It was mostly the guilt that made Bruce offer Clark his help to figure what caused his, well, heat, for a lack of a better word. Guilt that he had gone into Clark’s Fortress of Solitude and then watched, but especially guilt that he still thought about that moment and jerked off over it.
He had tried not to, but the memory kept coming back to him. Clark moaning in pleasure, his skin on display, his thick cock, his muscles glistening and making it obvious Clark had been like this for a long time, how desperate he had sounded for relief, the way he had pleaded.
He had hoped that by seeing Clark regularly to take blood tests for analysis, the memory would fade and be replaced by dull, regular, every day memories of Clark, but being around him only made it worse. He would be carefully inserting a needle into the vein in Clark’s elbow, and suddenly he’d remember how Clark had used that arm to jerk himself off.
“Bruce?” Clark asked, frowning slightly at him. “If you’re getting bored with this, that’s fine. It’s been two weeks and there’s nothing different in my blood.”
Bruce harrumphed. There was nothing that could explain Clark’s heat. Not yet, anyway. “I’m not bored.”
Clark eyed him. “But do we still need to do this every day?”
Bruce eyed the blood in the vial. Clark obviously had better things to do than visit him on a daily basis just so Bruce could do another analysis of Clark’s blood that wouldn’t tell them anything. He should’ve known. “Maybe once a week will be sufficient to monitor your blood.”
Clark nodded. “I will let you know if anything changes with my…” He gestured vaguely.
“Of course.” He tried to sound clinical and calm, and tried not to think about Clark changing and becoming desperate for sex again. Part of him wanted to see Clark like that again, and he squashed that part of him down. What kind of asshole was he? Bad enough that he was still using it as jerk-off fodder.
After Clark had left, Bruce spent some time working on his blood, but there was nothing new there. He sighed, running his hand through his hair. What were they missing?
*
He didn’t see much of Clark after that, although he and Superman worked together on a few things. Somehow, asking Superman if he was feeling fine was a daunting idea and Bruce didn’t even try. Superman was in control of himself, and didn’t need to lie back on silk sheets while pleading to get fucked.
Bruce only just about managed to get out of the way from a falling beam that Superman had pushed over to stop a mook from escaping the factory they were in, and he cursed his brain. He bet Superman didn’t have that problem.
*
It was about a month later, and Bruce only worked on the problem of Clark’s heat when he needed a distraction. He managed to get his hands on data from NOAA and another couple of space weather monitoring centres from around the world, because obviously the sun had to be the cause behind this somehow.
He’d been staring at a spreadsheet for about an hour, putting in various variables and getting nothing, when he got a message from Alfred that Clark Kent was at the door.
Bruce might have run off to greet him.
*
“I feel warm,” Clark muttered, when Bruce led him into the Batcave. “Do I feel warm?”
Bruce briefly rested the back of his hand against Clark’s forehead. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a fever.”
Clark closed his eyes, leaning forward. “Maybe.”
He pulled his hand back quickly. “Do you think it’s because of…”
“Maybe,” Clark murmured, and he smiled at Bruce. His eyes seemed to be a darker shade of blue.
Bruce took a deep breath. If Clark was going to go into heat, Bruce would do the responsible thing and monitor him throughout without – without assisting him. “I’m gonna take a sample of your blood. Just sit down, okay?” He pointed Clark at one of the stools next to a lab bench.
While grabbing some equipment, he took a moment to calm himself down. He had to be careful and not get carried away. Clark needed someone right now who would help him, not someone who would just stand there and watch.
When he came back, Clark was sitting with the top two buttons of his shirt undone, and Bruce did not look at the skin on display and remember what the rest of Clark’s bare chest looked like.
He had to touch Clark’s muscular arms to get the blood, and he kept his eyes firmly on the inside of Clark’s elbow, and did not listen to Clark’s sharp intake of breath when Bruce’s fingertips brushed his skin. “Maybe we should get you to your Fortress,” he suggested.
“That might not be a bad idea,” Clark admitted.
Bruce looked up to him. His eyes looked their normal, bright blue self now, and it was strange to see Clark looking so worried. Maybe even scared? “If you’re sure, we can fly there right now.” Although maybe letting Clark fly himself was not the best idea. “I can monitor you there as well.”
Clark was silent for a long moment. “Yeah, if we want to figure out what the cause is and make sure it doesn’t happen again, it is better if you’re there.”
Bruce tried not to resent the resigned tone in Clark’s voice. He didn’t blame Clark for not wanting him there, not after last time, but he vowed to do right by Clark and control himself.
*
By the time they got to the Fortress, Clark was already hard and visibly struggling not to rub himself. Bruce tried not to look or remember what Clark’s erect cock looked like, and once they were inside, Bruce tried not to think about where Clark ran off to and what he was going to do once he got there.
He groaned as he sat down, and felt his own half-hard cock press against the fabric of his trousers. He couldn’t jerk off, not now, even if he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed by Clark, because Clark was probably busy jerking off himself. Or maybe he had found the fucking machine and was already being filled by it, moaning as it pumped in and out.
He shook his head, and pulled his hand away from his groin. No. No jerking off. He had self-control, and Clark was suffering through a heat-like thing, and Bruce would help him figure it out.
*
Clark was panting and naked and fully hard, looking up at Bruce hungrily from where he was sprawled out on the bed.
Bruce had only come here to take a blood sample to compare to the control samples, but that was proving to be more difficult than he had expected.
He had knocked, of course, before entering, and then promptly stepped back and closed the door when he saw Clark was being fucked by the machine again. He had waited for the loud groans of orgasm, hoping that a sated Clark would be cooperative.
It hadn’t entirely turned out like that.
First, Bruce had had to turn off the machine himself, and had gotten an eyeful of it stretching open Clark’s asshole as it pumped back and forth. Second, Clark had smirked at him, his blue eyes dark as he reached for Bruce’s wrist. “Good timing,” Clark had said, pulling Bruce closer.
Bruce had managed to slip out of Clark’s grip, and it had taken some convincing that he was only here for a blood sample, not for anything else, no, really, Clark, just lie still and let me do this, okay?
Clark had sulked for a moment before lying down, and there he now was, looking at Bruce like he was starving and Bruce was a feast.
Bruce reminded himself that Clark was only looking at him like that because of the heat and that he was only here to prevent this from happening again.
“Bruce, why don’t you stay?” Clark asked, pushing himself up on his elbows when Bruce gathered the vial, the needle and the other supplies once he had finished. “You’re supposed to monitor me, aren’t you?”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes,” he said, and opened his eyes to look at Clark’s face, trying not to look elsewhere, but dammit, every gorgeous inch of Clark was on display, his cock jutting out proudly and inviting. “But I should analyse your blood. I will return in a few hours.”
“Do you have to do that right now?” Clark reached down to wrap his hand around his cock, and Bruce’s eyes traveled south as Clark pumped his fist slowly up and down. “You should stay, Bruce. C’mon, you’re here to help me out.”
He was, and that was why he had to go. If Clark remembered this once it was over, he would hate Bruce for not leaving. This wasn’t the real Clark; this was hormones and chemicals. The real Clark would never look at Bruce like he was the only thing that mattered. “I will return in a few hours,” he managed, then quickly walked out.
Once he felt he was a safe distance from Clark, he leaned back against the wall and shoved his hand down his trousers, seeking his own achingly hard cock. Fuck, how the hell was he supposed to deal with a horny Clark without going mad otherwise? He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be biting back a groan while thinking about Clark all desperate for sex.
Clark had probably gone back to using the fucking machine. He was probably getting fucked by that thing right now, writhing on the bed in pleasure as his ass was being filled. Bruce closed his eyes, unable to stop the mental images, and he came after only a couple of firm, fast strokes.
He sunk down on the floor, swearing at himself for not being able to control his libido. He glanced at the vial of blood. Time to do some work.
Re: Bruce/Clark, heat - Fill, 3/?
He had tried not to, but the memory kept coming back to him. Clark moaning in pleasure, his skin on display, his thick cock, his muscles glistening and making it obvious Clark had been like this for a long time, how desperate he had sounded for relief, the way he had pleaded.
He had hoped that by seeing Clark regularly to take blood tests for analysis, the memory would fade and be replaced by dull, regular, every day memories of Clark, but being around him only made it worse. He would be carefully inserting a needle into the vein in Clark’s elbow, and suddenly he’d remember how Clark had used that arm to jerk himself off.
“Bruce?” Clark asked, frowning slightly at him. “If you’re getting bored with this, that’s fine. It’s been two weeks and there’s nothing different in my blood.”
Bruce harrumphed. There was nothing that could explain Clark’s heat. Not yet, anyway. “I’m not bored.”
Clark eyed him. “But do we still need to do this every day?”
Bruce eyed the blood in the vial. Clark obviously had better things to do than visit him on a daily basis just so Bruce could do another analysis of Clark’s blood that wouldn’t tell them anything. He should’ve known. “Maybe once a week will be sufficient to monitor your blood.”
Clark nodded. “I will let you know if anything changes with my…” He gestured vaguely.
“Of course.” He tried to sound clinical and calm, and tried not to think about Clark changing and becoming desperate for sex again. Part of him wanted to see Clark like that again, and he squashed that part of him down. What kind of asshole was he? Bad enough that he was still using it as jerk-off fodder.
After Clark had left, Bruce spent some time working on his blood, but there was nothing new there. He sighed, running his hand through his hair. What were they missing?
*
He didn’t see much of Clark after that, although he and Superman worked together on a few things. Somehow, asking Superman if he was feeling fine was a daunting idea and Bruce didn’t even try. Superman was in control of himself, and didn’t need to lie back on silk sheets while pleading to get fucked.
Bruce only just about managed to get out of the way from a falling beam that Superman had pushed over to stop a mook from escaping the factory they were in, and he cursed his brain. He bet Superman didn’t have that problem.
*
It was about a month later, and Bruce only worked on the problem of Clark’s heat when he needed a distraction. He managed to get his hands on data from NOAA and another couple of space weather monitoring centres from around the world, because obviously the sun had to be the cause behind this somehow.
He’d been staring at a spreadsheet for about an hour, putting in various variables and getting nothing, when he got a message from Alfred that Clark Kent was at the door.
Bruce might have run off to greet him.
*
“I feel warm,” Clark muttered, when Bruce led him into the Batcave. “Do I feel warm?”
Bruce briefly rested the back of his hand against Clark’s forehead. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a fever.”
Clark closed his eyes, leaning forward. “Maybe.”
He pulled his hand back quickly. “Do you think it’s because of…”
“Maybe,” Clark murmured, and he smiled at Bruce. His eyes seemed to be a darker shade of blue.
Bruce took a deep breath. If Clark was going to go into heat, Bruce would do the responsible thing and monitor him throughout without – without assisting him. “I’m gonna take a sample of your blood. Just sit down, okay?” He pointed Clark at one of the stools next to a lab bench.
While grabbing some equipment, he took a moment to calm himself down. He had to be careful and not get carried away. Clark needed someone right now who would help him, not someone who would just stand there and watch.
When he came back, Clark was sitting with the top two buttons of his shirt undone, and Bruce did not look at the skin on display and remember what the rest of Clark’s bare chest looked like.
He had to touch Clark’s muscular arms to get the blood, and he kept his eyes firmly on the inside of Clark’s elbow, and did not listen to Clark’s sharp intake of breath when Bruce’s fingertips brushed his skin. “Maybe we should get you to your Fortress,” he suggested.
“That might not be a bad idea,” Clark admitted.
Bruce looked up to him. His eyes looked their normal, bright blue self now, and it was strange to see Clark looking so worried. Maybe even scared? “If you’re sure, we can fly there right now.” Although maybe letting Clark fly himself was not the best idea. “I can monitor you there as well.”
Clark was silent for a long moment. “Yeah, if we want to figure out what the cause is and make sure it doesn’t happen again, it is better if you’re there.”
Bruce tried not to resent the resigned tone in Clark’s voice. He didn’t blame Clark for not wanting him there, not after last time, but he vowed to do right by Clark and control himself.
*
By the time they got to the Fortress, Clark was already hard and visibly struggling not to rub himself. Bruce tried not to look or remember what Clark’s erect cock looked like, and once they were inside, Bruce tried not to think about where Clark ran off to and what he was going to do once he got there.
He groaned as he sat down, and felt his own half-hard cock press against the fabric of his trousers. He couldn’t jerk off, not now, even if he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed by Clark, because Clark was probably busy jerking off himself. Or maybe he had found the fucking machine and was already being filled by it, moaning as it pumped in and out.
He shook his head, and pulled his hand away from his groin. No. No jerking off. He had self-control, and Clark was suffering through a heat-like thing, and Bruce would help him figure it out.
*
Clark was panting and naked and fully hard, looking up at Bruce hungrily from where he was sprawled out on the bed.
Bruce had only come here to take a blood sample to compare to the control samples, but that was proving to be more difficult than he had expected.
He had knocked, of course, before entering, and then promptly stepped back and closed the door when he saw Clark was being fucked by the machine again. He had waited for the loud groans of orgasm, hoping that a sated Clark would be cooperative.
It hadn’t entirely turned out like that.
First, Bruce had had to turn off the machine himself, and had gotten an eyeful of it stretching open Clark’s asshole as it pumped back and forth. Second, Clark had smirked at him, his blue eyes dark as he reached for Bruce’s wrist. “Good timing,” Clark had said, pulling Bruce closer.
Bruce had managed to slip out of Clark’s grip, and it had taken some convincing that he was only here for a blood sample, not for anything else, no, really, Clark, just lie still and let me do this, okay?
Clark had sulked for a moment before lying down, and there he now was, looking at Bruce like he was starving and Bruce was a feast.
Bruce reminded himself that Clark was only looking at him like that because of the heat and that he was only here to prevent this from happening again.
“Bruce, why don’t you stay?” Clark asked, pushing himself up on his elbows when Bruce gathered the vial, the needle and the other supplies once he had finished. “You’re supposed to monitor me, aren’t you?”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes,” he said, and opened his eyes to look at Clark’s face, trying not to look elsewhere, but dammit, every gorgeous inch of Clark was on display, his cock jutting out proudly and inviting. “But I should analyse your blood. I will return in a few hours.”
“Do you have to do that right now?” Clark reached down to wrap his hand around his cock, and Bruce’s eyes traveled south as Clark pumped his fist slowly up and down. “You should stay, Bruce. C’mon, you’re here to help me out.”
He was, and that was why he had to go. If Clark remembered this once it was over, he would hate Bruce for not leaving. This wasn’t the real Clark; this was hormones and chemicals. The real Clark would never look at Bruce like he was the only thing that mattered. “I will return in a few hours,” he managed, then quickly walked out.
Once he felt he was a safe distance from Clark, he leaned back against the wall and shoved his hand down his trousers, seeking his own achingly hard cock. Fuck, how the hell was he supposed to deal with a horny Clark without going mad otherwise? He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be biting back a groan while thinking about Clark all desperate for sex.
Clark had probably gone back to using the fucking machine. He was probably getting fucked by that thing right now, writhing on the bed in pleasure as his ass was being filled. Bruce closed his eyes, unable to stop the mental images, and he came after only a couple of firm, fast strokes.
He sunk down on the floor, swearing at himself for not being able to control his libido. He glanced at the vial of blood. Time to do some work.