears of pleasure. Still, he leaned down to kiss at Wayne’s jaw.

“Doing so good for me. Such a good boy,” He murmured then moaned as his own climax drew near. Without any warning, Wayne immediately came with a loud cry and an arched back. He clenched tightly around Clark, taking him by surprise and making him finish soon after. 

The king blinked slowly as he realized something. Thumb rubbing comforting circled on Wayne’s hips, he leaned forward to whisper in his ear and test his theory, “Good boy, Bruce.” 

The duke immediately tightened and let out a strained sound that made more warmth spread through Clark’s stomach. Clark was hard again, but he was having too much fun studying the reactions Wayne was giving him. The reactions he had forever longed for out of the duke.  

“Do you like being called that?” The king nipped at his earlobe, slowly rolling his hips, ”A good boy ?” 

“Oh sh-shut up— ahh ,” Wayne smacked his arm, but cut himself off with a broken moan. His words were stuttered and clumsy, “H-how the hell are you— mm —still erect? Ab-bsolute freak of… nature—”

Clark listened, delighted at this ramble, while continuing to grind inside the duke. The poor noble was in for a long night if he kept making sounds like that.

.∘☾∘.

Everything hurt. 

After he woke up long after sunrise, Bruce felt like he could stay in this bed for days. He probably would have, if he hadn’t woken up alone, but the jarring lack of bodyheat next to him had snapped him right out of his post-sex daze. 

Looking around the room, he began to notice a couple things at a time: he was cleaned and dressed in new clothes; all of his belongings from the carriage were neatly placed on the lounge next to the bed; and there was not a single trace of the Man of Steel’s presence except for a glass of water and note on the bedside table. 

Blinking away the sleep from his eyes, Bruce reached for the note and read it while gulping down the water.

‘Your Grace,

My greatest apologies for my absence when you awaken. I’m afraid I have other duties I must attend to. The area has been cleared of all threats, but if you are ever in trouble all you need do is call for me. 

I’ll be there.’

Bruce read and reread the note, which was scribbled in messy handwriting. His disdain for the knight slowly crept back in. How the fuck could he be so perfect? Then disdain for himself crept back in as he realized he’d gone on an all night sex spree with a man he claimed to hate. A sex spree that he’d highly enjoyed. 

Swallowing the last of the water, he folded up the note and pocketed it before standing and looking around. It truly seemed like no one except himself had ever been in the room. It was almost like he’d dreamed the entire thing, but the jolt of pain in his lower back reminded him that it was very real. 

A storm of emotions swirled in his chest, howling winds of loathing and jealousy mixing with lightning cracks of lust and need. Bruce decided to shove the storm away into the deepest part of himself. He would deal with all of this later.

For now, he had a land negotiation to get to.