“B, why don’t we take a break.” Clark drummed his fingers softly on the desk, watching as Bruce used his entire hand to type on the phone screen propped up in front of him.
Bruce made a small hum, the barest acknowledgement that he heard Clark say something to him, but not necessarily that he had listened. He continued to type, his whole body poised like he was in a boxing match so he could hit each letter as fast as his body would let him. It was cute, but when Bruce had been doing it for so long, it started to become something else.
“Bruce,” Clark said his name again, and this time, there was a pause in his typing.
“I don’t need a break, Clark. What would I even do?”
“You’d do nothing. That’s the point of taking a break, B – Doing nothing.”
“I don’t want to do nothing,” Bruce growled, resuming his typing.
“Do you want to be doing this either?” Clark raised an eyebrow.
“What do you think?” Bruce snarled back, slapping his hand down on the next letter with far more force than necessary.
Clark was silent for a minute, watching as Bruce continued to slap away at the screen, brow furrowed and mouth drawn in a tight frown. Even at this size, Clark was able to see how pale he was, how the skin of his face seemed to want to sink towards his bones. There were bags under his eyes and a tremor to his movements.
“I think-” Clark began, reaching a hand forward to tip the phone flat and pull it away. “-that you’re hungry.”
Bruce chased after the phone for a few steps but quickly tired and slowed to a stop. Clark couldn’t help but smile at the side eye Bruce shot him before crossing his arms with a huff.
“Good, now c’mere.” Clark grinned as he reached for Bruce, quietly delighting at the way he let himself be picked up so readily.
He cupped Bruce in his palm, waiting for him to settle and recline against the curve of his fingers. Bruce reached up for Clark’s index finger as he lowered it towards him, crooked just so, to give him good access to the meat of its side. He noticed the small pinprick of Bruce’s bite less than the soft hum he let out against his skin, the slight warmth of his mouth on the side of his finger as he softly suckled against his skin.
Bruce shifted restlessly as he continues to drink, face steadily flushing with color until he’s rosy with it. Clark gently brushed his thumb over Bruce’s body, feeling how warm he has grown, how soft he feels all full of blood, his blood. Bruce panted when he drew back from Clark’s finger, eyes half closed, squirming to find a position that is more comfortable for his full tummy but still allows him to lap at the pinpricks he left behind, gentle kitten-licks to sooth and thank Clark for sharing with him. Clark’s favorite part about Bruce being this size was how full he gets with his feedings, how drowsy and blood-drunk he grows.
He curled into Clark’s palm, huffing and grunting as he searched for a position to support the weight in his tummy, small hands reaching out to grasp onto Clark’s fingers and hold them close. He kept rubbing him with his thumb, loving the feel of the flushed, full body beneath his finger as Bruce lazily pressed kisses to wherever he could reach.
When he felt Bruce’s movements slow to a stop, chest slowly rising and falling with each deep breath, Clark brought his hand close to his chest, knowing that Bruce always slept better near the sound of his heart, and floated them to their bedroom to sleep. Bruce would surely complain about the length of their break when he woke up, but Clark knew that it was all a cover for how much he had enjoyed himself.
(Bruce did complain in the morning, but only after sleepily crawling from his spot on Clark’s chest to press a kiss to the corner of his lips, murmuring quiet endearments and thanks.)
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