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As far as first times went... it hadn't been half bad. It hadn’t been bad at all, actually, but Bruce wasn’t about to tell Clark that. The Kryptonian was already looking far too pleased with himself. He had good reason to, obviously. What with Bruce panting like a dog, rolled onto his side with his limps spread all over the bedsheets. He couldn’t find it in himself to give a damn though, he was spent.
Bruce fancied himself quite the passionate lover, but it wasn’t every day that you had Superman in your bed. He told himself it wasn’t that different from his other endeavors but even if he ignored the constant warmth (“They’re not butterflies, Alfred, I am not a child.”) in his body when Clark was near, he couldn’t deny that being with Clark was incredible.
There were just no limits to him, which Bruce usually found slightly annoying (okay, so a lot annoying, sue him for being the only actual human on the team, jealousy’s a human emotion). He’d admit that it was quite the feast in bed though – not out loud, of course, he wasn’t about to give Clark the satisfaction.
Speaking of Clark… The Kryptonian had finally finished cleaning them both off (“Just let me do this for you, B, it’s no big deal.” The stupid grin on his face said otherwise though) and settled behind Bruce in the large bed.
Bruce shuffled back discreetly. It’s not like he wanted to cuddle, but the bed was soft, and Clark was warm and – finally, strong arms wound around him. He made sure to grunt in displeasure, just to make a point. Clark shouldn’t expect this every time they’d had sex. Because oh boy, they were going to have a lot of sex if Bruce had any say. And Batman usually had a say in everything.
Clark snuggled closer, pillowing his head on his own arm while the other settled on Bruce’s hip. He then let his fingers trail lightly over Bruce’s side, around to the sensitive skin of his stomach. He enjoyed the feeling of Bruce’s skin, soft and warm and close.
Bruce sucked in a quick breath as the fingertips grazed just below his bellybutton, his stomach jumping slightly under Clark’s hand. A hand, which very quickly stopped moving.
“Are you okay?” Clark asked, worry clear in his voice, as he moved far enough away to look Bruce over. He didn’t need to move to inspect Bruce’s body, they both knew that, but the human habits ran deep in the corn-fed farm boy.
“I’m fine,” Bruce said, trying not to pout at losing Clark’s heat on his back.
“Where are you hurt?”
Bruce rolled his eyes. You forget to mention a minor injury one time (”Your ribs are broken, Bruce, how is this minor?!”) and suddenly his words weren’t enough of a reassurance. It had been an accident too; Clark hadn’t meant to shove Bruce out of the way as hard as he did.
“I’m fine,” he repeated as he turned around to face Clark, cursing his wobbly limps. “Just a bit ticklish, that’s all.” He hoped the slight annoyance on his face was enough to convince the invulnerable man lying next to him.
“Oh?” Was all Clark said in response.
Bruce should’ve known from the tone of Clark’s voice that something was up. He should’ve noticed the shit-eating grin growing on Clark’s face, but he wasn’t in his sharpest state of mind, alright? He’d just had his mind (amongst other things) blown; he needed an extra 0.3 seconds to recognize Clark’s smile as a mischievous one. To be fair Bruce wasn’t used to anyone looking at him like that, like he was some amusing puzzle. At galas and events, sure, with other partners in bed, absolutely, but those looks had always been mixed with lust, with a hint of wanting something from him. Clark’s eyes weren’t burning with the need to make him submit or take something from him - though Bruce wouldn’t have minded either if he was completely honest - it was just… an almost childlike excitement.
“Ticklish you say?”
“Yes,” Bruce said, finally catching on to Clark’s tone of voice. He instinctively tried to move away from the Man of Steel, but it was too late.
Being ticklish for Bruce meant... nothing, really. It meant sharp intakes of breath every seventh year or so when someone accidentally touched him too lightly in certain spots. It happened so rarely he hadn’t even thought up a contingency plan - which was the dumbest decision he’d ever made, if you asked him now.
Because Clark was relentless.
And those big, stupid hands of his could get in everywhere.
They were at his sides, in his armpits, being squished between his shoulder and cheek as he tried to hide his neck. Bruce couldn’t remember the last time he’d giggled, let alone squealed like this out loud. Clark found places he was ticklish Bruce hadn’t even known about. Who the hell’s ticklish in the palm of their hand?! The big brute even went as far as to pinch the thin skin on the inside of Bruce’s thighs and wasn’t that an experience he never wanted to relive?
“When was the last time anyone tickled you?” Clark teased as he pinned Bruce down with the weight of his body.
“N-never!” Bruce forced out through gritted teeth. He wasn’t going to allow Clark to humiliate him like this, but he could feel his cheeks reddening from holding back his laughter and there were actual tears in his eyes.
“Aw, I’m your first? That’s very romantic, B.”
“I will ki-hi-hi-hi-hi, I will kill you!” He spat, trying and failing to roll out from underneath the large body currently pushing him into the mattress. He’d enjoyed that particular feeling much more earlier in the evening. But then again, Clark hadn’t been shoving his hands in Bruce’s armpits back then.
“Yea, sure, you’re real intimidating right now,” Clark rolled his eyes fondly as he wiggled his fingers. “So scary, I’m nearly shaking. Oh wait, that’s you.”
“Shut u-hu-hu-hup!” Bruce laughed.
“Why don’t you make me?” Clark countered.
It’s not like Bruce didn’t try. But what can you really do against a 200-something pound mountain of an alien sitting on top of you? He didn’t stand a chance.
Somewhere between Clark grabbing at the back of his knees – and wouldn’t it be glorious if only Bruce’s knee would actually break his damn nose and not shatter his own kneecap? – and attacking a spot at the nape of his neck Bruce was suddenly enveloped in a memory he’d long since forgotten. Clark wasn’t the first one to tickle him relentlessly. His mom was.
Sudden warmth spread through him as echoes of his own childish laughter rung out through the mansion sounded in his mind. The memory had Bruce forget to cover and Clark took the opportunity to wiggle his fingers over his stomach again.
“Cl- Cla-ahahaha-ark! Stop!”
“Ask nicely,” Clark said in a singsong voice.
“I can’t -” Bruce erupted in another fit of giggles, effectively cutting off his words. “-breathe!” He wasn’t being dramatic (okay, maybe a little), he really did have a hard time catching his breath, but Clark didn’t seem too worried.
“You’ll power through it,” the Kryptonian teased.
“Ple-he-he-he-he-hease,” Bruce finally got out.
Despite his earlier almost-promise to stop, it was only when fat tears started rolling down Bruce’s heated cheeks that Clark let up in his torture.
Gasping for air Bruce shoved the other man off him – silently grateful that Clark actually moved – and threw himself on the other side of the bed, trying to get enough air into his lungs to stop panting.
“You’re very pretty when you laugh,” Clark commented with a smile. Bruce wanted to punch him. He didn’t want to risk breaking his hand (again) though.
“I hate you,” he said instead.
“No, you don’t.”
“I do,” he insisted even as the corner of his mouth struggled to turn up stubbornly. Damn. He couldn’t even keep his glare in place when Clark was looking at him like he hung the moon.
“You don’t. You enjoy my company. And my tickles.” As if to prove his point Clark grabbed his ankle and held his hand threateningly over Bruce’s foot.
“I’d rather you broke my ribs again.”
“Drama queen.” Bruce grunted in reply and Clark continued: “You know that was an accident.”
“This wasn’t.”
“No, this was fun.”
“I will end you,” Bruce muttered as he pulled his ankle out of Clark’s grip.
“Come on then, scaredy-bat.”
Round two didn’t actually end up involving kryptonite or more tickling but it did leave quite a mess for them to clean up. It didn’t worry Bruce though; they had all the time in the world. There’s no need to rush when your boyfriend has superspeed. And if he held Clark extra close that night while fond memories of his parents filled his dreams, well, no one had to know.
(Not about the tickling either, Bruce would literally kill Clark if he told anyone)
(Clark didn’t know how Diana suddenly knew about Bruce’s secret spot, he really didn’t)
