a/n: this is long so forgive me if there are some errors.

The fight comes later.

It was inevitable. The way Bruce seemed to be ducking and dodging him at every corner, the way he shut down any conversation that wasn't related to the League - sometimes even in front of the other members, the way he looked at Clark.

It was different every time. When they were alone, sometimes Bruce looked at him like he was hoping for something. His eyes would watch Clark's every move, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something. It was a warmth that Clark hadn't seen in three weeks. It was a look Clark didn't like. He didn't like being given that type of hope only for it to be fizzled out the next time he saw Bruce. 'Cause the next time he saw Bruce, he'd be cold. His eyes would barely register Clark's presence, his face saying that he's never seen the man a day in his life. His mouth would be set in a hard line and he'd look at Clark as if he was waiting for some kind detonation.

It brought about a tension that was palpable and he could feel the other members inching around them as if they were afraid one wrong word was going to set the two off.

"Mommy and Daddy are fighting again." He hears Barry mutter quietly in the conference room before immediately snapping his mouth shut when the door slides open and Clark steps inside.

He doesn't bother with pleasantries. He doesn't have it in him to even feign contentment. He gets seated and ignores the way eyes shift from him to the door opening again as Bruce makes his way inside and takes his seat next to Diana.

Someone starts the meeting, he's not sure who, and he doesn't stay focused on the material for very long. He's wound tight, too tight. So much so that he can hear the sound of a sink Barry left dripping, he can smell the fish Arthur ate for lunch, he hears everyone's elevated heartbeats and then the slow lag of Bruce's.

"Superman?" Bruce's voice breaks the trance, but it does absolutely nothing to relax him.

His eyes narrow as he waits for whatever it is that was so important that the man was willing to address him of all people. Bruce looks at him with a blank stare. He refused to be intimidated, but the goal wasn't to intimidate him. Clark isn't some angry criminal on the street, he was Bruce's friend. At least, he thought so...

"Maybe we should come back to the topic..." Diana provides, eyes glancing between Bruce and Clark with a type of knowing that only makes Clark more frustrated.

The meeting continues like nothing has happened, following Diana's lead until she suggests that they've done enough for today. Everyone rushes out of the room like there's an alarm going off around them and Diana makes a point to stand in the way when Bruce tries to escape.

"Figure it out. Now." she hisses before allowing the door to shut behind her.

There's a long stretch of silence where they don't meet each other's eyes.

"I think I've made a mistake." Clark finally mutters, eyes cast towards the conference room table.

All the fight has been taken out of him. It's the first time since he'd met Bruce that he doesn't have any anger left in the tank. He'd wasted it all getting here, a point where he thought he was making some kind of breakthrough. It was foolish. Bruce would never stop being Bruce. It was Clark's fault for trusting him. He heard Diana warning him and he allowed himself to be used anyway.

Though, there were bigger things to worry about than his relationship with Bruce. He'd have to get over it. Move on. Bruce was better at it than he was so he decides to handle it like Bruce.

Logically.

He wouldn't get too many feelings involved, he wouldn't say too much or fight too hard. This was just business.

"I shouldn't have allowed myself to get wrapped up in all of this." He admits, trying to keep it vague, because he knew the others were listening no matter how many threats Diana made.

Bruce looks at him with a mask so rigid that Barry would've been able to parse it. He takes on that blank stare again, but his heartbeat betrays him.

"You use people, that's what you do," Clark voice deepens and his eyes narrow despite his resolve, "I understand what that entails now."

There is a sharp intake of breath before Bruce takes a couple of steps towards Clark like a lion encircling its prey.

"You don't get to do that." He says so quietly that Clark believes that he's imagined it.

"Do what, Bruce?" He quietly hisses and watches as it ignites something that cracks the mask Bruce has been hiding behind.

"You chose to stay!" Bruce roars.

That's all it takes.

"That's what friends do, Bruce!" He's sure he looks like a crazed person as his eyes light up and nose flares.

"You did something stupid and I helped you clean up your mess. Then, you run around like nothing happened! Trying to make me seem like I'm the crazy one for being angry!"

Clark's up out of his seat despite his previous choice to just take the blame for what happened. He didn't tell Bruce to take a sample from him. He didn't inject Bruce with anything. He didn't ask for any of this. He was simply helping his friend.

He's the one backing Bruce into a corner now, but he doesn't have the patience to care. He's tired.

"What do you want from me, Clark?" Bruce sighs, trying to seem unbothered by being confronted, despite the fact that his eyes are clearly darting towards possible exits.

There was something in the moment that reminds Clark of Diana's pleading. He can hear it through the ship door, imagine her face, the way she looks at Bruce.

She's been here before. She's done this before.

Clark thinking he'd be different was almost comical. What did he want and why did he think he'd be the one to get it? Something about the question hurts a lot more than just being ignored. There was a hope in not knowing what exactly was going on inside of the man's head at times.

This was the truth laid out in front of him. Plain as day.

He's the first to leave, ignoring the way he can feel eyes on his back as he disappears into the night.

Bruce has been running on a high for the past month. He's so afraid that if he slows down, stops and thinks for too long, actually ponders the things that he's done - he'll spiral. So, he spends every waking moment moving, creating something, doing some form of work. It started with checking in on his business. Then when he was sure it'd held up without him, he turned to the streets of Gotham. When he wasn't doing that, he was spending countless hours cooped up in the cave working on answers. How could he stay himself? He had to do research which meant figuring out more about Kryptonian biology. It was easier said than done when most documentation on Kryptonians had been completed decimated. All of it except for one Kryptonian and the ship he'd flown in on.

He could create some kind of suppressor for the symptoms he experienced and some kind of birth control just in case the suppressor didn't work, but he couldn't tell if they worked. He couldn't guarantee what kind of reaction they would even provoke because it was all about trial and error and he just couldn't afford any errors.

Bruce is so caught up in the process, that he doesn't notice that things are boiling over. He hasn't stopped to assess the world around him. He hadn't spoken with anyone when it wasn't necessary.

He doesn't realize that this is a mistake until he's sitting at the conference table and a pair of eyes are boring into his skull. He knows who they belong to, but if he looks over at him, it could derail the entire meeting. Not only that, but who knows what might be said in the heat of the moment. So, he coasts through the meeting, allows Clark to shit on him during the argument after, and he goes home feeling like he's kept his head above water. He'd played his part.

He could feel the sting in his eyes and the lump in his throat even as he shuffled through tuxedos.

He doesn't slow down. He doesn't think. He just moves on to the next thing that'll keep his mind occupied.

There's a Gala.

It's thrown by some rich couple to flaunt their collective wealth and Clark's supposed to go and document the event. He doesn't make the mistake of going alone. Lois joins him at a table in the furthest corner of the room, away from the rest of the press. She pretends to be here so that he's not bored, but he knows better. He knows she's curious. It's been a week and Clark hasn't spoken about Bruce. He's dodged every mention of the man, completely shutting down when his name is even brought up. She wants to know what happened in between the hickeys and now. Which is understandable, but Clark doesn't really care.

While she tries to get his attention with random anecdotes from work, he sits quietly. He just wants to be at home again where he can wallow in peace.

Though, his quiet sulking is interrupted by a strong, familiar scent wafting into the room. It's not perfume or cologne. It's not a natural smell like grass or flowers. It's distinct and unlike anything Clark's ever smelled, but he's definitely smelled it before.

His eyes glance up from his drink, scanning the room for answers, only to find himself staring at Bruce Wayne. He's guided into the room by a couple of women, but immediately breaks away from them to stand almost by himself. It's not his usual flourish and taste for dramatics. In fact, he looks absolutely uncomfortable.

Though, the discomfort must not be palpable to the average person because Lois elbows him in the arm before fixing him with a glare.

"Oh, no. You are not about to leave me here to chase after your ex." Lois hisses, but it falls onto deaf ears as his curiosity gets the better of him.

The man stands alone for a minute gripping a glass of champagne, before some smarmy looking rich guy dressed in a suit with a grin on his face, corners Bruce. The asshole is talking, but Bruce doesn't seem to be listening as his eyes glance towards possible exits.

Clark's about to drop it, ignore the interaction and let Bruce handle it, but then the man grips Bruce's arm. He's got a hold tight enough to startle Bruce, whose eyes stop darting around to look alarmed. It's apparently even clear to Lois who gasps.

Bruce doesn't look like he can handle it tonight.

Instead of ending the interaction with something smooth and subtle, he looks like a scared doe standing in the middle of a street with a car heading its way.

Clark stands from his seat and makes his way over, immediately wrapping an arm around Bruce, who looks as if he's using all of his energy to keep himself upright.

"Everything alright, Honey?" he asks as soon as he's sure Bruce isn't going to topple over.

The stranger looks alarmed, letting his grip fall quickly as if suddenly he's afraid of getting caught. Clark doesn't wait for any explanations, leading Bruce towards the roof before the man could come to his senses and protest.

He closes the door behind them, hoping for a little time to think through his next moves before he makes them. When he turns around, it clicks. Bruce is slouched over, letting the railing take most of his weight as he struggles to keep himself up. The smell has gotten stronger now that the crowd isn't surrounding him. Now that the warm lighting isn't blanketing Bruce's face, he looks pale. His cheeks and chest are flushed, his eyes are glazed, and his heart is pounding at an alarming rate for Bruce. If it weren't for the distinct smell, Clark would've thought he was drunk.

"How long have you been like this?" Clark questions, unable to fight against the concern he feels as Bruce almost collapses.

He reaches out and hauls him up until Bruce's weight is resting against him. To a random onlooker, it'd look like Bruce was leaning against Clark as they enjoyed a view of the night sky, but Clark could feel Bruce's legs shaking underneath him.

"Wasn't..." he mutters quietly.

"Pain from 1 to 10." Clark sighs, trying his best not to get angry at being lured into the same trap yet again.

"Two." Bruce mutters somewhere into Clark's neck as he makes himself comfortable.

Clark suspects that he's underselling the actual number. A "two" wouldn't have Bruce this discombobulated. The man has won fights when half of his body was broken. He could power through a "two".

He wraps his arms around Bruce's waist, allowing him to nuzzle closer and slowly lifts him into the air before pausing as Bruce begins to wriggle in his arms.

"Home", he quietly whines once he realizes that Clark is indeed paying attention.

Home...

Bruce must have something prepared for this. After having lived through it once, there was no way he hadn't prepared something. He must have a plan prepared for even the smallest of inconveniences. So, Clark would assume, he must have a more suited setup than what a foreign ship in the middle of Antarctica could provide on such short notice.

They go in through the backdoor and Clark lifts Bruce and guides him down the stairs of the Batcave. Surely enough, the cave isn't how Clark remembers it. There are plush blankets and pillows littered around the floor, an expensive looking mattress, there's a "minifridge" (the size of Clark's actual fridge) that definitely wasn't there before, and there are a lot of warm smelling candles that were prepared to be lit. It was so unlike the normal ambience of the place that Clark did a doubletake.

He was clearly trying to mimic the environment of the ship. The cave wasn't the ship, it wasn't going to be able to shift to his needs as easily. That worries Clark despite the fact that he's trying his best to detach himself.

Bruce was so well-prepared that a question suddenly occurs to Clark: Why the hell was he at the Gala?

A man like Bruce would definitely have done the research and math on when something like this would start and have some kind of reminder somewhere of the date. Sure enough, in bold, white numbers on the far left of the giant monitor, is a clock counting down the days, hours, minutes, and seconds until Bruce's next cycle...

The clock is still ticking.

He still has two days left. So, either he'd gotten the math wrong or...

Clark glances over to Bruce, who is stripping out his dress shirt and pants to slip into what looks to be a pair of silk pajamas.

...or he's lying.

Would Bruce lie to get him here? Yes.

But why? What was the motive? They'd just had a fight a week ago. Usually, it took entire months for Bruce to let up on something they were fighting about. He didn't do 'forgiveness' very well. He'd just do outrageous things and hope to be forgiven by those around him. Is that what this was? Did he hope that he could replicate that moment in order to get Clark to forgive him? It seemed cruel and unusual even for Bruce.

Clark turns to leave, only to hear a quiet groan coming from the pillow-filled mattress.

"Please...", He hears moaned somewhere amongst the pile that Bruce had melted himself into, "stay."

He wasn't about to do this again. He wasn't about to learn this lesson the hard way twice. He wasn't about to sit here and make a fool of himself for Bruce's amusement. Worrying about the man was a waste of time.

He takes a couple of steps forward.

"Don't go..."

He should leave. He shouldn't even turn around. Bruce will be fine.

He turns around.

"I have to take you to the ship." He mumbles more to himself than to Bruce.

He can't just leave him here and hope that everything just works itself out.

Clark turns around and he shoves a hand into the pile before tugging a sweaty looking Bruce out of it. He wraps the man up in a blanket, ignoring the way Bruce clings to him, attempting to drag Clark over to join him on the mattress.

"I can't help you unless we go, Bruce."

He needed to know. He needed to know if he was being lied to, at least.

The ship must be expecting them because the door slides open before Clark can even land properly. He steps inside and the ship greets them before immediately opening up the small pool for Bruce.

"Ship, scan."

The computer takes its time scanning before quietly buzzing.

"The Cycle began two Earth days early. Substances found to be ingested may hinder reproduction, but may shorten the time in which heat occurs. Proximity to mate also may assist in shortening the time in which heat occurs."

So, he's not lying...

"Substances?" Clark asked, glancing over at Bruce, who doesn't seem too particularly thrilled with the lack of pillows and blankets in the hole he's been plopped in.

"Yes, an altered form of birth control," Is all the ship provides.

Birth control...

Something about the term awakens something in Clark. It was like he'd been drifting through the last month with the vague notion that something like this was a possibility. It was a possibility that his body made him hyperaware of, but Bruce actually taking action made it a reality. Not only a reality, but something he thought might happen. From what Clark could discern from the ship, Bruce couldn't accidentally be impregnated by a human male. Bruce couldn't even be accidentally impregnated by another Kryptonian. The uterus being made of Clark's cells was some kind of evolutionary failsafe.

If Bruce was privy to this information, which there was only the slightest chance in Hell that he wasn't, it meant he didn't trust Clark. Bruce only trusted himself, trusted his own instincts not to trust Clark. Those instincts must question Clark's self-control.

Even after all they've been through, Bruce still doesn't trust him.

"Alterations made for comfort: Saved."

Clark turns around to look at Bruce, only to find him covered in a thick, heavy, plush looking blanket that spanned most of the pool. A couple of pillows were provided as well before the lights dimmed.

He doesn't want to leave him alone, but if it puts Bruce at ease, Clark's willing to do so. So, he heads into another part of the ship, hunkering down in a room upstairs and allowing the quiet hum of the generator to lull him to sleep.

He's out for a solid hour before he wakes up to the ship speaking.

"Commander Kal-El, your husband requests your presence on the main deck." The ship informs him.

For a moment, he thinks he's still dreaming. Husband? He stumbles up from the floor, eyes partially closed as he follows the sound of Bruce's elevated heartbeat on autopilot. He only opens them once he's back downstairs and immediately wishes he hadn't.

Bruce is still in the dip the ship had provided, but he's much more disheveled than he had been an hour prior. His hair is ruffled, his cheeks are bright pink, skin flushed, and he's quietly whimpering as he works about three fingers inside himself, silk pajama bottoms discarded. It's a sight to behold.

It's the last thing Clark needs right now.

"Ship, scan."

He's not sure what he's hoping for as the ship pulls up a chart of the chemicals surging through Bruce's system.

"Is he in any pain?" He asks, completely unsure of what he's even looking at.

"Low levels of chemicals related to the sensation of pain detected." The ship buzzes, "Pain is usually only experienced during the creation of the uterus and in the first cycle after the uterus has been created."

Oh.

Clark tries to ignore Bruce behind him, but it's hard when he can sense everything. He can hear the quiet increase of breaths, the quiet groans he's trying to suppress, his heart pounding in his chest, the smell of musk and salt hitting the air...

"Ship, can you do anything about...his hormone levels?" Clark tries to stay focused.

Maybe if he could get Bruce "stable", Clark could actually ask him what would make him feel the most comfortable.

The ship hums for a moment before speaking again.

"Dispensing: liquid hormone stabilizer."

A pale orange liquid starts filling the pool. Clark gives it some time to take effect, allowing Bruce some space to collect himself. Eventually, he turns to Bruce resting on the edge of the pool with his face pressed up against the cool surface of the floor. He somehow looks more distraught and exhausted than he had when he was in pain.

"Hey," Clark softly calls, "you alright?"

Clark has known Bruce long enough to know when to let up. The man thrived on pain, but tended to struggle when vulnerable. Despite their previous actions, Bruce clearly wanted to do this alone. He wanted to be able to handle this without Clark...He didn't want to need Clark. Or maybe it was that he didn't want Clark at all.

It wasn't like anything they'd done so far happened naturally. They hadn't fallen into bed together because they were both deeply in love. So, maybe Bruce wanted to figure out a way to handle this on his own and then he could have his life back, find someone he was truly in love with despite Kryptonian customs and Biology.

As devastating as it was, Clark could understand it.

Arousal is the least of Bruce's problems. He'd accounted for a lot of factors when it came to this process: pain, arousal, hunger, stress...He'd made sure to try to mock up solutions for everything that could hinder him during this time. He was even working on mood stabilizers to help him get through days when he'd have to be social. He'd done the math, worked on the science, and spent days in the lab and yet he hadn't accounted for something his brain was now painfully aware of.

He wanted Clark.

He could replicate the environment the ship provided, the chemicals that helped reduce pain and stress, the amount of sustenance he needed, but he couldn't replicate Clark's presence.

Nothing he put in place was going to stop him from wanting Clark in some form.

He'd felt off days before the Gala. He could pinpoint it to the fight, something about it triggered restlessness in Bruce that persisted for a week. He'd done research on it, thinking it was some kind of reaction to pheromones or something and he'd found answers much like the ship had provided...

"Proximity to mate also may assist in shortening the time in which heat occurs."

Though, none of the information explained away any of his behavior prior to the cycle starting. The texts he'd read simply stated that everything should be "normal" until about a week before the cycle, which didn't tell him how to fix what was wrong with him when he wasn't like this.

He wanted to hear Clark's voice.

So much so that he'd search up old news clips, lying to himself that it was research, and just listen. He'd started eating significantly less despite his surge in appetite and he was more...angry.

It was a different anger from the kind he'd been feeling since he was a child. It was a different kind of helplessness.

He doesn't realize how bad it is until Diana storms down into the cave after the first cycle. She's clearly seething, feet pacing as she tries to figure out how she wants to chew him out. Maybe she'll start with an "What were you thinking?", sprinkle in a "You're a literal sack of shit", a dash of "I'm so disappointed" and then finish with a "Go apologize. Now!".

Though, before she can even get a word out, he's ready to crawl into one of his makeshift forts and never come out. He'd separated himself from Clark with hopes of not getting attached. He tried the cold and calculated approach that he's so accustomed to, but something about it felt different this time. He'd been feeling sick to his stomach since Clark looked at him as if he'd made a huge mistake. He didn't need the lecture. He feels bad enough without it. 

He's so distressed that he doesn't have room to feel embarrassed when the first sob wracks through him. Honestly, Diana's seen him at his absolute worst, but this was new. He did "rational" things that were "for the greater good" all of the time. He hurt people he cared about all of the time. It'd never felt like this.

He finds himself struggling to catch his breath as about two week's worth of 'pretending everything is fine', finally catches up to him. He can hear Diana somewhere in the background trying to console him, but it's not enough.

It was around this time that he realized he couldn't trust himself. He could no longer be rational when it came to Clark.

Bruce is reaching for him. At first, Clark thinks he's trying to get his attention. Maybe now that he's settled down, he's hungry or thirsty. Though, when Clark asks him what he needs, he just continues to tug at Clark's slacks.

"Please..." Clark hears him whisper into the back of his hand.

"Bruce, I don't think that's a good idea." He's honest.

He's sure the liquid is doing all that it can but, same as the pain, there's only so much that be done. If Bruce, when he's at his best, doesn't trust Clark, that's what Clark will respect.

Bruce finally lifts his head up from where it's been pressed against the side of pool to fix Clark with a look Clark's only ever seen aimed at Diana. He's only ever seen a subdued version of it. Maybe when she was angry with him after a big fight or when he'd forgotten something particularly important. Though, this was different. It seemed like genuine remorse.

"I'm sorry."

Clark's never gotten an apology out of Bruce. The man tried to kill him and then brought him back to life and he still didn't get an apology. It just wasn't Bruce. Bruce did things for people instead of just apologizing. He jumped through all types of hoops to alter history just so Superman and Clark Kent could exist separate with no questions, but he'd never utter an apology for any of it.

It catches him so off guard that, for a moment, he thinks maybe he's overthinking this. Maybe Bruce does trust him. Maybe he's gotten this all wrong, but then he has to remind himself who he's talking to.

"You should get some sleep, see if you feel better in the morning."

Then, he gets up and walks away. Fuck, does it hurt, but he doesn't know what else to do.

Clark wakes up to something moving. Something solid nudges his chin and presses itself further into his chest. The smell of overly fancy shampoo hits his nose before mixing with an even more insanely priced cologne that mingles with the smell of musk and sweat.

It takes him way too long to realize what's happening.

His eyes fly open, mind creating several wild scenarios in which he slept walk downstairs, only to realize that he was still in the same location. He was still in the same bland room, propped up against a wall despite the fact that the ship had provided a king-sized bed at some point in the night. Snuggled under his arm is Bruce. He's fully dressed in his silk pajamas and sweating profusely, but he seems content.

"Bruce...?" he mumbles and gets a hum in return.

As nice as it is, he needs to get Bruce back into the pool. If they could get the right concoction to help him, maybe they could coast through this cycle. Clark scoops Bruce up and gets about halfway down the staircase before his eyes are fluttering open. He makes another little content humming noise, snuggling closer to Clark before drifting back to sleep.

Clark glides down the rest of the stairs before slowly lowering Bruce down into the pool. He's about to go over to take a look at the ship's monitors, when he's stopped by Bruce's hand grabbing his wrist.

"Cold." Is what he mumbles in his sleep as an explanation despite the fact that he's visibly sweating.

Clark lets out sigh.

"Ship..." Clark starts and watches as the currently smooth pool grows a soft, velvet layer.

Clark grabbed the blanket the ship had left from last night and tossed it over Bruce's body. Bruce's lets out a little unsatisfied grunt before curling up in blanket with a discontent huff.

He then turns to the ship for answers. He looks through about thirty pages on Kryptonian rituals that helped with "calming your mate during a cycle". The census seemed to be that the best way to relax a Kryptonian during a cycle enough to think clearly was coitus...

Clark decides that he'll run his own tests.

After changing, and packing yet another bag, Clark goes in to work to inform Perry that someone in his family was ill and he needed to take care of them. Perry doesn't ask too many questions, wishing Clark's nonexistent family member all his best before patting him on the shoulder and ushering him out his office. Clark almost thinks he's actually going to get to Bruce before he wakes up. Instead, he's cornered on the way out by Lois.

"Is he okay?" she whispers as if Bruce's existence is a secret.

By now, everyone in the office knows. He'd glanced at a magazine on the way in and saw him and Bruce at last night's event in one of the small bubbles. It was everywhere, everyone guessing if they were "serious" or just one of Bruce's flings.

"He's fine. He's just hungover and tired." Clark conjures up and watches as Lois nods, relief written across her face.

"So, you two are good?" she slips in.

It's Lois' way of asking if they're back together.

"We're... working on it." he sighs.

Clark's childhood home always smelled like food. He could smell the scent of his mother's pork chops wafting through the screen door before he could even throw it open. She's already waiting on him in the kitchen with a stack of tupperware bowls and a smile.

"How's he doing?" she asks as he leans in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

He hadn't mentioned Bruce on the phone. He hadn't said where he'd come from, what he was up to, that he needed food. He'd simply stopped by to see her, so he's caught off-guard by the question.

"Hmm?" he hums, only partially confused as he pulls away to see the knowing look already plastered on his face.

"The only time you call late is when Bruce isn't feeling well," she points out with that same knowing smile.

"He's okay just overwhelmed, y'know?" He mutters, hoping that it's enough to placate her.

"Oh! Maybe this'll help," His mother whips around and grabs an old family cookbook, flipping through until she gets to random page.

She eventually flips it around to show him a "calming" tea recipe. He doesn't even get to make a comment before she's whipping out the kettle and filling it with water. She sends him off with a bag full of tupperware and a thermos for Bruce.

Bruce is, thankfully, still curled up in a ball when he returns. The pool is currently filled with orange liquid, signifying that he must've woken up at some point, but the ship had apparently lulled him back to sleep.

Clark manages to remove his shoes and put away his bag before Bruce pokes his head up out of the pool. Clark immediately hands over the thermos.

"Ma made it for you." Is all he says before going to fix Bruce a plate.

Bruce looks at the food and the tea with little to no interest, eyes instead watching Clark. Clark has got his pants legs rolled up and his legs dangling over into the pool and Bruce glides over to rest his head on Clark's knee. He doesn't move to do much else, as if he just wants the closeness. He presses his face against Clark's thigh. Clark brings his hand to run his fingers through Bruce's hair and watches as he nuzzles closer, eyes slowly drooping shut.

He's asleep long enough for Clark to take a quick trip to Gotham and get Bruce some clothes. He decides to meet Alfred inside this time, and immediately regrets it as he's met by Diana instead. She's probably the last person he wants to see at a time like this. He couldn't help the jealousy her presence brought out in him.

"How's he doing?" she asks, handing over the bag that Alfred had apparently left with her, "And don't lie to me."

"He's fine. Just working his way through it." he sighs, already growing tired of the question.

Diana lets out a sigh of her own before her face becomes, somehow, even more serious.

Oh boy.

"I'm going to say this because he's too much of an idiot to do it himself," she starts, rolling her eyes at Bruce's apparent absurdity, "He likes you, Clark, like more than he's ever liked anyone."

It's not what he was expecting to hear. He thought maybe she'd throw out a warning. She was his ex after all. He was maybe expecting to hear that he should stay from Bruce before Clark accidentally kills him by just existing. 'Cause clearly the man couldn't help himself. Maybe a threat or two thrown in for good measure.

It's the second thing in the span of twenty-four hours that leaves him speechless.

"W-What?" he starts, thinking maybe he's heard her wrong, "That's not funny, Diana."

"I'm not joking, Pain-in-my-ass #2," she informs him with a tight smile, "Congratulations, you're worth crying over...at least according to Bruce."

"Crying?"

She lets out a sigh that says that she's definitely thinking about punching him before turning to the keyboard on the desk in front of the monitor and hitting a key. The monitor pops up a video clip that's clearly security camera footage from inside of the cave. It shows Bruce sitting in one of the seats at a workbench, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around himself. There's the sound of footsteps, which are soon revealed as Diana's as she barges into the room. After that, everything seems to happen so fast. Bruce bursts into tears and the Diana on the screen seems just as startled as Clark is.

What's going on? Why is she showing him this?

"That was the day after you dropped him off from his last stay on the ship," she says pointedly, "and even though he's annoying at times, I'm not going to let him make the same mistake twice."

She says the last part somberly before tilting her head towards the screen.

"He's not good at feelings, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have any," she says with a sigh," and he's trusting you with something important, Clark. Don't let him down."

 Clark glances up at the screen, at a fuzzy picture of Bruce crying.

"Plus, if I have to sit around watching him watch old news coverage of you one more time, I'm going to lose my mind."

Clark's brain is on autopilot. It only refocuses when he's standing in front of the ship. He's about to take a step inside, maybe wander upstairs to think while Bruce is sleeping, but he's stopped short as the door swings open and a bundled-up Bruce stands on the other side. He looks slightly annoyed, bottom lip poking out ever so slightly as he waits for Clark to join him.

Clark manages to get one foot in the door before he's being tugged over by Bruce. He pulls Clark down into a hug, head resting on his shoulder, and a content sigh leaves his lips. The door is still wide open and there is a strong breeze whipping into the space, but Bruce doesn't seem to mind. Clark doesn't have it in him to move away so that Bruce doesn't get frostbite, so he scoops him up, only belatedly realizing that Bruce has completely abandoned his silk pajamas. Instead, Clark's hands are filled with Bruce's bare ass, which Bruce doesn't seem to mind as he wraps his legs around Clark's waist.

Clark lowers them into the pool and is happy to just sit at the bottom of the shape-shifting bowl and relax, but Bruce manages a solid ten minutes before he's letting out a quiet, little groan, hips canting forward as if own their own volition. Clark can feel Bruce's brain catching up with his body as it freezes under Clark's fingertips.

Clark only hums, fingers stopping in their slow stroke up and down Bruce's spine to instead grip his chin and tilt it up to press their lip together.

"It's alright; I'm here."

This time feels different. It feels right, as if they've studied each other their entire lives. Clark knows what Bruce likes, knows that he likes rough kisses and even rougher hands. He knows that he likes to be prepped but only has the patience for two fingers. He knows that Bruce likes it when he nips at his hips and thighs and gasps when Clark's spreads his cheeks. So, he's purring before Clark's even dropped his pants.

Though, the playing field is immediately leveled as Bruce sinks onto his lap, taking in the length of his cock like it's nothing with a quiet little groan.

Neither one of them is going to last long.

Bruce's pink lips fall open into an 'o' as he bounces up and down with an urgency Clark has to fumble to match. He flips them over, taking control of the pace and slowing it down significantly, much to Bruce's annoyance.

"Faster." The man grunts out, tugging on Clark's shoulders and ignoring his amused chuckle.

"M'kay," he hums before speeding up the pace a significant amount, eyes roaming Bruce's body to find the spot he's looking for before changing the angle to match.

Bruce lets out a strangled cry that was definitely meant to be a string of curses as his body convulses, thighs trembling before he clamps down around Clark so hard, he thinks he might pass out. It takes everything in him to not topple over onto the man, who looks as if he's barely hanging on to consciousness himself.

Clark gets a solid ten minutes to recover before Bruce is straddling his waist, mouth working away at hickey that a blind man couldn't miss.

"God, you're going to be the death of me."