Chapter Text
For their one-year anniversary, Clark flies them to Paris. They end up battling reanimated corpses in the catacombs (Clark fighting outright, Bruce assisting from the shadows). Their nice romantic evening is somewhat dampened by all the rotting, salivating bodies and the way the sewage system explodes when Clark uses his heat vision to ignite the zombies.
In the main bathroom back at Wayne Manor, Bruce throws their discarded clothes into the garbage. “I’m pretty sure those need to be incinerated.”
Clark is leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He’s clad in a lacy red bodysuit, the straps of the garter belt hanging loosely on his thighs where he’s had to throw out the stockings. “This was supposed to be a surprise,” he laments, plucking at the cups that hold his ample chest.
Bruce chuckles lowly, putting his hands on his hips, where a midnight blue lace thong is digging into his ass. “So was mine.”
Clark drops his head into his hands. “This was a disaster.”
Bruce steps past him, turning on the water in the large shower. Then he doubles back to stand in front of Clark, taking hold of his wrists and drawing his hands away from his face. Clark is pouting, and it would make Bruce laugh, except he knows Clark is genuinely upset about this. He had big plans for tonight. A special night for them. Not just because of their anniversary, but because tonight was the night. They were finally going to try for a baby.
They’ve been discussing it; how Bruce isn’t getting any younger, and he’s in pretty good health right now. Things in Gotham have been relatively calm. Clark is sure. He’s sure. No time will ever be the perfect time, but now is a good one.
“Look at me,” Bruce says gently, bringing Clark’s hands to his mouth and kissing his knuckles. Blue eyes lift to his, disappointment naked in their gaze. “Nothing’s ruined except our clothes. Yeah?”
“Our dinner—
“Was lovely. And I got to see a part of Paris I’ve never seen before.”
“The sewers?” Clark asks, but there’s a hint of a smile in his voice. Success.
Bruce slides his hand around Clark’s back to unsnap the garter belt. It drops to the floor, and Bruce spreads his hands over Clark’s shoulders next, fingering the delicate straps of the bodysuit. Clark’s hands settle on his hips, his thumbs sweeping lines along Bruce’s stomach. “The Catacombs,” he corrects. “Before the reanimation. It was haunting.” He cocks his head, trailing his fingers down the center of Clark’s chest. “Beautiful.”
Clark shivers slightly, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “Water’s running,” he murmurs. Steam is slowly filling up the bathroom, fogging the mirrors and dampening their skin.
Curling his fingers around the straps, Bruce carefully draws the lace down Clark’s shoulders, helping him free his arms before peeling the rest of it down. It clings to his body, hugging the curve of his waist, the broadness of his hips. The thing gets stuck slightly at his thighs, and Clark covers his mouth to hide his laughter when Bruce struggles to pull it down without popping any stitches.
“How did you get into this thing?” He teases once he’s got it off, the fabric pooling around Clark’s ankles.
Clark tips forward, their faces brushing close. He tucks his fingers into the waistband of Bruce’s thong. “Very carefully.”
“Ha,” Bruce scoffs softly, chasing Clark’s elusive mouth. Clark always slips just out of reach, the two of them breathing each other in but never quite touching. “You gonna kiss me or what?”
“Or what,” Clark murmurs, and connects their lips. Bruce sighs into it, one hand coming up to curl around the back of Clark’s neck. Clark’s fingers push further against the elastic of his panties, dragging them down from Bruce’s hips. He parts his legs slightly, and they drop to the floor, leaving naked skin for Clark to clutch at and haul him closer.
Bruce swipes his tongue across Clark’s bottom lip, seeking entry, and he moans softly when it’s granted, their tongues sliding gently against one another. He pulls back to take a breath, and Clark leans away, Bruce’s hand on his neck dropping down to his shoulder. Fingers dig into the back of his hips, and Bruce knows Clark is threatening to lift him.
“C’mon.”
Clark steps under the spray. Bruce follows, closing his eyes when the warm water hits his body. It’s a welcome feeling, the pressure and heat relaxing. Arms wind around his waist, a kiss pressed to his shoulder. Bruce hums, letting himself be swayed on his feet slightly. “Let me clean you up?”
“Let me return the favor,” Bruce says in answer.
He feels a smile tucked against the back of his neck. “Deal.”
Bruce starts with Clark’s hair, turning them until Clark is under most of the stream, tipping his head back to let the water wet his inky curls. Rivulets run down his face, clumping his eyelashes. Bruce wipes them away with his thumbs, hands framing Clark’s face for a moment before reaching for the shampoo.
Clark watches him with poorly disguised wonder as Bruce works the suds into his hair. Bruce smiles softly at the attention, squashing down that feeling in his chest that says he isn’t worth it. He can’t make Clark do anything he doesn’t want to, including loving him. He just has to remind himself of that.
The conditioner makes Clark’s hair slippery and slick, sliding smoothly beneath his fingers. Clark all but purrs when Bruce combs his fingers through the strands, tipping Clark’s head back to let the water wash the soap away. When he lifts his head, he fixes Bruce with that same attentive gaze.
“Thank you,” he says as Bruce is sudsing up his hands to start on Clark’s body. “For showing me that tonight wasn’t ruined.”
Bruce leans forward to kiss his cheek, resting his hands against Clark’s chest. “There’s a light in every darkness.”
“Philosophical,” Clark comments, tone soft. “That you?”
Bruce shakes his head. “Something Alfred used to say.”
He drags his hands across Clark’s chest to his shoulders. Trails down his thickly muscled arms to the soft insides of his elbows, and down further, his fingers finding the pulse at Clark’s wrists. He counts the beats for a moment, watching the rise and fall of Clark’s chest, the soap glistening on his skin.
Clark turns his hands over, tucking their palms together. “You’re a light in the darkness, Bruce Wayne,” he whispers.
Bruce looks up at him, searching his face. Clark’s eyes are fond, a tender smile popping the dimples in his cheeks. “You really mean that,” Bruce comments, voice quiet.
“Of course I do,” Clark murmurs, and kisses him.
Eyes falling closed, Bruce lets the kiss linger for only a few seconds before pulling back. “Let me finish.”
“Yessir,” Clark teases, stealing one last kiss.
Bruce soaps up his hands again, scrubbing Clark’s chest, his back, between his legs, and down his thighs. Clark’s hands are always on him, his biceps, the curve of his waist, moving as he moves. The touch is grounding, familiar. And then Clark is rinsing off, and it’s Bruce’s turn.
“Here, c’mere,” Clark beckons softly. Bruce goes, letting himself be gathered in Clark’s arms, wet skin on wet skin. Clark turns him around, pressing them back to chest, and coaxes Bruce to lay his head back against Clark’s shoulder. Water runs through his hair, drenching it even further and slicking it back from his face. Bruce closes his eyes, standing loosely in the circle of Clark’s arms. It’s warm, and intimate, and perfect.
Clark kisses the scar that slices over his shoulder, taking his hands away to squirt shampoo in them and begin running them through Bruce’s hair. Bruce lifts his head helpfully, humming when Clark’s fingers scratch against his scalp, working the soap in. He keeps his eyes closed, his arms trapped where Clark’s have come up underneath them to reach his head, almost like a wrestling hold. He goes easily when Clark tips his head back to rinse, Clark’s chest a solid presence against him. When he leans back slightly, he feels the tickle of a tendril against his thigh.
“Yeah?” He asks as Clark starts the same routine with the conditioner.
Clark’s breath is ticklish where he hides his face in Bruce’s neck. “Can’t help it. You’re so pretty like this.”
He moans softly when Clark’s strong arms pin him again, and he feels Clark shudder. His dick is slowly filling against his thigh, the simmering arousal building further. Clark’s hands, done with his hair, touch his face, tipping his chin downward.
“I want you to watch,” Clark breathes in his ear, and Bruce’s breath hitches slightly. His eyes flicker open, half-mast, as Clark lathers soap between his hands and brings them to Bruce’s chest. “Put your hands on my wrists,” Clark instructs softly. “Feel.”
Bruce lightly grasps Clark’s wrists, finding his pulse again. Clark moves their hands across Bruce’s shoulders, under his arms, down them, and back up. His touch leaves tingles in its wake, Bruce’s limbs going shivery and loose. Then Clark’s hands settle on his chest again, one holding him fast while the other slides ever so slowly down, down his sternum, cupping the ridges of his abs, following the thick line of the scar across his belly. His stomach jumps when their hands skirt lower, and he lets out a little breath when Clark slowly parts his fingers around the base of Bruce’s shaft, his fingertips rubbing against Bruce’s balls.
“Clark,” he murmurs, keeping his hips still even as his dick twitches. He squeezes around Clark’s wrists, shivering when he feels the slippery slide of Clark’s dick against the cleft of his ass, the tendrils inching over his hips. His head tips back when Clark moves their hands further, cupping Bruce’s balls and pressing his fingers against his perineum.
Teeth graze his neck. “Watch,” Clark repeats.
Bruce lets his head fall forward once more, breath coming a bit faster when Clark lifts his hand, engulfing Bruce’s dick in his palm and giving it a languorous, lazy stroke. A soft sigh leaves Bruce’s mouth, and he feels the flex and release of Clark’s tendons under his fingers as he pumps up and down slowly. “Mmmm.”
“Don’t close your eyes,” Clark says in his ear.
Bruce nods, watching as Clark drags their hands up to the head, sucking in a breath when he swirls his thumb over the tip. As he pumps it back down, he moves his other hand, dragging Bruce along with it. He skirts their hands around Bruce’s hip, putting a little space between them to slide around to Bruce’s back. Bruce’s shoulder strains slightly at the angle, but it’s easily ignored when Clark’s fingers dip between his cheeks and find his hole. Two fingers stroke over it in even, pulsing movements, and Bruce’s thighs tremble slightly, his dick leaking into Clark’s hand.
The pleasure builds slowly, the swell of a wave before it crests. When he’s right on the edge, Bruce bites his lip, holding his breath.
Clark lets go, both hands falling away from Bruce’s body. Bruce’s breath stutters, his shoulders sagging. He finally closes his eyes, sighing. Clark kisses his neck, stepping out from behind him and guiding him further into the water. The hot spray beats against his back, rinsing off the rest of the suds. He feels Clark’s hands scrub against his thighs, down his legs to his feet, but he’s still trying to shake off the almost feeling of being brought so close to release and then denied. If he knew Clark was going to play it like that, he wouldn’t have been so chaste in his washing earlier.
Clark’s standing in front of him now, and Bruce slides a hand in his hair, tugging just on this side of harsh. “Why?” He asks simply.
Smiling impishly, Clark presses their mouths together. “I like working you up.”
“Obviously,” Bruce says against his lips, holding him close by his hair. Clark’s tendrils touch against his hips.
“You like it.”
Bruce doesn’t respond to that.
Clark reaches behind Bruce, shutting the water off. He nips at Bruce’s bottom lip, then pulls back, stepping out of the shower and waiting for Bruce to follow him. Bruce does, reaching for a towel and watching Clark dry off as he does the same. Clark’s dick is fully everted, the tendrils coiling and uncoiling around each other. His muscles shift beneath his skin as he pats the towel over his chest and down his legs, ruffling it over his hair and making a mess of the curls. Bruce is amused by the sight, rubbing a towel through his own hair before hanging it up to dry.
Naked, they exit the bathroom into Bruce’s room, the lamps on the bedside tables casting a warm glow over the place. Clark catches Bruce around the waist and whirls him around, setting him gently on his feet at the side of the bed. A full smile breaks across Bruce’s face, and he lifts his arms to Clark’s shoulders, stroking the arteries in his neck with his thumbs.
“I love you,” Clark says, hands framing Bruce’s waist.
Bruce tips his chin up for a kiss. “I love you.”
Clark gives it to him, then presses their foreheads together. Bruce notices when he syncs up their breathing, their chests rising and falling to the same tempo. “You still want this? A hundred percent?”
Bruce scratches the short hairs on the back of Clark’s neck. “A hundred percent. And you?”
“A hundred percent,” Clark repeats.
Bruce takes a step away, reaching into a drawer and retrieving a bottle of lube. Clark draws the blankets back, disappearing into the bathroom and coming back with a towel all in the blink of an eye. He lays it over the sheets, then climbs onto the bed. Bruce follows suit, settling by Clark’s side on his knees. He drops the lube between them, reaching for Clark’s face to draw him into another kiss.
Clark’s hands on his arms pull him forward, until Bruce is shuffling into Clark’s lap, his thighs spread wide around Clark’s hips and his knees tucked underneath him.
“This okay?” Clark asks.
“Yes,” Bruce nods, chasing his lips once more. He sighs when Clark slides his tongue into his mouth, hot and soft. Large hands splay over his hips, fingers spread wide. Bruce drags his hand through Clark’s hair, cupping his chin with the other and keeping him close. His moan is muffled between them when their dicks press together, the tendrils latching on immediately and winding them tightly against each other. Clark’s dick is burning hot against him, already leaking that thick, slippery slick.
He breaks away from Clark’s mouth to breathe. Clark’s hands sweep up his back, finding the scar where a knife slipped between his ribs and tracing the edge of it. Bruce nudges their noses together, slowly rocking his hips forward into Clark’s. Clark gets the message, just as Bruce knew he would, reaching for the lube and popping it open. Bruce presses a smile into the skin of his jaw, bites at the pulse in his neck.
Wet fingers tuck between his asscheeks, finding his hole immediately. Bruce sighs at the gentle pressure, wrapping his arms around Clark’s neck and resting his head along his own shoulder. Clark kisses his cheek, circling his fingers around Bruce’s rim before pushing in with one. Bruce’s body opens easily for it, and he sinks into the feeling, eyes falling shut as he breathes against Clark’s neck.
“Another?” Clark asks after a few minutes of gentle stroking.
Bruce nods, shifting his weight slightly on his knees. Clark pulls his finger out, adding more lube and pushing back in with two. Bruce shudders slightly, the stretch a pleasant pull. Working his hand back and forth, Clark’s fingers stroke against his walls, gentle and sure. Bruce’s breath hitches slightly when Clark finds his prostate, the sound morphing into a tiny moan when he crooks his fingers against it.
Lips press against his shoulder, Clark’s other arm wrapped around his back and holding him close. Bruce rolls his hips lazily, one hand sliding down Clark’s chest to brush against his nipple. Clark jerks, his fingers stilling for a moment before resuming their steady exploration. Bruce thumbs at the delicate circle, grinning when Clark gives a short moan. He kisses Clark’s jaw, pinching the hardened nub lightly between his fingers, plucking at it.
“Bruce,” Clark groans, nuzzling the side of Bruce’s head. More slick gushes over their cocks, a wet, hot slide where they’re pressed tightly together. He listens to Clark breathe harshly for a moment. Then he speaks again, voice shaky. “Ready for another?”
“Yes.” Bruce presses the word into the skin of Clark’s throat, whining slightly when Clark’s fingers withdraw. They return wet with more lube, three fingers pushing past his rim and delving inside. Bruce sighs, pushing back from where he’s been leaning against Clark’s shoulder. The change in angle shoves Clark’s fingers in even deeper, and Bruce sucks in a sharp breath when they hit against his prostate. “ Oh.”
Clark is looking up at him, blue eyes glittering. He’s so lovely, his black hair dried into ringlets, his skin downy soft under Bruce’s hands. His fingers crook against Bruce’s prostate, drawing a whimper out of him. Bruce shivers, getting his other hand on Clark’s chest, playing with both his sensitive nipples. Clark’s lashes flutter, his mouth dropping open slightly.
Heat floods through Bruce’s core, and he darts his hand up, trailing his fingers along Clark’s bottom lip. Clark’s eyes open, and Bruce meets them, questioning. In answer, Clark opens his mouth further, moaning when Bruce slides his fingers inside. Clark closes his lips over them, running his tongue along the pads and swallowing. Bruce’s stomach swoops, his dick dribbling out precum in the already wet space between them. “Clark, please.”
Clark’s eyes are a fire, the tip of his tongue drawing ticklish lines down Bruce’s fingers. He sucks them hard before letting them drop from his mouth, tilting his head as he looks up at Bruce. “Please, what?”
“Please fuck me,” Bruce answers swiftly, clenching around Clark’s fingers inside him.
Clark chuckles lightly. Bruce pouts when he draws his fingers out, wiping them on the towel and settling them on Bruce’s hip. “Okay. I think…”
Bruce squeezes his pecs when Clark trails off. “What is it?” He prods softly.
Clark bends, kissing the scar of a bullet wound in Bruce’s shoulder. “I think you might be more comfortable afterwards if we do hands and knees. Does that sound alright to you?”
Bruce cups Clark’s jaw, rubbing his thumb along the rise of his cheekbone. “Sounds perfect.” He glances at the bed, catching sight of the headboard. “Actually…”
Reaching down, he untangles himself from the tendrils and swings off Clark’s lap. Bruce shuffles forward on his knees, gripping the headboard and pushing his hips back, legs spread slightly. He looks over his shoulder, biting his lip to contain a grin when he sees Clark’s flushed face.
“You–you’re…yeah. Yeah, this is good,” Clark fumbles out. He raises up on his knees, slotting himself behind Bruce and putting one hand on Bruce’s spine, the other cupping his belly as he presses a kiss to Bruce’s shoulder. “You ready?”
Bruce lets his head face forward once more, nodding. “Yeah.”
The hand on his belly moves away, and Bruce shudders when he feels the slippery head of Clark’s dick rub against his hole. The tendrils caress over his cheeks and the backs of his thighs, a tease of what's to come. Clark’s dick slides back and forth over his hole a few times, spreading thick slick against his skin, mixing with the lube. Bruce feels a droplet run down his thigh.
He hangs his head when Clark pushes in, exhaling slowly. The stretch is so good, the first bit slipping in easily. Bruce moans when Clark pulls back, his dick popping out, before pushing it back in again. He fucks back and forth in little thrusts, just the top bit up to the egg pouch sliding back and forth into Bruce’s body.
“Feels good,” he breathes, bracing his weight on his hands to push back further. “Want more.”
Clark’s hand on his back smooths up and down, the other curling around his hip, pulling him into each thrust. “I’ll give it to you,” Clark promises.
And he does. His thrusts slow, his hips edging forward bit by bit. Bruce breathes deeply, consciously relaxing his body as the egg pouch snugs against his rim. It’s still a lot, every time, but he’s gotten used to taking it, to breathing through the stretch. He only whimpers a little, letting out a big breath when the bulk of it passes through.
“Good job, baby,” Clark praises softly, and Bruce keens, rolling his hips back. Clark’s dick slides all the way in, his tendrils greedily snaking around Bruce’s thighs, gripping tight.
Bruce’s back bows as Clark begins to move his hips in short, sharp thrusts. The egg pouch pushes harshly against Bruce’s prostate, his hole so full. The pleasure is building again, a wave that teeters on the edge of breaking. He gasps when Clark folds over his back, one hand coming around his hips to grasp at his aching dick.
“Doing so good,” Clark says, jacking his cock in tantalizingly slow pumps. Bruce whimpers, his head hung low as heat flickers beneath his skin. Through half-lidded eyes, he watches Clark’s hand move on his dick, and the slight distortion in his belly each time Clark fucks forward.
Two of the tentacles nudge against his hole. “Oh god,” Bruce gasps, hips swaying with each thrust. He whimpers when the tendrils breach him, a stream of precum dripping from the tip of his dick onto the towel below. His thighs are smeared with lube and slick, and he bites his lip hard as the tendrils work their way further inside.
Clark swipes his thumb over his slit, and Bruce chokes out, “Gonna come.”
Lips press to the knobs of his spine. “Go ahead, baby. ‘M close too.”
Bruce moans as he feels the hot rush of fluid fill him, and then he locks up as his orgasm crests, spilling wetly over Clark’s fingers. He whimpers at each sharp pulse of pleasure, his stomach tensing and releasing in spurts. Teeth graze his shoulder, and he jerks as the egg slides free of Clark’s body and into his own. It’s so—he’s so full.
They pant together, chests heaving. Bruce jolts and shakes his head when Clark’s tendrils brush curiously against his prostate. “ Hah, ah , too much.”
“Sorry,” Clark murmurs, his wet hand cupping Bruce’s stomach and pushing in slightly. The tendrils back off, and Bruce can breathe again, rolling his shoulders out. “Still okay? Need to move?”
Bruce contemplates, the woozy feeling that accompanies the pre-egg fluid washing through him, making his limbs heavy. “Just, let me sit up a bit. Can you keep us balanced?”
Clark’s arms wind around his chest. “Sure. Or do you want to lie down?”
“I want one more,” Bruce insists. “Is that alright?”
“I’ll give you as many as you want,” Clark answers.
“Two more, then.”
Clark laughs, nuzzling his face into Bruce’s neck. “Fine. Two more.”
Slowly, he leverages them up until they’re both on their knees. Bruce wobbles for a moment, but Clark holds him steady, one arm braced across Bruce’s chest and the other across his hips. Bruce slides one hand up into his hair, the other settling atop Clark’s where it rests over his hips. Clark pulls back, thrusting in shallowly once more. Bruce sighs, his eyes fluttering shut as their bodies rock together. It isn’t long before he feels the tendrils roll inside him, and Clark’s breath hitches against his neck. More pre-egg fluid fills him, the angle causing it to begin dripping out of him, making a wet mess of their legs.
“ Bruce,” Clark moans, his arms squeezing Bruce gently. Bruce swallows over and over again as the pressure inside him increases, a second egg joining the first. He pants softly, his dick beginning to fill once more. His limbs are jelly, the hand in Clark’s hair falling limply to cross over his stomach with the other.
“One more,” Bruce insists desperately, hips rolling feebly against Clark’s dick. The tendrils jab at his prostate, and he cries out, gasping for breath.
“Shh, shh, one more,” Clark agrees, his voice a low timbre in Bruce’s ear. “I’m gonna lower you down onto your chest, okay?”
Bruce can only nod, body loose and pliant as Clark slowly tips him forward, getting him arranged on his chest, his face turned to the side and his hips in the air. He whimpers when Clark pulls back just enough for the egg pouch to begin stretching him again, then tucks it back inside his body. Clark returns to the short, slick thrusts, rubbing up against Bruce’s prostate with every movement.
Bruce whines high and long when he comes again, untouched. Shivers wrack through his body, his fingers clutching feebly at the pillows.
“Ah, Bruce .” Clark shudders over him, and Bruce sobs dryly when a third egg pushes into his body. He’s so full, his belly heavy with them.
His head spins when Clark turns them over onto their sides, the lights fading in and out in his vision. Everything is warm and hazy, his body slow and syrupy. Clark is a comforting wall behind him. Bruce fights through the heaviness, blinking his eyes rapidly. Clark’s hand cups over his belly, smoothing over the tiny round curve of it. Bruce smiles, turning his face into the pillows.
“W‘re makin’ a baby,” he mumbles.
Clark kisses the tip of his ear, ticklish. “Yes, we are,” he answers tenderly.
“Don’ wanna sleep,” Bruce protests, forcing his eyes open where they’ve closed. He wants to stay with Clark, to feel the tripping excitement, the reality of it. But cotton is gathering in his head, lulling him toward the soft promise of rest. Nothing hurts right now. Everything is good and right. “Wanna stay awake.”
Clark rubs his stomach, trailing the tips of his fingers gently over the skin. Bruce shivers, cuddling back further into Clark’s chest. “Don’t fight it, baby. You really need it this time. I’m gonna rest with you, okay?”
“‘Kay,” Bruce yawns, shivering again.
Clark kicks the blanket up with his foot, grabbing it and dragging it over their bodies. Bruce hums sleepily, going loose-limbed and melty. Clark’s arm tucks around him again, his palm settling protectively over Bruce’s belly. “Sleep.”
“Mhmmm.”
The world blurs into smudges, his eyes fluttering and then falling closed. Their chests rise and fall in sync, lulling Bruce even deeper into his doze. He sleeps dreamlessly, dark and warm.
After a while, maybe an hour, perhaps longer, something inside him moves. Bruce makes a sleepy, confused sound, rousing slightly from his deep slumber. Clark’s palm rubs over his tummy, shushing him softly. “The ovipositor is retracting,” he explains in a low tone. “Then the fertilizer will take its place.”
Bruce half makes a sound of acknowledgment, breath coming slow and even. His eyes stay closed, sleep pulling at him still. He lets out another little noise when he feels Clark’s dick slide free of his body, pulling slightly. The eggs shift inside him, the sensation like a swoop in his stomach. He sighs sleepily, body heavy and still.
There’s a nudge against his rim, something hot and slippery. “ Uh, ” Bruce moans lightly when it presses inside his sensitive hole. He drags his eyes open in slow blinks, everything blurry and watery in his vision. The fertilizer slides further inside him, a mild stretch that’s almost comforting. He feels an egg move.
Bruce sucks in a breath when a sharp pain pinches between his hips. His body tenses slightly, still languid from the fluid. His breathing ticks up, and when the pinch releases, he blows out a big breath. The cramping starts up a moment after. Bruce’s back bows as much as he is able with Clark’s tentacles holding him tight and his arm draped over Bruce’s side. The pain radiates outward through his belly, a pulsing ache. “Ow,” he croaks out, voice rough.
Clark’s fingers palpate at his tummy, helping ease the soreness ever so slightly. “I know, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. You’re doing so well, baby. I love you so much.”
There’s another pinch. Bruce gasps, legs jerking up to curl in on himself. The cramping is relentless, like his insides are turning over themselves, twisting and pulling. He whimpers when the pinch lets up, only to start again immediately, body shaking with exertion.
Lips press against the back of his neck, Clark’s hand warm and gentle against his stomach. “Breathe, Bruce, nice and easy now.”
Bruce sucks in a breath, holding for four taps of Clark’s finger against his skin and then releasing. The pinch eases off, the pain settling into the steady beat of the cramps. Bruce paces his breathing to Clark’s gentle taps, his body relaxing in increments. He’s still sore, but it’s a relief when the fertilizer pulls back, the tendrils releasing his thighs to slide back inside Clark’s body.
He breathes heavily for a moment, focusing on the warm brush of Clark’s lips against his neck, the hand cupping his belly possessively. His muscles are still contracting in spasms, but it’s done. They did it. Now they just have to wait and see if it takes. Bruce smiles, turning his head to the side. Clark’s mouth finds his in a lingering, lazy kiss.
“We did it,” Clark whispers, giddy. His hand sweeps back and forth on Bruce’s stomach.
“We did it,” Bruce repeats. He turns onto his back, wrapping sleep-heavy arms around Clark’s shoulders when the other man lifts onto his elbow to lean over him.
Clark is glowing, his fond smile shining in the light of the lamps, his eyes glimmering with happiness. He leans down and nuzzles their noses together. “I love you so much.”
“I love you.” Bruce lifts his chin, connecting their lips. “I love you.” He kisses Clark again, stroking his thumb along the back of Clark’s neck. “I love you.”
When he pulls back to look at Clark again, there are tears on Clark’s cheeks. Bruce wipes them away gently, hiding a yawn in his hand. Clark shakes his head, sniffing and chuckling. The cramps are letting up little by little, and the tiredness is sweeping in again. Bruce lets his hands fall to his chest, too heavy to hold up anymore.
Clark runs his fingers through Bruce’s hair, combing the strands back. “You should sleep. I’ll clean you up.”
Bruce doesn’t fight it, closing his eyes. “Clark?”
Lips brush against his cheek. “Yeah, baby?”
“You’re my light in the darkness, too.”