back to that post abt bruce wayne’s luscious long hair, except superbat.
bruce comes back from a mission in space where he'd been with aliens who looked down on modifying appearances in any way, claiming it was untruthful. so bruce didn't touch his hair. he was able to get away with shaving for whatever reason, but his hair had to be left alone.
he's not the biggest fan. it gets in the way, makes his head hot under the cowl, and becomes a pain to maintain after a while, lengthening his time in what should be efficient showers.
so when he arrives back in the watchtower, he's eager to make an appointment for a haircut, even sends a message down to alfred to pencil it in while he's debriefing the league on how his mission went.
he doesn't think anything of it until he's back in the cave with clark, who's being all smiley and clingy now that they're alone.
bruce manages to get clark to give him enough space to take off the suit, at least. he hooks his thumb into the cowl and tugs it over his head to hang at his back, running his hand through the long hair that tumbles into his face after being freed from the cowl.
he has to do it more than once as he pulls off his belt and plate armour, enough that he makes an irritated noise in his throat and grabs the makeshift headband he'd crafted for himself on the mission. it's enough to keep most of it back, but a few strands still fall into his eyes. bruce just sighs and tugs off his boots.
he doesn't realize clark has stopped moving until he's already in his undersuit.
bruce freezes, one hand halfway to the zipper on his front. "clark?"
clark's eyes snap to his, widening, but they keep darting upwards. "your hair," he says, sounding surprised as he steps closer.
bruce relaxes, returning to his task. "oh, that. i've already made an appointment for a cut. normally i'd trim it myself, but this is too much, and—clark, what are you doing?"
clark, who had sunk one hand into bruce's curls and grabbed bruce's wrist with the other, blinks owlishly at him. "you can't cut it," he says, sounding genuinely distressed. he tugs on it lightly before dragging his nails along bruce's scalp and dislodging the headband.
bruce suppresses a shiver as hair falls into his face again. he frowns. "it's nothing but a bother, clark," he tries to reason. "i don't have time to maintain it at this length."
"i'll take care of it for you!" clark insists.
"it's not a wig. would you just—" bruce pulls clark's hand out of his hair and ignores the soft noise of protest, glaring at him. "why do you care so much?"
clark visibly gulps. "you look good," he says in a rush, his voice gravelly. "really good."
bruce opens his mouth. closes it. he runs a hand through his hair, observing how clark tracks the movement, his pupils dilating. liquid heat pools in bruce's gut.
"hm." bruce lets his hand fall. he grabs clark's wrist and slowly brings it higher, guiding clark's fingers into the thick hair at the base of his skull.
clark grins and moves closer, scratching at his scalp in a long, slow drag. this time, bruce doesn't suppress his shiver.
