Holy shit, this is absolutely incredible, anon. Just gorgeously written and so intense and so perfectly Bruce.

His face is vivid, flawless: high-boned cheeks and cleft chin; mouth as hard as marble. He looms over him, the personification of judgment, reaching out to press his palm over the symbol on Bruce's chest. Bruce jerks beneath his touch, pulls the wire tighter around his wrists. The Superman's eyes transfix him, colder and bluer than Arctic water as his fingers walk up Bruce's neck, his chin, slip between Bruce's lips and curl behind his teeth. He tastes like ozone.
This description alone is stunning, I generally love Bruce's nightmare sex dream there. And his fantasies about fighting Clark, oh my god.

--he will fight, with all that he has, all that power focused into a singularity, bearing down onto Bruce like a thunderbolt and enduring it will be the most crucial thing he'll ever do, his life's work in the balance. He will resist, and won't be struck down or transfixed by his fists, his mouth, his eyes, crushed by his magnitude; he will strain against him with all of his might, with every inch of his ferocity, hands clawing--
And I really adore this part because I think enduring is such a crucial part of who Bruce is, taking everything he thinks he needs to take and still going on. Aaaaaaaaaaaah, wow, this is just amazing, I will reread it right away.

Oh, and that rut against the wall? Sounds super hot and should totally be a fic of its own. ;D