Title: The bed you’ve made
Author: chauve_sourit
Characters: Bruce, Clark
Pairings: Bruce/Clark
Rating: PG-13? (I’ve never been good with this...)
Warnings: not beta’ed - feel free to point out and I’ll rush to correct.
Disclaimer: The boys aren’t mine, the story is.
Words: 540
Slowly coming back to his senses, Clark opens his eyes and looks beside himself. The other man’s face is glistering with sweat, his breath agitated - all evidences of what had just happened in this bedroom.
For a moment Clark’s mind wanders back…
After a long patrol that had lasted into the wee hours of the morning, Clark decided to see Bruce home. His friend seemed very exhausted and the fact that he didn’t even protest was even more of an indicator for Clark to take a quick detour to the mansion before heading home.
What happened then totally defied Clark’s comprehension. Bruce, still shattered from the images he had seen during the previous night, sought comfort, something Clark was very willing to give. Even after years of fights against crime, Clark wasn’t immune against these kinds of feelings and he guessed that Bruce wasn’t either. And it wasn’t long until the hug between the two men became tighter and the hands that had previously offered safety started to wander. A small part of his mind tried to remind Clark that this was not how things were supposed to go, that he was taking advantage of the other man’s need for consolation, but he quickly shoved that thought away and decided to enjoy what he had wanted for so long…
It is exactly this nagging feeling that now hits Clark real hard and instantly sends him from afterglow back to reality.
It doesn’t matter that all of last night was consensual, that most of the times Bruce had been the one initiating each step further. What matters is that Clark had clearly not wanted this night to happen the way it did, and he has a good idea that Bruce feels the same way, if he didn’t despise the thought altogether.
Racking his brain about what to do now, Clark realizes that Bruce still hasn’t opened his eyes, let alone said a word. The pain slowly growing in his guts Clark forces himself to get up.
“I should go, I guess...”
Bruce has his eyes closed and doesn’t move, but, judging from his heart beat, Clark can tell that he isn’t asleep. For a second the Kryptonian curses his super hearing; he would have liked to fool himself into believing that Bruce wasn’t letting him go just like that.. But apparently Bruce had made his choice and Clark would not beg for being allowed to stay.
So he picks up his suit and the red boots that Bruce had practically ripped from his body, just a couple of hours ago.
In an attempt not to prolong the unbearable silence, the Man of Steel quickly turns into a whirl of red and blue, only stopping in front of the window.
A last look at Bruce’s body sprawled across the bed sends shivers down Clark’s spine, and he swallows down a lump that had formed in his throat.
“Sleep well. I guess I see you tomorrow.”
And with that he is out of the window, leaving nothing behind but a gust of wind… and a crushed Bat, lying in his bed, telling himself that he should have known better than hoping that someone would care about him enough to stay longer than for some hours of pleasure.