Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bruce hardly ever consumed alcohol. Throughout the years Clark had been around him, he was practically averse towards it, claiming that a single drop could dull his senses and having that happen would make him susceptible to danger... or something along those lines. Last time alcohol was brought up in one of Clark's and Bruce's many conversations, it somehow turned into an excruciatingly long monologue and all Clark could bring himself to interpret was the sound of his partner's voice. Some would say it was Bruce's typical "Batman paranoia" shining through. Clark wouldn't oppose that, but he and alcohol never went together so it wasn't like he had much of an opinion. Bruce preferred being on high alert when he wasn't within the grand walls of his manor or the shadowy and eerie enclosure of the Cave. And even then, he was still prepared for any kind of grave situation. So, Bruce seldom drank. 

But, God, when he did, it was an indescribable experience. 

It was a dark and stormy night in Gotham—fitting, given its reputation— but inside Wayne Manor was a striking contrast to the atmosphere surrounding it. Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne had the main room to themselves for the time being, the blue light coming from the TV doing little to illuminate the thick darkness of the large room. Clark wasn't paying much attention to Bruce or his wine glass, too immersed in the show he thought the both of them were watching to notice how many times his lover had gotten up, disappeared, and came back to the couch throughout the film. Some time later, Bruce had started to get a bit physical, pushing his face into the other's neck, kissing it gently, lazily, breathing him in as his hand felt as many places as it could from where he was seated. That was when Clark had to take his eyes away from the screen. 

With a low chuckle, he asked, "Is the show boring you, lovely?", he took the hand that was feeling him up into his own. Clark didn't do anything about the face still buried into the crook of his neck. Bruce's heartbeat was a bit slower than usual, but not slow enough to be worrisome, "Bruce?", Clark spoke again, figuring it was better to check than be sorry. 

"Mmnhh..", was all Bruce could muster. He sounded almost irritated, but his voice when he responded was something leaning towards whiny. Clark couldn't quite place it, but it was hard not to admit that it was pretty cute. He repositioned himself, his hands on Bruce's shoulders. 

"Here. Let me look at you.", Clark didn't leave any room for protest as he parted Bruce from his neck to examine him. All of a sudden, Clark became weak at the sight of him. His lover's cheeks were tinged lightly with red, the long bangs he sported draped handsomely over one side of his face, but the real kicker was his bottom lip that jutted out into a little pout. Bruce never pouted. He'd furrow his eyebrows at Clark, sometimes glare playfully at him, but he would never pout. And, god, wasn't it the cutest freaking thing he'd ever seen? The man couldn't help himself, he just had to kiss him, "I take it you had too much to drink, my love?" 

Bruce simply nodded, eyes on Clark's lips now. He looked like he wanted another kiss, so Clark gave him just that. 

"What made you wanna do that, hm?"

Bruce shrugged, and Clark felt him pull weakly at the hem of his t-shirt, probably asking for one more, which was gladly received. Then another. And another. A couple more, and then before he knew it, Clark found himself unable to stop, "I'm sorry..", he muttered against Bruce's lips, fermented grapes and leather attacking his senses, "You're just so pretty like this" 

"I am?", Bruce asked as if he had never been called "pretty" before, making the Kryptonian laugh. 

"Yes, sweetheart, the prettiest", he cooed, holding Bruce's face in his hands before pressing a chaste kiss on the side of his lips. 

Bruce hummed, low, thoughtful, "Y'know wha–", a small hiccup escaped him and Clark's heart couldn't take it, "Wha'would make me prettier?"

"Hm?"

"f'you.. knocked me up." 

Clark paused and everything seemed to come to an abrupt stop, he looked at the man before asking, "What?"

He had heard what was said—loud and perfectly clear— but, in that moment, his ears were faster than his brain because Clark could not believe what Bruce just said to him. Of all the words Bruce Wayne, The Batman, has never spoken, those had to be the words that were never spoken the most. Granted, he was under the influence, but that didn't make it any less mind-boggling. While Clark stared at him bewildered and confused, Bruce looked dead serious save for his eyes glinting with something mischievous. Good God, that look was going to be the death of him. Clark could not find it in him to say "no" to a look like that. He leaned in—either to make sure Clark heard him or to prove that he wasn't joking— then without missing a beat, slurred out, "I szaid.. I wan' you to put a baby in'me, Kal"

The other blinked, then swallowed, stopping Bruce from moving any closer by placing his hands on his waist, "Baby..."

"Mm-hm?"

"I can't do that"

Bruce raised an eyebrow, "Can't or won't?" 

"I.. Wha–.. Can't", Clark stammered, "It's impossible for a human male to get pregnant, Bruce" 

"Mmh, doesn't mean you shouldn't try n'en try again", he argued with a smirk, "and try harder"

The comment was so provocative that it made Clark flush a deep red, the small reaction only making Bruce push further. Up to this point, he had already been swooned, blindsided, and now persuaded, and despite being hazy, the man—who Clark was letting push him against the plush couch— knew that without a single doubt. Detective, first, and seductive drunk with a high sex drive, second, so it seemed. Clark couldn't help it, he was embarrassingly weak when it came to Bruce, so trying to resist his advances would have been futile. The more he thought, the more he wouldn't mind playing pretend with him in this state as long as he regained the upper hand. Clark could play with this little fantasy. If Bruce wanted him to give him a baby, he would. But he'd have to earn that by asking. And asking nicely.

"Oh, yeah?", the tone in his voice aiming to provoke the man now seated on top of him, "You wanna try for a baby that badly, honey?", right after Clark had said that, he heard Bruce's heart skip a beat. He had him now. 

"Wha'd'you think, boy scout?"

"I think...", Clark's hands slid from Bruce's waist to his hips, the man shuddering as teasing fingers slipped underneath the hem of his shirt and warmth collided with the coldness of his skin, a familiar feeling he had been craving amped up to a hundred due to the alcohol, "You should cut the act I already know you're trying to put up and ask me to make a mother out of you", he said, making sure he sounded stern. A faltered breath was then heard as Bruce practically cracked under little to no pressure. Clark didn't expect it to be so easy. 

He whimpered—dear god, Bruce whimpered and it drove him crazy— then opened his mouth to speak. 

"Clark..." 

"Mhm. Go on, lovely. Ask me all nice and pretty, then we'll take it upstairs", Clark promised, the encouragement stirring something within Bruce. 

"Please," he breathed, "Please put a baby in me, Clark..."

"Yes, sir"

Within seconds, they were in their bedroom with Bruce pinned between Clark's frame and the sheets, looking awfully satisfied with himself while his lover kissed him like he was starved. He seized his jaw, then his neck, latching onto the skin with his mouth as he bit and sucked bruises into the pallid skin. The roughness provoked sounds out of Bruce that Clark had never heard him make in bed before, not even when he was sober. It was dizzying. And all he could focus on was the instilled urge to hear more, to wring out more of those noises until Bruce couldn't anymore. Feverish, desperate hands ran over every dip and crevice of Clark's body through the fabric of his shirt until they quickly turned greedy. Bruce tore off Clark's shirt without an inkling of shame. 

It wasn't long before they were both completely naked, Bruce lying supine with Clark in between his legs. He was more than eager to give Bruce all of what he asked for, but he didn’t want to disregard his comfortability no matter how wound up tight he was. He took pleasure in watching Bruce squirm and fuss as he prepped him, two slicked fingers sliding in and out of him, scissoring him open, "Kal.. Kal, m'ready, just–Fuck!", Bruce hissed in frustration when Clark's fingers ghosted over that certain spot inside him, not quite giving it the attention he so badly wanted. His hips were pinned down in place by the unyielding strength in Clark's free hand, so he couldn't do anything but whine and dig his nails into the impenetrable skin of this arm. 

Clark tsked, "You need to be patient, sweetheart, don't want you to be sore when you sober up tomorrow"

"I'd like that..", Bruce said with a soft grunt, a ghost of a grin briefly appearing on his face, "m'wanna feel you for weeks..", his words were slurred and lazy, the sound of his voice teasing but genuine, and it all drove Clark toward the brink of madness. Bruce always had a certain charm to him that he had always found irresistible, but seeing him act so desperate and shameless tonight was something entirely different and he didn't know why, but he adored it. Maybe a bit too much, because he was already considering giving Bruce exactly what he wanted. And possibly even more. Bruce with a sore back and a hangover was going to be relentless but... He'll take the hits in the morning.

The fingers that were preparing Bruce for him were pushed in deep, quirked in a way that drew out a gasp followed by a strangled whine. 

"That what you really want, baby?" 

Bruce nodded earnestly, "Yes", he breathed, "Yesyesyes– I wan'it so bad Kal, please"

"I really hope you'll remember all of this", he muttered as he pulled out his fingers and reached for the bottle of lube beside them. He applied a generous amount to himself for Bruce's sake, and to just be on the safe side. The hand that kept him pinned now rested on his scarred, taut stomach, the other elevating Bruce's hips if he weighed nothing as Clark took in the feel of him almost greedily, instructing him to breathe. Slowly, he pushed into the tight warmth he'd been dying to have all night and his lover sucked in a breath, his back arching off the bed just a little, hair that fell over his face moments ago veiling his eyes. But, not quite. Clark could still see them through the slits, "There you go. Oh, you're so gorgeous, sweetheart", he said, completely enamored. Bruce let out a helpless noise at the compliment, hands fisted tightly into the sheets. 

Once Clark was fully sheathed inside of him, Bruce could finally somewhat breathe, then he whined again, asking but not using his words. Clark let it slide, though. He wanted this, too. Badly. So, he gave what his Bruce had begged for, not even waiting for him to adjust before pulling out halfway and thrusting back inside of him with a groan. The movement had shocked him and the gasp that left him could have been heard from down the hallway, "Oh– Oh fuck–", was all he could say. Within moments, Bruce was being shoved up the bed inch by inch with every punishing snap of Clark's hips, his hands keeping Bruce where he wanted in a near-bruising grip while he fucked him. 

The mix of pain and pleasure was overwhelming as Bruce frantically grabbed at his wrists and any other part of Clark that was within reach. His shameless moans and drawn-out whines were music to Clark's ears. He probably wouldn't hear Bruce make those kinds of noises again so he cherished every bit of them, every sharp intake of breath, every small yelp and groan. 

He had quickly succumbed to a state of pure bliss, drunk off wine and cock, and, oh, how Clark lived for it, "Taking me so well, lovely," he praised with a barely composed grunt, "Gonna look so fucking pretty when I knock you up" 

A broken, "Please..", was all Bruce could manage. 

"How many do you want? Hm?", Clark asked as he leaned down a little, which made Bruce's wandering hands very happy as they grabbed and scratched at his shoulders, "Just give me a number and we'll try as many times as you'd like. That sound good, baby?" 

"Kal... Clark.. 'm so– Fuck 'm g'nna.."

"I know, sweetie, me too– Let go for me and I'll give you what you need, come on..", Clark changed his pace, encouraging Bruce with deep, slow strokes. He hit a certain spot that made the man beneath him come with a sob, spilling all over his stomach and it was the prettiest thing Clark bore witness to. He leaned the rest of the way down, chest to chest with Bruce as he desperately chased his own release, "So good, so fucking good for me, Bruce. Here it comes, baby.", with his face buried in his neck, he came, making sure to fuck his spent deep into him to "seal the deal".

When Bruce came down from the highest peak of his orgasm, he came down pretty hard, not even trying to fight the sudden drowsiness that took over almost immediately after Clark pulled out of him, "Sit tight, I'm gonna get you cleaned up then you can sleep, okay?", he said gently, earning an incoherent grumble in response. He planted a loving kiss to Bruce's temple before he got up and out of bed, making his way to the bathroom connected to the room. After a couple of minutes, Clark came back with a damp towel to find his partner already fast asleep, which he found funny as Bruce normally stayed awake whenever there was aftercare. He tried not to wake him as he cleaned him off with the towel, taking his time with the process.

Finishing up, he caught something out of the corner of his eye, just through the window. The signal, the calling, for the city's Dark Knight shone brightly in the clouded sky and it was, to say the least, mildly inconvenient. Clark had just gotten Bruce under the covers but needed to cut the rest of their night together short. He would make it up to him in the morning, but now, Superman had Gotham matters to attend to. 

And with a final kiss that held a hundred promises, Clark was gone.