Bruce swept a lock of hair out from his eyes. Clark twitched from under him, shoulder pressed against the bed. The sheets twisted under him, bending to his weight.
He could feel Bruce's hand comb past the curls, fingers twisting his scalp inside them. Then, he pulled. Clark stifled his breathing for a moment hissing out. His head lurched forwards, aching. It didn't hurt. More like an angry series of scratches than anything . He could feel Bruce's breath against his head, warm and thick. Clark groaned. " Fuck."
He whispered. Bruce pressed against his chest- slick with sweat. " Don't curse, Boy Scout."
He chided, planting a kiss by his forehead. Clark huffed, breathing heavily. The room smelled of salt and water and dust and Bruce and smoke. Bruce's eyes shone green-blue, the rest of the room still encased in shadows. From this angle, he loomed over him, muscles firmly holding him against the bed.
Theoretically, Clark knew he could break out at any moment, could blast his laser vision into Bruce's eyes and face and tear the entire thing to pieces. He closed his eyes. " Keep going." he whispers. His voice sounds hoarse and sweet and light, and he can hear Bruce nuzzle him more than he can feel it, feel his teeth bite onto his neck and shoulder and skin and ears. Thin tendrils of pain shoot past him, he trembles slightly as he feels Bruce's tongue sweep past his teeth, grazing his jawline.
" Stay still." Bruce responds.
Clark snorts.
" Tickles." He mutters, and forces his eyes to open because if he keeps them closed, he might as well fall asleep.
" Liar." Bruce responds, sweeping his tongue across Clark's cheek. It's soft and warm, and Clark can feel Bruce's saliva on him.
Bruce's fingers move. Clark forces himself to unstiffen as he glides his hand down Clark's side, scratching as rough as he can through the skin, there's not scratches there, Clark doesn't even bother to check, but Bruce resumes licking him, so he hisses out, letting out crackling laughs that must not be all that loud at all because Bruce doesn't tell him to be quiet.
" You- why are you acting like a cat?" Bruce doesn't respond, but he lets go of Clark's shoulder, going back up, and Clark can see his face through the pale moonlight. Bright and gray and shaded. His eyes are blue and tired, and he looks worn and hurt and happy and beautiful all in one, and Clark- Clark shudders. Bruce turns abruptly.
" Clark?"
" Bruce." Clark responds the same. He lifts his hand against Bruce's chest. Traces out the curves before stopping at the collarbone. He doesn't risk trying to dig his fingers into the skin, but he does pull him closer, holding his neck against his own, so that Bruce's face is dug into Clark's throat wordlessly, and Clark can kiss and swallow at his hairline.
Sweat beads against stray strands of gray hair, and Clark's lips taste salt. Wordlessly, Bruce grips at his throat. Clark waits batedly. A tremor seeps through his body. Memories. Bruce, standing over him, black-gray armor and green, sick, light and bright fire and pain. But, this is different. He doesn't close his eyes this time, maybe he can't afford to. Bruce's hand tightens against his throat, pressing and crushing it in his palms. Clark gasps. Bruce looks at him immediately. Clark swallows painfully.
" Keep going," he says.
If he wanted to, he could force him off. Bruce knows that. He doesn't protest.
Clark lets his eyes roam as Bruce continues. The force of Bruce's fingers around his throat closes his vision unwillingly, spots.
He can't breathe, and technically he doesn't need to, and the pain isn't all that strong, but it's the message of the thing nonetheless. He chokes out another breath, gasping. The light streaming through the curtains is bright and shining, and bathing them in moonlight, bright white against a background of darkness, and from here, Clark can see everything. He doesn't even need supervision.
The light shapes Bruce's muscles, highlights and shadows and scars and creases and lines and lines and lines and lines-
Light, moonlight, starlight, gre-
He grasps Bruce's hand quickly. Bruce's eyes widen immediately, even if his face doesn't change all that much. Clark gasps, breath returning to him again. Clarity, in a way. " Okay." he says, coughing. " Oh. Oh, that." He lets out a forceful, hoarse laugh, and turns back. Bruce leans over him, his arms by his side, almost trapping him under.
" Are you… alright?" Bruce asks. " I didn't-"
" No." Clark interrupts. " Fuck."
He kissed Bruce's lips, capturing them as fast as he could, swallowing and lingering. The sweat and salt and saliva and taste of Bruce's breath and toothpaste locked inside him. Clark felt his hand trail down Bruce's side, past sculpted muscle until it reached his trousers, already stained with sweat at the edges. Clark broke away, swallowing his pants softly. He gazed up.
" Now?"
Bruce stared. Paused. A smile spread past his face. Soft.
" Get back down."
Clark laughed, at this, finally, slamming himself down onto the bed. Bruce shifted over him, moving past. " Are you looking for the condoms or the lube?" Clark asked.
Bruce muttered. " Technically, I don't think cross-species hybrids can work like that." Hmph. Clark gazed over at him.
" I love you." He said, unprompted.
And it was nothing new. It was no grand revelation years in the making. It was a simple realization perhaps in that moment, and perhaps that could change, but it was, in that second, in that forever, amazing moment he said it, true. Bruce huffed, trailing his fingers down to where Clark's pants were already half-unbuckled.
" I love you. Too." He repeated.
Clark closed his eyes again, feeling the cold air seep in, eveloping him, before he pulled Bruce closer.
" I love you so, so much." He says again, burrowing his face into Bruce's musk.