To Kiss a God

Chapter Four: The Morning After

Clark couldn't help but trace over Bruce's scars in cat-like contentment. There were so many of them - crawling over his powerful back, slithering over his muscular biceps, and covering his external abdominal obliques. A reminder of how human Bruce was, not crafted from steel like himself. What he craved to do was lick them. To plant kiss after kiss over them only to trace over the reminisce of violence with his tongue. Maybe sucking on them, he hadn't decided. He disappointingly hadn't gotten the chance last night, between their animalistic fucking and him being suspended in Kryptonite, he had been exhausted. It was something he undoubtedly wanted to rectify this morning but he didn't want to wake Bruce. He had never seen him look so vulnerable and he wanted to savor the moment. So seldom did the man look so at peace then when he was sleeping. His normal scowling physiognomy was replaced with a relaxed, almost benign expression. God he was beautiful. Like some sort of panther, all corded muscle with not an ounce of fat on him.

Clark had fantasized about this moment for weeks - having Bruce. Undoing him. Making him lose control. He'd even dreamed about it. Light from the open curtains spilled in through the window, highlighting Bruce's imperfect skin as he lay asleep on his back. How could someone asleep be so fucking sexy? Bruce's ebony hair was slightly tousled from their sex and the silk sheets barely covered his enticing ass. Clark knew he should do something, wake him or go make breakfast but he couldn't tear his eyes away from him. As if awakened by his thoughts, the billionaire's eyes fluttered open, revealing his piercing grey irises.
"Hey" Clark said, giving him his best 'I need information' reporter smile. One his mom said could win over the heart of any girl. And he was hoping boy at the present. Bruce's perspicacious gaze flickered from Clark, to the window, to the clock sitting on the mahogany nightstand by his bed. He rose out of bed, transfixing Clark with his lithe grace and flawless abdominal muscles.
"Morning Clark, I'm late for a meeting" he said while dressing efficiently. He donned a perfectly tailored Armani Suit, likely worth more than his car. Clark waited for him to say something else while he watched him brush his teeth in the bathroom mirror. Then walking to the bedroom door. He paused, his hand wrapped around the gilded handle, his muscular back to him.
"Alfred can get you breakfast or a ride if you need."
And then he left.
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    Fuck. That was the singular word resonating in Bruce's head as he stared into the ornate personal bathroom mirror at Wayne Corps. He had slept with fucking Clark Kent. Boy Scout, Daily Planet reporter, and one of the most famous superheroes to ever walk the earth. Someone he had distinctly promised himself he would never sleep with. You do have a problem sleeping with people you shouldn't the unhelpful voice in the back of his head chimed. Bruce didn't believe in relationships or love or commitment; he believed in the one fuck and never see again policy. He knew for a fact that Clark didn't. Clark was his colleague, confident, and perhaps his best friend and he knew that his rejection would hurt him immeasurably. But at least it wouldn't be as much if they stayed together. He sighed deeply. What a clusterfuck. And completely of his own doing. What was he thinking last night. He had been so relieved. The same feelings of loss and abandonment that had haunted him as a child, the inability to save his loved ones, had been reaffirmed when Clark had gone missing. The possibility that he could lose perhaps the most important person in his life had driven him to abandon the Justice League in the middle of a attack and find Clark. He had logically known that there were more capable members in the Justice League that could have made it to Clark faster and more effectively. He had let his own personal feelings cloud his judgement and affect the mission at hand. He dragged his hands through his hair, debating. The best course of action would be to reduce his time spent around Clark and pretend like it had never happened...