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Bruce was curled up in the sheets of his king size bed, hair tacky with sweat, struggling to maintain some sense of meditative breathing. The comforter had been long sacrificed to the floor below, leaving him draped in a thin layer of silk. An old apron was curled up around the pillow closest to his head, giving off a gentle scent of petrichor and fresh linen, despite the heady air overwhelming the room. The watch and pearl earrings on the bedside table had long lost their scent, but there they sat anyway, never far on a day like this. A sharp pain tore through Bruce’s abdomen, as he grit his teeth against the urge to scream.
When the feeling abates and he comes back to his senses, his phone vibrates somewhere in the dark, tangled in the sheets. Groaning loudly (and maybe growling just a bit, but that’s his business), Bruce swipes his arm through the sheets, finding and answering his phone with a resounding “Hnn.”
“Hey B,” Clark’s voice filters into the room, “I just got back on-planet. You weren’t at the debrief, so I know you’re probably busy, but I was hoping I could see you?”
Clark’s voice instantly calms the growl in his chest, but the words still swim in his ears. Something about seeing him? Part of him feels like he’s in no state for a visit from his boyfriend, but his instincts surge at the thought of no longer being alone. No longer being empty. He pushes that thought from his head.
Maybe… he could clean up a bit and they could just sit together for a while. Bruce’s throat works with the effort to respond, and his voice comes out gruff and scratchy as he whispers, “Clark?”
“Yeah?” He hesitates. “Is everything—“
Bruce’s body chooses that moment to betray him, as a cramp radiates from his center, strong and steady, not even having the decency to abate quickly like the sharp pains. A quiet whine escapes his throat. It’s short, but it’s enough.
“Oh my goodness, um, hold on, I’ll be right there.” The phone clicks off. Bruce sighs.
He’s an adult damnit. He should be able to control his own heats. They’ve always been rough, but with Alfred supplying him with a steady stream of food, water, and medication it’s manageable. Plus, sometimes the stress of being Batman meant his body would skip a heat or two, and though Leslie was frequently concerned about that, to Bruce a win is a win. It’s not like he can stop being Batman anyway.
This heat had hit early though, and it happened to be Alfred’s week off. But Bruce was handling it. He was miserable, sure, but he’s not a pup, and he doesn’t need his carrier to hold his hand through the ordeal every month. The bottle of water near his bed was empty, which was good actually because it meant he was staying hydrated. Though, Bruce couldn’t really remember how long it’d been empty… At least one pitch, maybe two? Whatever. He was handling it. Or at least that’s what he was telling himself when the pain started to make tears well up in his eyes.
“Bruce,” Clark breathed out, coming to a sudden stop in the hallway, wind whooshing through the carpet and no doubt sending a couple of the paintings askew.
Bruce propped himself up on one arm to look at him properly, covering his bare chest with the sheet. He tried rolling his eyes like he normally would at Clark’s worrying, but he was flushed all over—warm skin grating against every little hitch in the fabric—and that off-world mission had lasted for two whole weeks, so the relief and fondness coursing through Bruce at seeing his boyfriend in the doorway likely shone through anyway. “Hey, you,” he said, trying to muster up some of his patented suaveness despite his intense discomfort.
“Are you injured?” Clark asked, squinting and moving to step over the threshold. “I heard-” Clark paused his movement, blinking. The furrow in his brow smoothed out as his nostrils flared, scenting the room. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” Bruce’s arm started to get tired from holding himself up. (Which was absurd. He’d done arm hangs for much longer.) He moved to sit up against the headboard, hiding a grimace behind a smirk as his muscles ached. “You didn’t need to come rushing over here, I’m fine.”
“Yeah, but…” Clark’s confused look returned briefly before shaking his head and smiling sheepishly. “Can I come in?” he asked, baring his neck and pushing out a hint of his scent, full of deference.
Midwestern manners, for you. The warm scent hit Bruce’s nose like a balm to his burning skin. Notes of hay, old books, and country molasses soothed the ache at his core, and he was helpless to say anything other than, “Yeah, Boy Scout, come on in.”
Clark crossed the room in a couple strides, kneeling at the edge of Bruce’s bed.
“You don’t have to sit on the floor, Clark,” Bruce scoffed, more amused than anything.
“I don’t want to disturb your nest.”
It was hardly a nest. Alfred’s were neater, fuller, and he’d actually mastered the whole protective shape. Bruce had just kind of put a few of his favorite pillows together. “It’s fine, you can just—”
Bruce stops suddenly, crying out and doubling over as another wave of pain tears through his stomach. He reaches out in a panic to steady himself before the force can knock him down. When it finally passes, he’s panting, gripping Clark’s arm with enough force to bruise any other man. Through the buzzing in his head, he hears Clark’s voice murmuring, “It’s okay, everything’s okay.”
“Sorry,” Bruce gasps, ripping his arm away.
“Don’t be sorry. You’re-,” Clark looks into his eyes, full of earnest concern and raises his hand to Bruce’s temple. “Gosh, Bruce you’re burning up.”
Bruce flinches away from the gentle touch against his irritated skin, and at the movement, Clark’s eyes go wide and the color drains from his face. “Oh, I’m- sorry,” he stutters out, leaning away from the bed. “Do you- do you want me to go?”
“No!” Bruce says, loud and sharp, undercut by the whine that’s crept up his throat and made its way into his voice. He can smell the way his scent has suddenly darkened with desperation and tries to pull it back some. Wetting his lips and gathering his composure he repeats, “No. You don’t need to leave.”
Clark looks at him searchingly, and seems to come to a conclusion. He takes a deep breath and sits up straight, his blue eyes staring into Bruce’s. “Would you,” he starts, then swallows and clears his throat. “Would you like help?” he asks, firm but gently.
Bruce very resolutely swallows the whimper in his chest, as slick pools between his legs at the veiled suggestion. God, please, please, please, his instincts chant at him.
“I don’t need to be knotted, if that’s what you’re implying,” he says instead, as steadily as he can. At least, not three months into this thing between them. It was going really well and Bruce didn’t want to scare Clark off by getting heat drunk off his ass, presenting and begging Clark to bite him. (And isn’t that startling to realize–he actually does want Clark to bite him. He wants to be his. The thought alone sends another wave of heat coursing through his body, burning his skin.)
“Right, of course,” he says with a wince, posture slumping. “That was probably inappropriate.”
Bruce sighs. “I’m sorry, I don’t-” he stops, shakes his head, and gingerly takes Clark’s hands. Still staring down, turning them over in his own, he tries again. “It’s just a heat. I can handle it.” He bites his lip before murmuring softly, “It’s probably just been a minute since I took the meds.”
“Okay,” Clark whispers back, nodding. “Can I… help get those for you?”
“Bathroom counter,” Bruce states matter-of-factly, though his cheeks tinge with a blush, darker for the fact that he’s already pretty much red all over.
Clark comes back toting the little bottle of over-the-counter meds. He shakes it gently, and the pills rattling around sound something akin to an angelic choir. Bruce is about to reach out for them when Clark squints at the print on the label.
“It says to take these with food,” he looks up. “When was the last time you ate?”
“Um… last night?”
Clark’s eyes widen. “Babe, it’s like almost 6:00.”
Bruce shrugs, and tries to offer a tired, but reassuring smile. Oops. In his defense, he wasn’t in much of a state to be wandering around the kitchen. Clark sighs and takes his partner’s hands again.
“Um. Okay, well, I could whip something up for you? And maybe in the meantime you can cool down in the shower,” he suggests, gently running his thumb over each of Bruce’s fingers.
Bruce smiles genuinely this time, soothed by the repetitive motion and Clark’s lack of judgement. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea. Thanks.” He moves slowly, pushing the sheets back to stand—
Only to be promptly lifted by an arm under his thighs.
“Clark.”
“Yeah, B?” There’s a goofy smile on Clark’s face as he looks into his boyfriend’s eyes.
“This is hardly necessary.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Clark replies simply as he carries the other man into the bathroom.
He sets him down carefully on the smooth tiled bench in the wet area, before reaching over to grab the shower head. Once he’s satisfied that the temperature is neither too warm for Bruce’s heat nor too cool for his comfort, he hands the shower head to his lover, and slowly brushes some of the sweaty hair from his forehead, mindful to telegraph every moment.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispers.
“Mmm,” Bruce replies, tilting his lips up and fluttering his eyes closed. He’s met with only a gentle kiss on the forehead, and blinks up to see Clark’s smile. It’s the little one, reserved specially for the few people in the Man of Tomorrow’s heart.
Clark stands and starts moving towards the door when a whine suddenly cuts through the room. He turns around, to see Bruce looking surprised and a bit embarrassed by the outburst. “I’m not going anywhere, B. I promise,” he vows with bright, soft eyes.
Bruce clears his throat and looks off to the side, “Yeah. I know.”
-
Bruce emerges from the bathroom a little achy all over, but clean, and the good kind of tired. The kind that sits in your bones, unobtrusive, sensing that rest will come soon. It also calms his nerves a bit to think he’s more presentable now, rather than the sweaty state Clark found him in, flushed and smelling cloyingly sweet with the lingering aura of hormones and slick.
As Bruce finishes running a towel through his thick, dark hair (he is NOT doing the proper routine right now, screw that), he notices that Clark is leaning over his bed, fluffing and rearranging his makeshift nest.
He looks up to catch Bruce’s eye and smiles. “I hope you don’t mind, but I thought it might be nice if I changed the sheets.”
The nest was fluffier, properly surrounded on all sides, and sporting a blanket with gingham patterning that definitely hadn’t been there before. Bruce just nodded and crossed the room.
Sliding in, he instantly let out a soft, drawn-out moan. Everything was soft and plush, while being mysteriously and deliciously cool (he had a sneaking suspicion ice breath may have been in play). And the plaid blanket… it was smooth to the touch, clearly well-worn from years of loving, and smelled like pure alpha protection and devotion.
“Clark. Get in here.”
“Yes, sir,” he replies beaming, accompanied with that silly salute, and grabs a small bowl from the nearby end table before climbing into the nest. It’s a small bowl of cold oatmeal and chia seed pudding, made with extra milk, honey, a few slices of banana, and fresh persimmon (which much like the plaid blanket was surely not lying around the manor).
Bruce felt his throat tighten suddenly, taking in everything around him. “Thank you,” he murmured, swallowing around the lump, “This is… perfect.”
Clark leans in, planting another soft kiss on Bruce’s forehead. “Good.”
He sits next to Bruce, their sides firmly pressed against each other, resting his palm steadily on his lover’s thigh, and occasionally running his thumb back and forth across the strong muscle while Bruce eats.
It’s a bit of a slow endeavor since the heats tend to fuck with Bruce’s appetite, but the oatmeal is cool, tender and sweet, and the soft fruits melt on his tongue. When the bowl is empty, Clark hums in approval, running a hand through Bruce’s hair before setting the bowl aside. He then hands him two small, round pills and a fresh bottle of water.
“Um… I actually need three,” Bruce informs him somewhat awkwardly, breaking their shared silence.
Clark looks briefly surprised, but his face holds no judgement as he just says, “Sure,” and shakes another from the bottle stationed beside the bed. Bruce swallows them quickly, and then chugs half the bottle of water and lies down. Clark follows, opening his arms in invitation. Bruce scoots closer, letting Clark drape his arm over his middle and pull them chest to chest.
He’s not used to this yet. Before Clark nuzzled his way into Bruce’s life, he hadn’t been cuddled since he was a pup. And it’s strange, to get used to the feeling of someone in his space, close enough to trap him, suffocate him, stab him in the back. At the same time, experiencing it again is like coming home after a long journey. It’s right, and whole, and he feels like for the first time in ages he’s breathing fresh air, where before there had just been a dusty smog.
Bruce tilts his face up slightly, brushing his nose softly against Clark’s. Their eyes meet, and there’s a brief moment’s hesitation, before they’re falling into each other, lips pressing firmly against one another before easing into a gentle slide. Like everything Clark’s done for him today, it’s gentle but sure and sets off a warming feeling in his chest.
With each second they spend melting together, Clark gripping his waist firmly and Bruce running his tongue across Clark’s soft lips, the thrumming under Bruce’s skin starts to ease to a mild warmth and lingering sense of discomfort. Before long though, the kisses start to alight another feeling that’s all too familiar for Bruce being in heat, and he starts to pull away gently. With one final peck, they separate, but Clark still holds him close, and Bruce buries himself into the crook of Clark’s neck, feeling secure in the strength of him and the surety of his presence. He stays there blissfully, basking in the feeling and waiting for the meds to kick in.
-
He gets maybe twenty minutes of peace before feeling the anticipatory tightening of his muscles. A cramp starts to bloom in his belly, and Bruce twitches with the instinct to curl into himself, suddenly breathing low and heavy.
“B?”
He doesn’t respond, and instead grits his teeth against the new spasm wretching its way through his body. It’s intense, but he can fight it. If he powers through this round of cramps, the meds should kick in before the next one.
Clark’s looking at him with those cornflower blue eyes, full of concern, and Bruce hates feeling this way. He hisses through the pain, and is opening his mouth to form the words “I’m fine,” when a sharp pain cracks like lightning through his back. He can only gasp at the sudden agony, tears pricking his eyes, as a high, long whine pours out from his chest.
“Crap-” Clark’s concern turns to panic. He’s never seen his partner in this much pain outside of a mission, and even then he’s not nearly as vocal. “What do you need Bruce? How do I fix it?”
Bruce just whines again and gives in to the need to curl up in a ball, wrapping his arms around himself forcefully and clenching his eyes shut.
Clark takes a deep breath to gather his resolve, before reaching out carefully and cradling Bruce’s face in his hands. He whines at the sensation, but melts into the touch. Okay, progress.
“B,” he calls out gently. “I need you to open your eyes for me.”
It takes a moment, and Clark almost thinks Bruce hasn’t heard him, but he eventually blinks open his eyes. They’re red-rimmed and shining with held back tears, pupils blown dark.
“Do you need medical attention?”
Bruce grits his teeth and moves his head side-to-side once. No.
“Can you tell me where it hurts the most?”
He breathes deeply through his nose before trying to respond. “It-,” Bruce starts before being cut off by a whimper.
“Take your time.”
“My back,” he whispers once he’s gathered the strength.
“Okay,” Clark moves one of his hands to Bruce’s lower back, and strokes the reddened area with firm, sure movements. “Is this okay?”
“Can you…” Bruce looks into Clark’s eyes, gaze momentarily assessing and pleading, before his face hardens and he looks down instead, biting his lip.
“Tell me what it is, B. I want to help.”
He glances up for just a second, and then takes hold of the hand still caressing his cheek. “Can you lay…” He pauses, but Clark doesn’t interrupt this time. “Can you lay across my back like you’re mounting me? Pressure always helps,” he finishes. The request trails off into a mumble as it goes on, but of course Clark can hear it anyway.
“Yeah, babe, of course.”
Clark gently turns him onto his stomach, and Bruce moans as Clark drapes his larger body over him, pushing him into the nest. He can feel his instincts crowding his mind at the sensation, and the pain in Bruce's back wanes at the steady pressure, but the cramps only intensify, his muscles constricting and body forcing out slick. He whimpers, unwittingly slipping out a quiet, “Alpha…”
Clark just holds him tighter and whispers, “I’ve got you, sweetheart.” Bruce whimpers again, and Clark nuzzles into his partner’s hair, trying to reassure him with the gentle caress.
Bruce feels heavy and dazed, but his heart is still racing with the effort of fighting against the pain. Clark’s presence is all-encompassing and grounding, and it’s almost right, but something’s missing. What’s missing?
The curve of Clark’s jaw suddenly bumps against the delicate scent gland on Bruce’s neck, and a shiver rips through him. There.
“I need you…,” Bruce whines, high and desperate, long past the capacity for any feelings of shame. “I need you. Clark… Please, I need…” He distantly senses that he might be rambling but that’s not as important as Clark covering him, claiming him, marking him.
“I’ve got you….Shhhh, I’ve got you, B.” Clark murmurs into his ear as he firmly nuzzles and scents him, that rich and earthy smell flooding the nest. A midwest plain meets its unlikely match in an east-coast canopy: earthy tones of dry hay embrace the damp sweetness of pine, and country molasses twines together with vanilla and jasmine. It’s heavenly, and when Bruce gets a lungful on his next breath, it’s like a balm on his very existence.
His muscles finally release the tension that had been building with each contraction, and for the first time in days… there’s no pain. Not even the low-level kind that usually persists no matter how many of the meds he takes. His bones feel like jelly and mind is even less tangible. It’s unlike any feeling he's had before, and he’s definitely never felt this pleasant during one of his heats. (The reason why though is slippery in his mind. Bruce can only feel the thought that he has to do this again next time.)
The moment of bliss quickly bleeds into exhaustion, as his relaxed body is finally able to register just how hard it’s been working this whole time. Before his eyes can fully flutter closed, a steady rumbling above him grabs his attention, and Oh, yeah. That’s a purr. There’s purring above him and that means his Alpha is here, and happy to ensure he’s covered and safe. This is safe. And with that thought resonating through Bruce’s mind, his consciousness begins to slip further and further, until he falls asleep.