instead, there was light in the kitchen.

he stopped short, mask still on, until a voice called across the room.

“you’re late.”

clark. standing at the counter, fridge open, carton of eggs in one hand. his tone was half amused, half annoyed.

bruce pulled the mask off, jaw tight. “what are you doing here.”

“making sure you eat something.” clark shut the fridge with his hip and placed it next to the bag of groceries which held pancake mix, strawberries, coffee.

“breakfast for dinner,” clark mused, already moving to the stove.

bruce hesitated, then dropped into a chair, gloves coming off slow. his ribs ached with the motion.

clark worked quickly, sleeves rolled up, pan hissing as butter melted. the smell of food filled the room, soft and grounding.

“are you okay?” clark asked without turning.

“i’m fine,” bruce muttered.

“mm.” clark glanced back, caught the shadows in his expression. his smile faded into something quieter. “you don’t look fine.”

“i am.”

“you always say that.” clark set the spatula down and crossed the room, stopping in front of him.

his hand came up, brushing bruce’s jaw, thumb skimming the edge of a bruise. “come on. let’s shower.”

bruce should have argued. instead, he let clark tug him up.

the bathroom filled with steam as clark turned the water on. bruce peeled the suit off piece by piece until he was naked. his skin a mix of sweat and half-dried blood. he stepped under the spray, head bowed.

clark joined him, close enough that bruce could feel the warmth of him even through the water. strong hands touched his shoulders, smoothing soap over bruised muscles. his touch was reverent as if to remind bruce what gentleness felt like.

bruce’s eyes closed. hot water ran down his face, over the curve of his throat. he didn’t move when clark’s fingers traced the bruises along his ribs, didn’t stop him when he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.

“you don’t have to pretend with me,” clark murmured against his skin.

he turned bruce until they were face to face. water rolled down clark’s jaw, dripping onto bruce’s chest. his hands framed bruce’s face, thumbs sweeping across sharp cheekbones.

the kiss was slow. bruce fought it at first, lips tight, but then he gave in, fervor picking up as if the answer to all his problems were in between clark’s lips.

when they parted, breath hard between them, clark’s hand slid lower, fingers inching closer to bruce’s hardness. his hand curled around the flushed length, and bruce groaned, hips jerking forward before he could stop himself.

every slow stroke of clark’s hand dragged another sound out of him, a broken whimper.

he reached for clark in return, but clark caught his wrist and pressed it back lightly against the tile.

“no,” clark said, mouth brushing his ear. “not tonight.”

his forehead pressed to clark’s shoulder, breath coming too fast. the rhythm of clark’s hand was maddenin, as if it was too much and not enough at the same time.

“that’s it,” clark whispered, kissing the side of his throat. “give in to me.”

bruce groaned again, hips rutting into the slick grip, desperately trying to reach his release.

he gasped, body jerking as it hit him hard, shuddering against clark’s chest. the water washed it all away, leaving nothing but heat and the steady strength holding him up.

clark’s voice dropped lower, firm and tender all at once. “good boy.”

bruce, if possible, turned pinker than he was from the heat.

clark kissed the corner of his jaw, still stroking his back with his free hand, keeping him steady. “i’ve got you.”

clark shut off the water and reached for a towel, wrapping it carefully around bruce’s shoulders. he dried him slowly, running the fabric over damp skin. bruce let him, cheeks flushed, but visibly less tense.

neither of them spoke as clark pressed a final kiss to his temple, guiding him out of the bathroom.

the kitchen light was still on, the smell of butter and batter lingering. clark moved back to the stove, reheating the pan, sliding another pancake onto a plate. he set it in front of bruce, who sat down again, hair damp and eyes lowered.

bruce picked at the edge of the plate with one finger but didn’t lift the fork.

clark noticed. he sat across from him, cutting a piece, then holding the fork out. “eat,” he said softly.

bruce’s lips parted like he wanted to argue, then closed again. he leaned forward, letting clark feed him the bite.

the pancake was warm, sweet, and bruce chewed slowly, ears burning pink.

clark offered him another piece, a little smaller this time. bruce took it, his hand brushing clark’s as he leaned in.

they went on like that until the plate was mostly gone. bruce sat back a little, the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth, subtle enough that anyone else might have missed it.

clark leaned his elbows on the table. “see? not so bad letting yourself get pampered, huh?”

bruce pushed his chair back and came around the table.

clark tilted his head, about to ask, but bruce only placed his hands on his shoulders and lowered himself into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

clark’s arms came up instantly, circling his waist. “hey,” he said softly, more surprise than question.

bruce rested against him, damp hair brushing clark’s jaw, his weight settling in close. clark shifted slightly, and that was when he felt it, the hard press of bruce’s arousal against his stomach.

he let out a soft throaty laugh. “oh, so that’s why you’re on my lap, hmm?”

bruce didn’t bother denying it. he just gave a short nod, eyes meeting clark’s.

clark grinned, kissed his temple, then rose easily from the chair, holding him close. “alright then.”

he carried bruce the few steps toward the couch and sat down, settling with bruce straddling his lap

clark sank into the couch with bruce straddling him, their bodies pressed close. bruce’s hands rested against his shoulders, steadying himself, while clark’s palms settled firm at his waist.

bruce leaned down, catching clark’s mouth in a kiss that was desperate and needy.

clark met it easily, lips parting, letting bruce take what he wanted. his fingers dug into bruce’s hips, guiding him closer, until their movements shifted into something heavier, a slow grind that made both of them gasp against each other’s mouths.

bruce whimpered into the kiss, rutting harder, the friction pulling a low groan from clark’s throat.

“that’s it,” clark murmured, pulling back just enough to watch his face. “use me.”

bruce’s cheeks flushed darker, but he obeyed, rocking down harder, pressing his arousal against clark’s through the thin barrier of fabric, quiet grunts breaking from his lips.

their boxers clung damp between them, the friction building until bruce’s hand slipped down, tugging at the waistband. clark helped, pushing the fabric aside, and bruce followed, both pairs ending up discarded on the floor beside the couch.

skin to skin now, the heat was unbearable. bruce groaned into clark’s mouth, grinding down with desperate urgency, every movement chasing the release he needed.

then clark shifted, guiding himself with one hand. bruce’s breath caught, his nails biting into clark’s shoulders as he sank down, a deep moan tearing out of him at the stretch and fullness.

clark’s own breath broke into a harsh pant, teeth catching bruce’s shoulder as he pressed in deeper, the heat of him pulling another groan from his chest.

clark slid one hand between them, wrapping his fingers around bruce’s cock. bruce jolted at the touch, a sharp cry spilling from his lips as clark stroked him in time with his thrusts.

his breath came in ragged pants, each exhale hot against clark’s cheek. his body trembled, caught between the steady drag of clark’s hand and the feeling of him buried deep inside.

clark kissed him again, swallowing the noises bruce couldn’t hold back, his own groans lost against bruce’s mouth as he urged him on.

the tension snapped at once. white liquid coating them both. bruce shuddered hard in clark’s arms, his body giving out as pleasure ripped through him, clark following a moment later with a broken groan against his shoulder.

they both breathed heavily, foreheads pressed together, their bodies slack with exhaustion. bruce rested against clark’s chest, listening to the uneven rhythm of his heart as it slowly calmed.

clark’s fingers threaded through the hair at the back of his head. he kissed him softly and then murmured against his lips, “my bruce.”