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The door of the broom closet creaks dangerously, every shelf in the room rattling with each impact.
Bruce doesn't know if his mind is turning to cornmeal mush because each thump of his head against the door is giving him a concussion, or because Clark is quite literally fucking his brains out, but either way, he can't spare any thoughts toward preserving the structural integrity of the closet. Clark's the one with super strength. He should be the one held responsible if he pounds Bruce too hard against the wall and brings down the whole building around them.
“Ah, ah, ah-” Bruce knows he sounds like a brainless slut, incapable of doing much more than moaning and mewling as Clark uses him as a human sex toy, but it's hardly his fault. He's already come three times, and his dumb virgin body can barely take what Clark's giving him. He wants it, though. He wants to be used until Clark is satisfied. It's what they've been building up to for the last several months, after all.
“Look at you, making a mess of your panties, leaking all over my house crest. Should've known you'd be a slut for me, Bruce,” Clark growls as he continues his ruthless pace, his hands branding Bruce's skin with yet another mark that will remind them both of who Bruce belongs to. He’s already sucked a whole ring of bruises around Bruce’s collarbone and neck, and filled him up twice, but it isn’t enough. It’s never going to be enough.
“Cl-ark!”
“God, even after two rounds you’re still so tight-”
“It’s because you- you’re the only person I’ve ever- hn, oh god please- there was never anybody before you-”
Clark pauses long enough for Bruce to catch his breath. Behind his glasses, Clark's eyes seem to darken before something crunches to Bruce's left. In a daze, he turns his head to see the wall cracking under the force of Clark’s grip, thin lines spidering through the brick under Clark’s hand.
“I’m your first?”
“Yes,” Bruce whines as Clark starts moving again, his huge dick grinding in deeper than Bruce thought possible. He has no idea how he’s going to walk back to his dorm after this.
“Jeez, you’re so- don’t let anyone else fuck you. Don’t let anyone but me even touch you, do you understand?”
“No one but Selina even likes me, why would they be, ugh, touching me-”
“Because you’re- you don’t even see it, do you?”
“What?” Bruce tries to ask, but it devolves into a whimper.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re mine, Bruce. Don’t forget it.”
“Yours,” Bruce agrees, wrapping his arms around Clark’s neck and hoping he'll survive long enough to remember this.
“Seriously? Clark Kent? Hasn't he been really awful to you since like, middle school?” Selina asked when Bruce began putting his plan into action.
“That was ages ago. He grew up, like the rest of us.”
“I mean, maybe he stopped announcing the color of your underwear out loud, but he's clearly still looking, which is weird.”
“He's nicer now! He doesn't pester me about my work anymore, or purposely use his powers on me. He even saved me my usual seat in calc the other day.”
“I don't know, Bruce, I just think you could do better.”
“And I think you're too blinded by our friendship to see how untrue that is. Look, it's just a little experiment. To see if he's really looking.”
Selina didn’t understand because she was cool and beautiful and had droves of people desperate to date her. Bruce, meanwhile, had only kissed one person (Selina, back in 8th grade), and had never held the attention of anyone for any reason but as a bullying target. So if Clark was still peeking at his underwear, but wasn’t using it to torment Bruce, then Bruce would work with that. He would slowly test the waters and see if maybe Clark’s disdain had mellowed out.
Bruce wasn’t exactly much of a catch; even after years of being Batman he was on the scrawny side. He still had no powers besides his smarts, and he had only a handful of friends. But Clark had been friendlier to him recently, now that they were in college, and maybe it was a good sign. Maybe Bruce had a sliver of a chance with him.
Bruce always knew Clark was smarter than he let on. Despite all the times he cheated off Bruce's exams, he was clearly capable of passing his classes, which is why they had freshman calculus together. Add that to Clark’s strength and confidence, not to mention his boyish good looks, and Bruce had never really let go of his stupid childhood crush. Sure, Clark had been kind of an asshole when they were kids, but then again, he wasn’t the only one. Bruce was far from being Mr. Popular. So it was only par for the course that Clark was mean to him. It wasn’t like he was ever trying to commit crimes like Jack. Bruce could forgive him for the past if Clark had truly (mostly) changed.
Besides, if Clark was still totally terrible, he wouldn’t be Superman, would he?
Sometime during Bruce’s high school years, the need for heroics in terrible Gotham finally caught on with the rest of the school. It helped that Diana was leading the charge, and others admired her enough to follow suit when they saw the real change she was making. Batman, on the other hand, was still a secret vigilante, so while Bruce helped as best he could, no one would ever know he was aiding Gotham too.
Anyway, even if they did know, it wouldn’t have stopped him from being shown up by Superman the second Clark decided to give part-time heroics a try. Always the same story, Bruce supposed. But he wasn't dissuaded from his own work, and Clark's growing dedication to saving others was appealing enough that Bruce began to keep track of his work around town.
Admittedly, he became something of a fan. Maybe bought a few pieces of Superman merchandise.
Anyway, the point was that Clark was not a jerk anymore but he was still using his powers to x-ray Bruce’s pants, and had undoubtedly caught on to the fact that Bruce had switched from patterned boxers to lacy panties.
Bruce hadn’t started wearing pretty undergarments until his senior year of high school, when he’d been sitting on Selina's bed and she had seen him staring with some envy at the cute, frilly, cat-patterned panties on her chair.
“You know,” she’d said as he helped hold her clips while she braided her hair, “I have a new pair. Never been worn. If you wanted to try them on.”
He had denied it with a sputter at first, but the thought hadn’t stopped haunting him for weeks, so when he’d finally given in, it’d felt like a relief when he slid the panties on and they made him feel as lovely as they looked.
After that, Selina had helped Bruce choose some pairs that actually fit him and he’d been converted to wearing only lingerie since then.
Bruce assumed that Clark had stopped x-raying him some time in high school, but their recent weird interaction in calculus made him reevaluate that thought.
At first, things between them were stilted, but shockingly normal. Bruce gave Clark a wary glance when he realized they were in the same class, but Clark didn’t try to knock him over or strong-arm him into helping him with class work. He just nodded curtly in Bruce’s direction, before taking the seat behind him, and that had been that. The extent of their interactions were passing papers to each other or engaging in the occasional brief discussion about problems when asked to by the professor. It was the best their relationship had been in years, so Bruce had no reason to complain.
And then, one day, he turned around to hand the stack of worksheets to Clark, and found him staring, red-faced and distraught.
"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned. It took Clark a moment to shake himself out of his stupor, and then he snatched the papers from Bruce's hand without a word, glaring down at his worksheet instead of answering Bruce's question.
That alone wouldn't have been enough to make Bruce suspicious, but as they were filing out of the lecture hall that morning, he bent down to grab an eraser someone dropped, and from the corner of his eye, caught Clark looking right at his ass. He scuttled off before the moment got weirder, but as he sat in his next class, he came to the conclusion that it had to be his underwear that was throwing Clark off. There was no way Clark would just be randomly checking him out, but he did have a track record for x-raying through Bruce's pants.
So after consulting Selina, Bruce put on a particularly provocative pair of panties, cut low in the back with ribbons laced up in invitation to anyone who might be peeking. He sat in his usual seat, waiting for Clark to sit behind him as usual. And then, ten minutes into the lecture, he casually knocked his pencil off his desk and bent down to reach for it. He had the foresight to send it far enough away that it would take him a few seconds to grab it, giving him the chance to basically put his ass on display right in front of Clark. He wasn't gutsy enough to try and arch his back provocatively like Selina suggested, or to wiggle his butt or anything. That would all be too embarrassing.
After fetching his pencil, he returned to his seat, but not before glancing quickly to see if Clark reacted. Not only was Clark’s face red, but his eyes were also glowing. He was pointedly not looking anywhere near Bruce.
Jackpot.
Clark’s pen had also exploded into twenty pieces, splattering his hand with ink. Feeling kind of bad about it, Bruce reached into his pencil case and slid one of his many spare pencils onto Clark’s desk before speedily turning back toward the professor so he didn’t have to see Clark’s face when he accepted it. Bruce didn’t hear any wood shattering behind him, so he had to assume that Clark hadn’t destroyed the pencil, which was good enough for him.
At the end of class, Bruce chose to dawdle so he and Clark wouldn’t leave the room at the same time. This gave him a chance to catch a glimpse of Clark’s face when he hurried past; it was still faintly pink.
Bruce was pretty certain Clark was still looking through his pants, but what he wasn’t sure about was whether or not Clark liked what he saw. He would need to test the hypothesis a few more times before upping the ante. Good thing he had a shopping trip planned with Selina this weekend.
Clark was teetering on the verge of losing his mind.
For the first few months of college, he’d been content to more or less ignore Bruce Wayne. Not out of any malice, but rather the opposite.
He hadn’t been very nice to Bruce in middle school, which, looking back on it, wasn’t something he was proud of. His ma and pa raised him to be better than that, and Clark could say that he was generally pretty kind and respectful to everyone around him. Just not Bruce.
His deep, dark secret was that he always thought Bruce was kind of cute in a dorky, skinny way, which manifested in strange swimmy feelings in Clark’s gut that made him get weirdly aggressive. Bruce’s hair was silky and his body slim and fit and his mouth a pretty shade of pink. Some time in high school Clark started imagining those soft lips wrapped around his dick while those pale eyes stared up at him and it had him creaming his pants faster than any other fantasy ever did. Or any real person.
Clark had dated only a few people during high school, like Diana, but none of the relationships lasted very long. They were always better off as friends, so he tried to move on quickly. He’d fooled around with a few more people than he dated, but it had all been casual, and some of the encounters were more awkward than anything. He’d never tried asking Bruce out, of course, being too ashamed by his previous behavior.
Leaving Bruce alone seemed to be the best way to make amends, so when they wound up at the same university (as did a fifth of their graduating class), Clark decided that he would just give Bruce space. Hopefully that would make Bruce feel a little better about having to share any more of his life with Clark.
Unfortunately, they had calculus together, and Clark made the mistake of sitting directly behind Bruce on day one. It would have been worse to intentionally avoid sitting near Bruce after they acknowledged each other, so Clark had no choice, really. And then the class naturally gravitated to the same seats every time, so Clark always wound up with a great view of Bruce, distracting him through the entire class just by existing.
Clark still got his work done, but his focus wasn’t exactly razor sharp when his high school crush was right there, so close that Clark could reach out and touch him (but that would be weird). It was a good thing he had a photographic memory, so he could absorb his math while spending about half the time staring at Bruce instead. The small cowlick on the back of his head that the comb didn’t always reach, the sensual curve of the nape of his neck, his cute ears that sometimes flushed pink when he was embarrassed.
There was a lot to be distracted by, and a few months in, Clark could definitively say he still had not gotten over his crush.
With that constantly on his mind, one day Clark tuned back in to realize he hadn’t taken notes on the last ten minutes of lecture. He could probably solve this problem by asking a classmate later what he missed, but he didn’t want to risk misunderstanding the rest of the lesson, so he decided to do what he told himself he wouldn’t anymore: use his x-ray vision to peek at Bruce’s notes.
He felt a little guilty about it, but it wasn’t like he was cheating this time. He would just see what Bruce had written down and then pay more attention for the rest of class.
This plan immediately fell apart upon looking under Bruce’s clothes. Besides the illicit thrill of seeing Bruce’s bare skin, something drew Clark’s eyes right away.
Bruce was wearing what was basically a scrap of red lace underneath his neatly pressed slacks. It barely covered his ass. It was shocking enough that Clark nearly bit his tongue, and he stared for a minute longer than necessary before remembering why he was using x-ray vision in the first place. After scrawling down his missed notes, he tried to focus on what the professor was saying as he demonstrated a problem on the board, but the image of Bruce’s panties plagued his mind. He did the sensible thing and snuck five more glances through the rest of class, completely ruining his understanding of today’s topic and thoroughly confirming that Bruce was indeed wearing lingerie.
That was the beginning of Clark’s downfall.
He resisted looking for one whole day, but he caved the next, and found that Bruce was now wearing a cute pair of pink gingham panties with a strawberry pattern. As he worked through the practice problem on the board, Clark imagined Bruce lying on a picnic blanket with him, wearing nothing but his panties and offering Clark a strawberry. Clark almost ripped a hole through his notebook.
Sitting in his dorm room that night, Clark kept thinking about Bruce. Not just his underwear, but his eyes and smile and the fingertips that sometimes brushed against Clark when he passed papers back, and the way his hair curled away from his neck when it grew a bit too long. He thought about Bruce in his room and his bed. And then he rolled over and screamed quietly into his pillow because he was completely doomed.
He looked again the next time they had class, and the next. One day, Bruce almost noticed him peeking, which only made Clark more awkward. He defaulted back to being kind of a jerk, which didn’t feel great, but got him out of the lecture hall without totally embarrassing himself. Of course, the following class, Bruce was wearing something even sexier, and Clark got ink all over his hands crushing his pen in a fit of raging lust.
Clark was becoming a monster. But he couldn’t stop peeking. He started looking forward to calculus class for all the wrong reasons. It was like Bruce’s choice of panties was a fun little surprise gift for Clark, and god, how he wanted to unwrap it.
He almost got caught again the day Bruce was wearing a lacy black-trimmed number with a round cutout right over the peachy curve of his ass. It was like an invitation for Clark’s dick, and he started leaning forward without thinking, luckily saved by Bruce shifting in his seat to turn and give him a curious look. Clark muttered something about missing the page number for their book, which Bruce kindly supplied before turning back around.
He had to fight not to let his line of sight drop to Bruce’s crotch whenever they nodded good morning to each other, because it would be too hard to resist peeking. The last time he’d caught a glimpse of Bruce’s soft cock tucked into an adorable, frilly, white pair of panties patterned with pawprints. Two little pink cat ears poked up at the hem to rest on Bruce's hipbones and Clark almost broke another pen.
The only solution was to get through calculus this semester and then never sit near Bruce Wayne ever again in his entire life.
Despite knowing better, Clark still snuck the occasional peek at Bruce’s panties. It was an addiction, a terrible flaw that he was ashamed to have. It didn’t help that Bruce seemed marginally less afraid of Clark now, offering him a small smile at the beginning of most classes.
Today, he was trying to concentrate on his lecture for once, and succeeding rather well, until Bruce dropped his pencil.
“Hgg,” Bruce muttered, bending over to fold under his desk. And with Bruce wriggling around with his butt on display, Clark felt like it was a given that he should look. Just a quick glimpse, that was all. To exorcise it out of his system for the day.
But he was in no way mentally prepared for what he was about to see.
Bruce. His bottom lifted in the air as he crawled around on the ground. Wearing Superman panties.
Clark’s brain imploded.
Bruce was wearing Clark’s symbol, right over his pert ass, and Clark was, what? Supposed to sit here and listen to his professor drone on about integrals and pretend that everything was normal? Was such a thing even possible???
Was Bruce a Superman fan? He had to know Superman and Clark were one and the same; they’d gone to school together for years. He was also more than aware that Clark used to x-ray his pants to look at his underwear. Which meant that Bruce was wearing Superman panties in front of Superman knowing that Superman might look at them—
Clark ripped his gaze away from Bruce’s ass as Bruce straightened back up. He couldn’t have Bruce catching on that he knew, not in the middle of class. This was hell on earth.
He dissociated through the entire rest of lecture. His cock was hard enough to cut glass. Well, technically it always was, but currently he felt like he was going to explode in his jeans if he didn’t get inside Bruce in the next ten minutes.
The rest of the lesson felt interminable, but when it finally did end, Clark immediately grabbed Bruce by the arm and yanked him to his feet.
“We need to talk,” he bit out, watching as Bruce’s eyes widened, perhaps in fear. It caused him to soften his grip, sliding his hand off Bruce’s forearm to take his hand instead. And then he was tugging Bruce out of the hall, off toward the first deserted hallway they could find.
They finally pulled to a stop on the third floor, next to the offices of some professors who weren’t currently in. Bruce’s free hand clutched the strap of his backpack tight, but his eyes didn’t shy away when Clark whirled around to stare at him.
“You-” Clark started stupidly, grasping for anything that could explain his maelstrom of emotions. “You’re wearing my underwear.” Mission failed.
But Bruce knew exactly what Clark was trying to say, because he set his jaw and declared, “Yes. I am.”
“Y-wh- why,” Clark spluttered.
“Why do you think? I admire Superman.”
“Yes, but I’m Superman!”
“Obviously. It isn’t like you try that hard to hide it.”
“So then why would you wear my panties?”
“Clark, you’re going in circles. The more important question is why were you looking?” Bruce advanced forward, forcing Clark to take a step back. Crap. He was not prepared to run damage control.
“I was just curious if you still had bunny rabbits on your boxers-”
“I don’t. But you knew that, didn’t you, Clark?”
Bruce kept walking until Clark had nowhere left to retreat, his back bumping into the wall.
“You’ve been looking every day for the last few weeks, haven’t you?” He poked his fingertip into Clark’s chest. It took a Herculean effort not to grab his hand and lace their fingers together like they do in the movies.
“Not every day,” Clark tried to deny, like an idiot, but it only brought a smile to Bruce’s face, shark-sharp and terrifying. Clark’s dick somehow hardened even further.
“Which one’s your favorite pair?”
As if possessed by the spirit of his own aching cock, Clark answered hoarsely, “The one you’re wearing now.”
“Would you like to see it up close?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Come on.”
Bruce grabbed Clark’s hand again — and it was only now that Clark registered the warmth, the calluses, the elegant curve of his fingers — and pulled him toward a closet a few doors down. Clark was pretty sure the door was locked, but Bruce managed to jimmy it open with a paperclip in his pocket, and before Clark knew it, he was watching Bruce strip in the dim supply closet.
His shirt came off first, and the temperature of Clark’s face increased as he took in the sight of Bruce’s pert nipples and slim waist. The heat was building behind his eyes, and Clark had to consciously calm himself down. Of course, all his vitals spiked again as Bruce kicked off his shoes and pants, leaving him in nothing but his socks and Superman panties.
It should have been ridiculous, but it was the hottest thing Clark had ever seen: Bruce, flushed with faint embarrassment, his cock starting to strain against his underwear, obscenely stretching Clark’s house crest.
“Bruce,” was all Clark managed to say as he stepped close enough to hold Bruce by the hips, Bruce shivered, but didn’t try to escape Clark’s hold. His eyes were so dark, his lashes fluttering as he blinked rapidly due to his nerves. Clark could feel his racing pulse, so much faster than it ever got. His skin was slightly cold under Clark’s fingertips, and when Clark pressed his hands down a bit harder, Bruce gave him a breathy sigh. Clark's thumbs brushing against the hem of the panties snapped the last tenuous strand of his self-control.
It was easy to lift Bruce into his arms and finally claim that pretty mouth that had been haunting his dreams for god knows how many years. Bruce was inexperienced but eager, matching Clark’s pace and opening up under his coaxing.
Kissing Bruce was exciting enough in and of itself, but there was no way Clark was going to refuse when Bruce pulled back and said, with his voice husky and his eyes half-lidded, “Clark, I want you.”
It was hard not to know, with the way their clothed dicks were rubbing together, but the confession made Clark light up anyway.
“Okay. Um, I'm not sure how much we can do in a closet, but-”
“There's, uh. Lubricant in the front pocket of my backpack,” Bruce mumbled, which pulled a surprised laugh out of Clark.
“There is? Did you plan this?”
“Well, I didn't wear the underwear by accident...”
“Still, there was no guarantee I would look today. Or that we would end up here.”
“I was feeling optimistic,” Bruce said, gaze flitting away self-consciously, and he looked so cute that Clark couldn't hold back any longer.
“I- I’ve been using my x-ray vision on you these days for the same reason as I did back then. I just never had the nerve to do anything more than stare at you from afar.”
Bruce’s pleased expression was so worth the risk of confessing. “Really? But you always seem so self-assured.”
“I guess you have a way of shaking my confidence. Wish I’d figured out a better way to deal with it back then.”
“Well, now would be a good time to start.” Clark met Bruce’s shy smile with his own and sped over to his backpack to get the ball rolling.
“Will you keep the panties on?”
“If Superman’s asking, how could I say no?”
Even after coming inside Bruce for the third time, Clark still has a little more stamina left in him, which is why he’s floating a few feet off the ground now, Bruce seated on his cock and completely exhausted with pleasure. Bruce's legs dangle limply as he relies on Clark to move him, his hands digging into Clark's abdomen as he holds on for dear life. Even in Clark’s wildest fantasies he’d never expected this, so he’s enjoying it for as long as he can.
Clark lifts Bruce several inches off his dick before slamming him back down, fucking into the thick load of his own semen already filling Bruce up. The cry that it wrenches out of Bruce is sweet and plaintive; the way Bruce clenches weakly around him is pushing Clark toward his limit. Through him surges the possessive urge to completely drench Bruce’s insides with his seed, until it’s undeniable that he belongs to Clark. All that aggression that manifested in Clark bumping Bruce into lockers back in high school was just the misplaced need to see Bruce crying on his cock.
Bruce isn't currently crying, but he is adorably wanton in the way he tries to rock down into Clark's hard thrusts.
“We, mhn- we must’ve missed at least one class by now…”
“I think you can afford one absence,” Clark groans as he continues working Bruce up and down his cock like he’s a weightless doll. He should keep Bruce like this all the time. Have him warm Clark’s dick all through calculus. Let everyone see how much Bruce enjoys Kryptonian cock.
“I can, b-but can you? You're awfully unfocused in- ah! - in class sometimes.”
“Only when you're around. I'm a model student when you aren't there to distract me.”
“Maybe it'd be better if we didn't sit near each other anymore.”
Bruce sounds too coherent for Clark’s taste so he jostles him harder, tugging him down deep enough to make him wail.
“Clark! That’s too-”
“You don’t want to be close to me?”
“That isn’t what- oh fuck, Clark, please- I’m so-”
“I don’t want you distracting anyone else, Bruce. I’ll keep sitting behind you and if my grades start to slip, you help tutor me, alright?” He starts stroking Bruce’s cock as his hips stutter, driving them both toward one more hard-earned orgasm.
“Yes, sure, anything,” Bruce babbles. He’s trying to cant into Clark’s touch, but Clark holds him in place, impaled deep on his shaft.
“Neat. I’m excited to have a study session with you.”
A private study party in Clark’s dorm room, where he can make Bruce scream as loud as he wants without anyone pestering them. Even now, the thought of pounding Bruce into his mattress is getting him even more worked up. Or maybe they could go to Bruce’s room and give Clark the chance to see his collection of panties. Bruce might even own some more Superman merchandise…
Bruce nods mindlessly back, his eyes tearing up as Clark returns to jerking him off while hammering into his tight heat. His panties are ruined, accidentally torn when Clark was rearranging him earlier and dripping with both their spend. His desperate moans and gasps crescendo to a peak, his whole body tensing up as he comes with Clark's name on his lips. He looks so rapturously beautiful that Clark can no longer hold out; he returns his hand to grip Bruce by the waist as he empties yet another load of his cum inside. Each rock of his hips pulls a whine from Bruce, until Clark is finally spent, satisfied. In the afterglow, he slowly floats back down to the ground, his eyes blinking back open to see Bruce looking at him.
Clark's back touches the closet floor at the same moment that Bruce rocks forward to give him a kiss, the two of them melting into each other with a moan.
“We should get out of here before we get caught,” Bruce murmurs as they trade a few more slow kisses.
“Good point.”
Bruce makes a cute little mewl as Clark pulls out and stands them both up. He looks completely defiled, his stomach splattered with his own release, bruises and love bites marring his flushed skin. His legs are a little shaky.
“It’s uh. Getting everywhere,” he mutters awkwardly as he peers back at his own ass. He’s right, Clark’s cum is leaking out of his wrecked hole and down his creamy thighs. Damn. Clark feels himself getting hard all over again.
Bruce notices his growing erection and reaches out to give it an admonishing little slap.
“Hey,” Clark says with a pout.
“You can't go flying around like that. You'll get taken in by campus security. And I don't want other people ogling what's mine." He gives Clark a stern glare that has him standing at attention, nodding obediently in agreement. Bruce agreed to be Clark's; it's only fair that Clark is his in return.
“Okay. Let me just...”
Luckily, the floor is still deserted, so Clark speed-cleans himself as best he can with paper towels from the bathroom a few doors down, before zooming back to do the same to Bruce.
The hasty clean and dress leaves Bruce clothed but addled, and Clark with a pair of destroyed panties in his hand.
Bruce braces his palms against his knees, face strained. “Urgh-”
“Sorry, the first time is always a little disorienting. Also, you're still, uh. I mean, there's still- in you- um.” Clark makes several futile gestures toward Bruce's midsection as he straightens.
“Still filled to the brim with your cum?”
“Oh lord, please don't put it that way.”
“Why? You clearly enjoyed doing it. Take pride in your work,” Bruce says with a laugh. He leans up to give Clark a peck on the cheek. “Let's go, before everyone else can tell.” He holds out his hand, his cheeks flushing when Clark grabs his hand. Unfortunately, it only makes them both aware of what's in Clark's other hand.
“I'll get you a new pair,” he says quickly, incinerating the panties with a blast of heat vision. Bruce startles at the sight of his underwear turning into ashes. “Five pairs, even.”
“That's okay, I can afford as many Superman panties as I want.”
Clark clears his throat, trying not to sound too eager as he explains, “Yeah, but there's some other Superman stuff I'd like to see you wearing too.”
“Is it your letterman jacket? Because that's a little passé, Kent,” Bruce teases as he puts his backpack back on. He opens the closet door, which is looking worse for the wear after Clark fucked him mercilessly against it.
The thought of Bruce wearing his varsity jacket around campus is just as appealing as the thought of seeing him in a Superman bikini. Clark’s mouth goes dry.
“I won’t say no, though,” Bruce adds when he notices Clark’s eyes glazing over. “At this point I’ve missed the rest of my classes for the day, so if you bring me to your dorm, I can try it on. I mean, only if you want.”
Clark can feel his walking pace involuntarily increase. “If we go to my room now, we’re going to study so hard you can’t walk straight for the next week. So keep that in mind.”
Bruce contemplates this as they descend to the first floor. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing my boyfriend can fly.”
“I suppose it is,” Clark concurs a second after the happy shock of hearing those words wears off. “In fact, you should start getting used to it sooner rather than later.”
He scoops Bruce into his arms with ease, pleased when Bruce naturally wraps his arms around Clark’s neck and leans into his chest.
“I could get used to this.” Bruce’s voice is filled with wonder as they fly right out of the building, past all the curious eyes of the passing students. “I always wondered what it would feel like to fly with you.”
The reminder that Bruce has been thinking about Clark for as long as he’s been on Clark’s mind makes Clark’s pulse skip. They sure didn’t take the easy path here, but they figured it out in the end.
“If there’s anything else you’re wondering about, all you have to do is ask.”
“That’s great, because I have so many questions.”
“I’ll do my best to answer. But first,” Clark says as they approach his dormitory, “you have some tutoring to do.”
He can feel Bruce laughing against his chest, a soft rumble that fills him with warmth.
“Okay. If you’re a good enough student, I’ll keep the jacket on while we study. And maybe in class, too.”
What an incentive. Clark will never be able to concentrate in calculus ever again. Oh well. Even a failing grade would be worth it.