What I've Lost

A/N: Based off of this - Get rid of spaces and parentheses: (h t t p) (:) (/ /) dontforgetcoffee.( tumblr ).(c o m) /post/146190559613

Picture prompt: I saw you in my dreams again. It felt so real.

Since New52 Clark recently (spoiler) died, I felt like this picture was very appropriate to write an angsty story about New52 Bruce dreaming about New52 Clark after Clark's death.

His skin is soft against Bruce's hands; hot to the touch but not unpleasant. His skin is so smooth that one wouldn't think this man battles the impossible every day. His hair is just as soft as his skin, a deep black that has a healthy shine to it. That shine, almost blue in nature, begs for Bruce's hands to just run through those silky locks.

And then there are his eyes. His eyes that are so, so blue that if someone looked close enough, they would be able to tell they were of alien color. Bruce could be happy doing nothing all day as long as he got to stare into those eyes. He feels like he is drowning in them.

"Bruce." A whisper that blows air onto his ear, a sigh that causes things to run over his skin. Bruce shivers and whines, letting his partner know how much he is enjoying this. "Bruce." Again, a puff of air that ruffles his hair by his ear.

Bruce grips his partner's hair, tugs on it hard as he knows he can't hurt the other. He squeezes his partner's bicep, encouraging him to go faster, harder, and when it happens, Bruce keens at the feeling.

"Clark," he breathes breathlessly and Clark pulls back from where his teeth were sunk into Bruce's neck. He stares at Bruce, looking at his face up and down. When he licks his lips, Bruce is compelled to kiss him. Bruce pulls Clark down by his hair and attaches their lips together with tongue and teeth.

He can feel Clark inside him, on him, all around him. He's suffocating but Bruce doesn't mind as he enjoys having the Kryptonian consume him. He allows the love he feels for the alien to pour through in every touch, every kiss, in every breath as they join as one. The pressure, the love, keeps building and building within Bruce until he feels like he is going to explode. And when Clark whispers in his ear to let go, that he loves him as well, Bruce does, shivering and moaning as everything lights up inside him.

He's burning inside, the love and passion alighting in flames until they spill out against Clark's lips in a mantra. And Clark says it back, those three little words, over and over again until he, too, explodes deep within Bruce.

Bruce can't breathe, his body too hot yet too cold at the same time, and he doesn't understand how that can be. He's suffocating, drowning, while he's on fire inside. And when he opens his eyes with one final gasp, he's alone in his bed, room dark with a moonless night. His sheets are wet from sweat and cum yet Bruce doesn't feel satisfied at all.

Sitting up slowly with even, slow breaths, he looks around the pitch black room, trying to swallow the lump in his throat and bury the burning sensation in his chest. It's not the first time he's dreamt of Clark and it certainly isn't the first time he's dreamt of having sex with him. But it is the first time since he's died and the pain is almost unimaginable.

Bruce figures he can get through this as he's been through so much worst. Two of his sons have died in the past but they came back. Clark isn't coming back and Bruce knows this. He startles when there is a noise in the dark and is surprised when he figures out that it was him choking back an agonized sob. He's never been that good at coping when it comes to deaths of the ones he cares about. There was no way of saving Clark, not this time, and it hurts more than any physical pain he could ever experience.

He doesn't notice that his cheeks are wet from tears until he sniffles and it surprises him to realize that he is crying. He's been in love with Clark for a very long time though he never told him. How could he tarnish someone like Clark with his love? Bruce would never destroy Clark by telling him such a thing, put that kind of burden on a man like him. What kind of cruelty would that be? Because Bruce is damaged goods and his love ruins everything.

So he let Clark go, let him go to Lois and Diana, let his love be hidden behind the façade of best friends, of brothers. And as much as it hurt him to see, he knew it was for the best. But now Clark is gone, gone for real, for good, without ever knowing how Bruce felt about him and somehow, that seems worst.

He'll no longer see that smile, touch that skin, that hair. He'll never see those alien blue eyes that he learned to love, learned to drown in. Never again will his ray of sun shine in his life. The light has been burned out, squashed, something to never return and light up Bruce's path.

Bruce pulls the sheet to his chest and allows his throat to constrict around another sob, tears hot as they roll down his cheeks. He hasn't cried until now about Clark dying. Batman doesn't cry and neither does Brucie. But right now, as Bruce sits alone in the dark of his bedroom, with no one to see or hear him, he no longer cares. Bruce no longer cares if his body shakes with each sob, if his tears stream down his flushed cheeks. He's alone and there's no one else around to care either. No one has to know just how broken the bat really is.

When Bruce lies down to bury his face in his pillow, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open in hiccupping breaths, his chest clenches, holding onto the pain of loss like an iron grip. He doesn't know how to let go, never learned how when someone he loved died, and now he feels like the one dying.

The inside of his body is on fire but instead of passion and love that is causing it, it is grief and sorrow. He saw Clark in his dreams again. It felt so real.

A/N: I've been writing so much fluff and happiness lately that I was bound to write some angst eventually. I hope you all enjoyed this! Thank you for reading. :)