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Bruce needs help with an undercover mission. Clark can never say no to him even though he probably should before he does something stupid. Like tell Bruce he's in love with him.
refers to the thoughts or feelings of insecurity, fear, and concern over a relative lack of possessions or safety
example: "a sharp pang of jealousy"
And why is Bruce Wayne, fluent in over twenty languages, googling jealousy, you may ask? He already knows the definition, so why bother looking it up? To prove a point, that’s why. Someone else seems to have forgotten the definition and that someone has made a false accusation. Because Bruce Wayne is not jealous, he does not do jealous, and so he’s proudly showing off the screen full of examples, none of which fit him.
Jason is staring at him like he regrets ever setting foot in the cave (he probably does). He’s got his arms crossed over his chest and his face is twisted in his signature mix of disgust, indifference and annoyance. Alfred calls it his ‘Master Bruce’ face. Bruce takes offense, but really, he gets it. Jason always looks slightly constipated when he’s forced to interact with Bruce.
“The fact that you looked it up just to deny it just shows that I’m right,” Jason tells him.
“I’m making a point,” Bruce explains.
“You’re making a fool of yourself.”
You’re the fool, Bruce doesn’t say, but it’s a close call.
Jason rolls his eyes dramatically; it makes Bruce smile because Jason being in the cave at all is progress and he’ll take a few eye rolls and teasing comments over not seeing him at all. He’ll even accept Jason’s ‘Master Bruce’ face if it means that he’s here.
Jason reaches a hand out towards the screen, one single finger pointing steadily as he says: “It also says: ‘feeling or showing a resentful suspicion that one's partner is attracted to or involved with someone else’.”
Bruce frowns as he reads over that exact sentence twice before he understands what Jason is hinting at. It’s 3am, he hasn’t slept since Thursday, he’s a little sluggish, so sue him.
“Clark is not my partner,” he finally says.
“He isn’t.” Jason doesn’t even bother to pose it like a question, he just deadpans it. It’s clear he believes it just as much as Bruce believes that the dent in his motorcycle was Damian’s doing. (It could’ve technically been Damian, if it wasn’t for the fact that the security cams showed Jason sneaking in, stealing it and then coming back three hours later to park it in the cave: dent suddenly there. Jason knew the cameras were there and Bruce knew Jason knew.)
“Not my romantic partner,” Bruce says, emphasis on romantic. He’s not involved with Clark. Clark is with Lois. He’s happy with Lois and Bruce is happy that he’s happy.
“Aha.” Jason just raises his eyebrows as he points out another segment on the screen before he turns on his heel and leaves up the stairs. Probably to go talk to Alfred. His anger towards Bruce may have cooled down (slightly), but it had never even existed towards Alfred.
Bruce looks at the screen, his frown deepening as he reads the words Jason had pointed out.
A jealous husband stare mockingly back at him.
See, it’s not that Bruce doesn’t get where Jay is coming from. He is not the first of Bruce’s children to point out that Bruce has a certain… soft spot for Clark. Even Bruce is willing to admit it himself; Clark is his friend. His best friend. A good man, who cares for his family and Bruce’s too. Someone who would do anything Bruce ever asked.
Clark is Bruce’s best friend, who just so happens to be dating Lois Lane. Lois, who just so happens to be a good woman, a strong woman. Someone to be respected and who isn’t afraid to do what’s right when it’s right. She’s an admirable person, that’s easy to tell, even from a distance. And yet Bruce can’t look at her without feeling like someone’s stabbing him in the gut (and believe you me, he knows what that feels like). It’s not Lois’ fault, obviously, it’s not Clark’s either. Bruce is just protective, that’s all. He’s afraid Clark will somehow end up revealing all their identities. That’s what the stabbing feeling is about, Bruce is sure of it.
Jason isn’t so sure. Neither is Alfred. Nor Dick, nor Tim. Basically his entire family has been nagging him for weeks about this ‘feelings’ thing and tonight Jason had taken it a step further.
“Jealous,” Bruce scuffs. As if he would experience such a feeling and to make it even more ridiculous – in regard to Clark? He would never. It is simply impossible.
***
It is not impossible.
Bruce is absolutely, 100%, undoubtedly jealous, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Because Clark is with Lois. Lois makes him happy, and Bruce wants Clark to be happy.
There’s just one problem with all of this – and contrary to popular belief, it is not that he’s jealous. Bruce will find a way to learn to accept and live with that. Probably. The problem is the fact that he can is jealous of Clark and Lois at all, because that has to mean that he’s… that he likes… that he’s got feelings for Clark. And while being jealous is bad, being in love with Clark is worse.
Being in love in general is bad and not something Bruce has the time nor the energy for, but falling in love with a teammate? A friend? It might be the worst thing Bruce has ever done. And he’s done a lot of bad shit.
How will he ever survive being in love with Clark Kent? Not because Clark isn’t a good man, he is. The best, in fact. That’s the problem. Bruce has no business falling in love with Clark, he has no right. He knows it was inevitable, but he’d hoped for more time; more time to prepare although for what he’s not sure.
Clark is everything that Bruce is not. He’s bright and friendly, he’s all smiles and sunshine, and he is so good, so human, that it’s odd to think he is supposed to be the least human of all. So of course, Bruce is attracted to him. It doesn’t help he’s sculpted like a Greek god either, although it’s not the main reason Bruce finds him attractive.
Bruce likes the sound of his laugh, the way he tilts his head back when something is so funny, he can’t help but move his entire body. He likes Clark’s eyes, so blue that they look somehow fake. Bruce has seen colored contacts try to replicate the color, but they’re nowhere near it. It’s otherworldly and so beautiful Bruce can barely stand to look at them, much less into them.
He likes the way Clark hunches when he’s at work, the way he tries to blend in with the surroundings. It works beautifully on everyone around him, except Bruce. Because there is no way Bruce would ever not look at Clark and feel his chest tighten.
He likes what Clark can do with his words. Enchant and enrich and throw poetic sentences out like they’re the air he doesn’t need to breathe. He likes the way Clark puts everybody before himself, not because he has to, but because he wants to. He loves the way Clark is with his kids, the way he treats everybody like they matter. Bruce included.
He just… likes Clark. A lot.
Bruce is certain he’ll never get over the realization, the horror fresh in his chest.
***
It takes Bruce a while. It takes him longer than it should, honestly, but he comes to term with his feelings. He accepts them for what they are. Feelings that he can’t act on. It’s not the first time he’s wanted something he can’t have. It’s not the first time he’s had to let go of something for the greater good. He knows how to do this. He’s used to it.
It doesn’t mean it’s not… difficult.
Difficult is Bruce’s main setting though. He knows how to maneuver it. He need space, and he needs peace. He’ll just make sure to keep some distance between himself and Clark and his feelings will settle and eventually disappear. Or at least just be added to the mess that is Bruce’s brain.
Another problem arises, of course, because Clark isn’t just Clark. He’s Superman. And Bruce isn’t just Bruce. He’s Batman, and Batman works with Superman more often than not. At least on bigger missions. He’s been fairly successful in keeping the other leaguers out of Gotham, so he doesn’t have an issue reinforcing his ‘stay out of my city’ rule. It’s not like Superman doesn’t have enough on his shoulders already with Metropolis and the rest of the world pulling his metaphorical sleeve to get his attention.
Superman isn’t the problem, Bruce quickly realizes. Superman is busy and understands that Batman is busy. Clark on the other hand… Clark does not do well with hints. When Bruce is too busy to see him, he doubles down on texts. When Bruce doesn’t answer his calls, he shows up at the manor to make sure he’s okay. When he shows up for Sunday night dinner, because Bruce forgot to find an excuse, he’s all smiles and funny stories of his week.
Bruce tries to tell Clark he’s going to reschedule Sunday night dinners (it’s not technically a lie, Jason really doesn’t have time this Sunday, which is the only reason he gets away with it. Clark has become far too good at reading him) and for that one particular day, it works. But Clark doesn’t let go easily. He stills shows up at the manor and Bruce has a hard time rejecting him; he tries but he’s mostly unsuccessful. There’s just something about Clark’s face that Bruce can’t resist. It’s probably the otherworldly eyes. At least that’s what Bruce tries to tell himself as he feels the warmth in his chest spread every time Clark turns those warm, caring eyes on him.
So he’s not as successful as he would’ve liked. Space and peace aren’t working. Mostly because he can’t make himself keep a distance from Clark. It doesn’t help his feelings and it does not help his jealousy either. Bruce knows where Clark works, he knows who he spends his free time with when he’s not at the manor. Bruce is trying his best to ignore it all.
Little by little though he can feel his resistance crack, like old paint on a wall, chipping away. So he tries again, and again, but it doesn’t work. He won’t feel less for Clark by pushing him away, no matter how hard he tries. So he gives up; goes back to their routines, sits through dinners and meetings and outings with that warmth in his chest spreading throughout his entire body.
Clark asks if he’s got a fever. Bruce doesn’t. He’s just unbearably in love with Clark and he’s having a hard time hiding it.
It’ll be fine though. Bruce’s got this under control.
***
Bruce does not have this under control. Not even a little bit. And it is all Clark’s fault. Not because he’s figured Bruce’s feelings out – at least Bruce doesn’t think so – but because he hasn’t and he’s being… well, he’s being Clark. Sweet, caring Clark who doesn’t understand the meaning of the words personal space, and who doesn’t understand why Bruce is trying to get a little distance between them.
At this point Clark spends more time with Bruce than he does Lois, and while Bruce is happy about it, he can’t help but feel guilty. He knows Clark would never cheat on Lois, that he’d never betray her trust, but Bruce still feels like they’re doing something they shouldn’t.
Because Clark wants to have dinner, Clark wants to help Batman in Gotham, Clark texts Bruce all these silly little pictures at all hours of the day. Memes, gifs, whatever he can think of. And they make Bruce smile, and he shouldn’t be so happy to receive them.
Clark makes them dinner plans and when Bruce can’t make them, he makes sure they have lunch together the following day. He flies all the way to Gotham to meet Bruce at that one diner they both like. And Clark sits down at their booth in their diner and talks about Lois. His day with Lois, what he and Lois did, how amazingly brave Lois always is. And Bruce wants to scream.
Bruce feels like the stereotypical husband who’s having problems with his wife, who in turn is sleeping with someone behind his back. Except that his ‘wife’ isn’t his at all, and Clark isn’t actually cheating on Bruce. They’re not actually a couple, romantic, sexual or otherwise. Clark is with Lois.
It’s difficult to remember when everything Clark does seems so… domestic. Bruce can’t find a better word to describe the feeling when he finds Clark in his kitchen, preparing food with Alfred. It’s not always on Sundays, sometimes it’s several times a week.
Or when Clark’s sleep-deprived brain has him sit in the cave for hours just because Bruce isn’t done working.
“There is not a single surface in this cave that does not have a dent in it, thanks to you,” Bruce huffs at Clark when his chin hits the desk for the third time that night. He’s pretty sure he’ll need a new desk soon at this rate.
Clark looks at him with a silly expression, cheek pressed against the desk as he turns his head to better see Bruce. Then he laughs, chuckles, giggles.
“It’s not funny,” Bruce says.
“No,” Clark agrees easily, closing his eyes, even as he starts giggling again. “It’s sexy.”
How in the world Clark has gotten anything sexy out of that Bruce does not know, and he doesn’t want to know either – there’s no reason to let himself think that far. He figures the mess of his own head is enough of a battle, without having to navigate Clark’s too.
“It is neither,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. “You look like you’ve got an entire leg in the grave already. Go home.”
Clark doesn’t answer, he merely turns his head around so he can’t see Bruce anymore. Very mature. It’s not like he’s sitting less than a foot from Bruce.
“Clark,” Bruce barks. “Go. To. Bed.”
“Why are you being mean?” Clark whines as he finally lifts his head off the table. There’s a mark on his cheek for less than two seconds before his skin is smooth. His eyes are still bloodshot and heavy-lidded though.
“I’m not being mean, I’m being rational,” Bruce argues. “When’s the last time you slept?”
“When’s the last time you slept?” Clark counters, his tone mocking, and Bruce has to press his lips together to keep from snapping at the man. Then an idea pops into his head.
“Would you sleep if I did too?” He asks, careful not to sound too hopeful.
“With me?” Clark asks, too quickly.
“I –“
“You’ll sleep with me?” He repeats and his eyes are doing that thing Bruce is weak against.
“Sure,” he eventually says. It’s not like he can’t sneak into the cave again when Clark’s fallen asleep.
“Okay, if we sleep together, I’ll sleep together,” Clark mutters, head slipping onto the desk once again.
Jesus Christ, Bruce thinks. Clark is barely able to string an entire sentence together. It’s 3am, and he knows Clark hasn’t slept in several days. Not like how Bruce doesn’t sleep – Bruce gets a few minutes in here and there to keep sharp, but Clark doesn’t. He just stays awake until he’s… well, this.
And they do end up sleeping together, because when Clark finally falls asleep, Bruce is so tired he can’t find it in himself to go back to work. So he allows himself to sleep with Clark. Sleep, in the same bed and that’s all. Not that that goes unnoticed by Bruce’s kids.
It doesn’t help that Clark is well rested and happy when he wakes up (Bruce is not done sleeping after having been caught in a hell of his own making. Why he didn’t make Clark sleep in another room is something he’ll never understand about himself), and of course every single kid Bruce has ever shown a little fatherly love is at the manor that morning.
That’s when the real teasing stars.
It does not help that Clark flirts, in front of the kids. Bruce wants to strangle him. He has a tough enough time trying to convince them he’s not in love with Clark and then Clark goes and is all… lovely. And for a while it’s okay, it’s good, even. But then Clark has to go back to Metropolis, back to Lois.
Bruce is doing fine, he’s working through his emotions; he keeps seeing Clark, he keeps working with Superman. They do lunch, they do dinners, they do missions and they’re fine. They’re good. Clark doesn’t notice the strain in Bruce’s smiles – at least Bruce doesn’t think so. Clark would’ve said something if he did. So he’s fine, they’re fine.
Except Bruce’s feelings doesn’t go away, or lessen at all, no matter what he tries. They keep getting worse. And Clark keeps. Talking about. Lois.
“Will you just – shut up.” Bruce finally snaps one day when they’re in the cave.
He’s been awake for more than two days working on a case and as soon as he’d wrapped it up, Clark had appeared, announcing that they were celebrating with dinner. It’s sort of a tradition that Bruce hasn’t been able to get rid of and usually he enjoys it. But he’s tired and he feels a headache coming on.
And Clark keeps talking.
Bruce has been trying so hard to suppress everything, every butterfly in his stomach, every stab in his gut at the mere mention of Lois’ name, but he can’t do it. Not anymore.
“Excuse me?” Clark asks, clearly taken aback. Bruce hasn’t snapped at him like that in what feels like years.
“Do I have to know every single damn thing you do every day?” Bruce spits, tries to make his words hurt. Maybe he can make Clark leave him, seeing as he can’t make himself leave Clark. They’re in the cave, it’s just the two of them; there’s no one there to see how horrible he is. How his jealousy has nearly eaten up his entire insides.
“What’re you talking about?” Clark is confused, rightly so. He’s hurt too, Bruce can tell, it’s clear as day on his face. They’re past the point where they used to scream at each other in frustration. At least Clark thought they were.
Bruce tries to channel his anger and ignore the hurt look at Clark’s face. It’s been weeks, it’s been months of these feelings and he’s getting sick of it. He needs something to happen, he needs to get it off his chest, but he can’t. It’s like the words are stuck in his throat and all he wants is for Clark to just shut up about Lois.
It would be much easier if Clark just hated him, would create that distance himself so that Bruce had no choice but to get over his feelings.
“Lois this, Lois that, would you please just keep your damn mouth shut for two minutes?” He snaps, turning around so he doesn’t have to look at Clark.
“What the hell, Bruce.” Clark’s voice is steadier than Bruce would’ve thought; than he would’ve liked. He would much rather Clark yell at him. “That was uncalled for.”
“Oh yeah? And why is that?”
There’s a beat of silence and Bruce hears the telltale sound of Clark’s hand balling into a fist. He’s getting angry. Good. The next words out of his mouth are not what Bruce expects though.
“You will literally chase Selena around on rooftops for an entire night when she’s in town,” Clark says.
Bruce waits for the rest of the sentence, but it doesn’t come. He turns around with a frown. He doesn’t understand what Clark is saying.
“What does that have to do with anything?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Creating more distance, more walls between them. He’s afraid he’ll reach out if he doesn’t keep his hands locked.
“You had a child with Talia not even a decade ago, and she’s still in your life,” Clark answers, and Bruce is even more confused.
“We were never officially together,” he argues even though he has no idea why this is even relevant. What does this have to do with Clark’s incessive chatter about his perfect girlfriend? Bruce isn’t talking about Talia or Selena – he isn’t dating them while also spending all of his time with Clark. He’s not in love with them. It’s not the same thing.
“That’s – Bruce, that is not the point,” Clark says, frustration in the air. “You spend a lot of time with your exes too, do you see me throwing a tantrum?”
“I am not throwing a tantrum –” Bruce stops dead in his tracks. What did Clark say? “Wait, what do you mean ‘too’?”
“Lois and I haven’t been dating for years, not since before I even met you, and now you’re making a scene?” Clark has started pacing up and down the floor, and Bruce guesses he should be happy Clark has such a strong grip on his anger. Another thing they do not have in common.
“I am not making a scene,” he can’t help but say. He is, he is absolutely making a scene, and he hates himself for it, but he’s on the verge of screaming that he l– that he has feelings for Clark, and he knows he shouldn’t.
“You’re yelling at me for telling you about my day,” Clark says, incredulously. “I always tell you about my day, Bruce. This is what we do. We talk about our lives.”
Maybe if your life didn’t revolve around Lois Lane, it would be easier… Bruce huffs as he strangles that particular sentence down and tries to find a way to stand straighter. He feels caught, locked in, and it’s his own damn fault. He shouldn’t have said anything.
“Well, maybe I’m tired of listening to how perfect Lois is.” Okay, so not much better than the first thought, but he can work with this. He just needs to end the conversation; he is getting way too close to spilling his guts and while he prides himself for being an honest man (at least to Clark), he does not want to talk about this now. Or ever, preferably.
“I thought you liked Lois,” Clark says.
“I do like Lois, I just –” Bruce isn’t muttering, he isn’t. He’s merely trying to chew through his own bottom lip to stop himself from talking. It’s not the right time, there isn’t a right time, he shouldn’t say anything.
“What?” Clark demands.
“I like you more,” Bruce says, because he can’t say no to Clark, can’t deny him anything. And as soon as the words leave his mouth, he wants to get in the bat mobile and drive directly off a cliff. ‘I like you more’, really? What is he, 12?
“Wh–” Clark’s hurt expression is gone, and he’s left looking stunned. Not what he’d been expecting then. Well, at least it’s good to know that Bruce has been able to keep it hidden well enough until now.
“Forget it,” Bruce says quickly, because by God, he wants to. He turns around to face the computer again, reaches for something on the desk, has to do something with his hands. They’re shaking. “I think you should leave.”
“No.” The word is spoken with such authority that it sends chills down Bruce’s spine. He understands why criminals listen when Superman speaks. And then there’s a hand around his wrist and Bruce can feel Clark’s chest against his back, pressed so closely against him that he can feel the movements as he breathes.
“No,” Clark repeats, this time his voice is so soft, so gentle and so very close to Bruce’s ear. “I won’t leave.” He presses impossibly closer, slides his free hand around Bruce’s waist. He must be able to hear his heart beating out of control.
“What did you mean by that?” Clark says, breaths tickling at Bruce’s ear.
“Nothing–” Bruce chokes out quickly. He can’t focus on anything but the hand on his wrist and the one around his waist. This is too much; they’re standing too close. He feels like he’s chasing one of his rogues. Or being chased by one. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Don’t lie to me, Bruce.” Clark’s voice is still gentle, but his hold on Bruce is firm. It isn’t painful, Clark would never intentionally hurt him, but he’s not going to be able to wiggle his way out without putting up an actual fight.
He can’t make himself speak.
“Are you–” Clark starts, then stops. Bruce can feel him swallow. “Are you jealous of Lois?”
Bruce isn’t someone who blushes. If he was, he’d never be able to be both Bruce Wayne and Batman. He’d never live down some of the lines he’s used in the past. The cowl doesn’t cover his entire face. And yet he feels the blood rush to his cheeks because this is Clark asking. This isn’t Jason teasing; it isn’t Alfred prodding; it’s not Bruce admitting it begrudgingly to himself. This is Clark asking, because he wants to hear Bruce admit it.
“Why would I be?” He hears himself say, but he still hasn’t moved. He hasn’t shoved Clark away.
“Because you like me.” It’s not a question, not anymore. It’s a statement.
Bruce is so screwed. He should’ve gotten more sleep; he shouldn’t have accepted Clark’s offer to eat dinner in the cave. He should’ve stopped these damn emotions before they got so out of hand. He should’ve known himself better than to tempt fate.
“Slip of the tongue,” Bruce mumbles because he doesn’t know what else to say. He can’t deny it, not now. And a small part of him doesn’t want to, either. A small part of him is relieved.
“Let’s try one more time then,” Clark says and within the blink of an eye Bruce finds himself turned around and caged in by Clark’s arms. His own hands are up in mock-surrender, somehow resting on Clark’s chest even though he never made a conscious decision to place them there.
“Do you like me too?” Clark asks, his eyes intense and searching Bruce’s.
There’s no way Bruce can look away. He’s– wait.
“Too?” Bruce croaks.
Clark smiles, slow and warm, the playful glint in his eyes making way for something else. Something softer. The laugh lines around his eyes deepen as his smile broadens.
“Too,” he says with a slight nod.
“You–” Bruce straightens a bit against the desk, bringing his face even closer to Clark’s. He can’t think about that right now, because he cannot fathom Clark’s words.
“We’re not talking about me right now,” Clark interrupts gently. He’s still smiling oh so softly and Bruce feels like he might hyperventilate. He won’t, of course, but he has to concentrate on breathing evenly to make sure Clark doesn’t notice his distress.
“Like hell we aren’t,” Bruce says. “How long?”
“How long, what?” Clark asks and Bruce, once again, wants to strangle him. It’s becoming a terribly repeating fantasy of his. He may have to get those kryptonite gauntlet blueprints out again.
“Don’t be an ass,” he says instead of threatening to kill Clark. “How long have you l– had these feelings?”
“Does it matter?”
Bruce supposes it doesn’t, but he still wants to know. It’s the childish need, the unspoken competitive side of him that wants to know. He wants to know if Clark liked him first. If all that flirting had been intentional from the start. If it had been flirting at all, or if Bruce had imagined it. He looks into Clark’s eyes, prepared to tell him that of course it matters; have they been dancing around each other for weeks? For months? For years? How has Bruce not noticed?
Because he’s been too caught up in his own feelings. Ignoring them, denying them, pushing them away. Ah. As he looks into Clark’s eyes, Bruce realizes that it doesn’t matter. It will never matter who liked who first or how long it’s been. Because they’re here now. They’re honest now, they know now. No more dancing around each other, no more sleepless nights because of something stupid he’s said, no more Clark is with Lois workouts where he beats himself up more than the punching bag.
“Yes,” Bruce breathes.
“Bruce–” Clark looks heartbroken, as if he knows exactly what Bruce’s first thought was. As if all that matters to Bruce is who ‘broke’ first.
“Yes,” Bruce repeats, louder. “I like you too.”
If Bruce has learned anything from getting to know Clark it is the fact that he never knows what to expect. He’ll think he does; he’s excellent at reading humans after all, but with Clark it’s just different. Not because Clark is technically an alien (at least, not only that), but because he will continuously find ways to surprise Bruce. And today is no different.
Clark closes the distance between them so fast, the force of his lips on Bruce’s has Bruce slide up onto the desk to avoid breaking his neck from the pressure. He has to spread his thighs to make room for Clark between them and he should be horrified at how natural that feels, but he doesn’t. It feels good, it feels right, just like kissing Clark. It’s a close-mouthed kiss, it’s not like Bruce hasn’t ever been kissed more passionately, but he still finds himself grasping at Clark’s arms, holding on for dear life.
He tries to keep his eyes open, to get a closer look at Clark, but the instinct to close his eyes win in the end when Clark parts his mouth slightly and tilts his head. Their lips fit together like – Bruce isn’t going to say puzzle pieces because that is too cliché, but something similar. Something made to fit together, even when it functions apart. Something that’s good on its own, but better slotted together. They’re better together.
Clark pulls back and he looks a little shocked. Bruce is sure his own face mirrors Clark’s expression.
“I, uh,” Clark stutters out.
“I’m –” Bruce says at the same time.
Both their mouths snap shut. They stare at each other for a while, not saying another word. Bruce is still holding onto his arms and Clark’s hands are still firmly on the desk on either side of Bruce’s hips. It feels like an oddly intimate position, despite the fact that they’ve just kissed. They kissed. No turning back now.
Then Clark starts smiling and Bruce feels his own lips tug up.
“So,” Clark says.
“So,” Bruce echoes.
“You’re really not jealous of Lois?”
“Oh, shut up.”
And Clark does. But only because Bruce pulls him in for another kiss.
I needed soft, so I wrote something soft. If you also need some soft superbat in your life, this is for you <3
When Clark enters the study, the first thing he notices is the warm smell of lit candles. Bruce doesn’t usually light candles unless he’s in a particularly cozy mood. It’s a positive sign that Clark doesn’t immediately find him behind the desk either. Instead, he’s… lounging is the best word Clark can come up with. He’s got his reading glasses on, the same pair he refused to wear for months despite the headaches he got from squinting at small text all day. These days he's gotten into the habit of actually using them more often than not. With the cowl on he doesn’t have to wear glasses, because Batman doesn’t wear glasses. Clark is 99,9 percent sure that’s why the lenses are so technically complicated – just so Bruce doesn’t have to find a way to wear contacts or glasses while he’s wearing it.
There are candles on the desk and a few other surfaces which means Bruce is truly relaxing tonight. He’s been better at prioritizing taking time off the last few months, much to Clark’s relief. It helps that the kids are more than willing to handle most of the patrolling, although Bruce of course can’t let it go completely.
It does seem like he’s successfully focusing on something else tonight. Bruce is sitting comfortably on the couch with glasses down his nose, reading a book quietly in the soft light. He doesn’t seem to realize Clark is even there.
Clark finally enters the room fully but stops in the doorway because… Wow. It still surprises him to find Bruce anywhere but the cave after 6pm on a weekday. Bruce looks so comfortable and warm, a soft blanket pooling around his waist. The dark green velvet couch is new, and it compliments Bruce’s pale skin perfectly, especially in the soft golden light. He should probably turn on the lamp on the side table, but Clark doesn’t want to disturb him when he looks so peaceful. He’s even changed into his comfy pajamas (Bruce doesn’t call it that, Clark does, much to Bruce’s dismay) and he’s wearing a pair of the fuzzy socks Clark got him for Christmas. There are little bats on them, because. Well, why not?
Sharp blue eyes lock onto Clark’s a moment later.
“What?” Bruce asks. To anyone else he might sound unkind, but Clark sees through the charade instantly. Bruce is just grumpy he got caught off guard (again), but he doesn’t mind Clark’s company.
“Nothing,” Clark says with a shrug. He’s not about to tell Bruce that even though it shouldn’t be possible after all this time, Clark is most definitively falling more and more in love with Bruce every single day. Moments like these are when Clark’s chest feels tight from all the emotions he’s feeling at once. When they first started dating, it scared him how intense his feelings were, but Bruce never minds how strongly he feels. He accepts Clark just as he is, without arguments or alterations.
“Come over here then,” Bruce says. He closes the book around his fingers, so he doesn’t lose his spot while also giving Clark his full attention.
“What?” Clark asks. He didn’t want to disturb Bruce; he was merely looking for him to make sure he was taking it easy. There was a rough mission and few nights ago and Bruce’s back has been bugging him ever since. With the way he’s sitting – cross-legged and leaning against the armrest – it seems his back is doing better.
“Plenty of room for two,” Bruce says and then pats the cushion next to him just to emphasize his words. “That’s why I chose this couch.”
“Oh.” Clark might not have planned to disrupt Bruce’s alone time, but he’s not foolish enough to reject such a sincere offer. Besides, who doesn’t like sitting close to their lover in a candlelit room? “Alright.”
Clark sits gingerly on the other side of the couch just to make sure Bruce has enough room for himself. They’ve found a nice balance with Clark’s constant need to feel close and Bruce’s need for space. Talking has helped – Bruce makes sure to let Clark know if he’s angry or upset or simply needs time by himself, and Clark is careful to explain when he feels overwhelmed by his powers and need something physical and safe to focus on. He’s not a kid anymore but even Superman gets overwhelmed by the endless string of calls for help. He can’t get to them all, he knows this logically, but the guilt is still something he tries to live with. Bruce is very helpful in that aspect – he has a few more years of crimefighting on his back than Clark has and while he's by no means an expert in dealing with emotions (he’s getting there), he knows a thing or two about guilt.
Bruce sighs but there’s a fondness to it. He uncrosses his legs and reaches over to grab Clark’s shoulder. Clark follows his movements willingly as Bruce pulls at him. He maneuvers Clark between his legs and shuffles around a bit, rearranging the blanket so it covers Clark as well. He inspects his work and makes sure Clark is comfortable against his chest before he opens his book back up.
“Are you sure this is okay?” Clark asks carefully. This is very much cuddling, and Bruce doesn’t usually do cuddles. At least not much outside the bedroom.
“Are you comfortable?” Bruce asks in lieu of answering.
“Very,” Clark says honestly. The couch is broad enough that he can lie down comfortably if he curls up a little. Bruce’s chest is warm and the perfect shape to rest his head on. He has his arms wrapped around his waist, their bodies basically touching from head to toe. Comfortably doesn’t even begin to describe it. Clark wants to stay here forever.
“Then yes, I’m sure,” Bruce says with a chuckle.
Clark feels his laughter vibrate through his chest and smiles. Bruce’s heart is a steady beat underneath his cheek, and he lets himself relax properly. Bruce grunts softly and Clark lifts his head to catch his eyes around the edge of the book.
“Aren’t I squashing you?” he asks with a frown. Even if Bruce was in the shape of his life (not that he’s out of shape, but he’s not twenty anymore), Clark is a heavy man.
“Just the perfect amount,” Bruce replies and the soft smile he sends Clark’s way has Clark’s stomach do summersaults.
Nobody else gets to see Bruce like this. This is all for him and him alone.
And maybe Alfred, when he comes in later when they’ve both fallen asleep. He probably won’t wake them up, but he has gotten into the habit of taking pictures and sending them to the family chat. There’ll be plenty of emoji reactions – ranging from ‘aww’ and hearts to the puking emoji (Thanks, Jason) – when they wake up, but that’s something they can deal with then.
For now, Clark just enjoys listening to Bruce’s heartbeat and the soft noise of him flipping the pages of his book, careful not to jostle Clark too much as he does so. Clark smiles and rubs his cheek against the soft material of Bruce’s pajamas. He may not be able to stay here forever but a few hours on Bruce’s chest is the least he can – and will – do right now. Bruce doesn’t mind: this is the perfect amount of snuggling even for the dark knight.
So that prompt that @sonicscrewdriver-hippogriff sent me sparked two ideas. This is the second one. Disclaimer: I do not know much about John Constantine, but I needed some magic help in here, so uh. He’ll be slightly OOC. There’s a naked (superbat) kiss in here too, beware.
Clark and Bruce reunite after spending a month apart. <3
There’s no warning, no way to predict it. It just appears, suddenly, as if it never left.
Clark knows that sound, knows it better than any other. Bruce’s heartbeat. He would be able to point it out anywhere in the galaxy, he’s sure of it. He hasn’t tested the theory, but that’s only because he doesn’t want to be that far away from Bruce if he can help it. He knows it to be true though. But the past month… the past month it hasn’t been here. It hasn’t existed. Not on any plane of existence that Clark’s abilities can pick up.
Now, suddenly, it’s here. It’s back. Bruce is back.
Clark doesn’t realize he’s started flying before he lands in the cave. He doesn’t have to ask for access anymore, Bruce has designed the security system to recognize him. It was one of the first signs Clark noticed that Bruce might actually care about him too. It’s silly thinking about it now, when Clark knows that all Bruce ever does is because he cares. He cares so much about everyone and everything. He’s good at hiding it though, not one for warm and fuzzy feelings, but that’s one of the things Clark likes about him. It makes it that much more special when Bruce finally does open up and shares his time, his feelings. It makes Clark’s heart flutter and his cheeks hurt from how big he’s smiling. It shows him clearly how much Bruce loves him, when he prioritizes Clark’s comfort over or at least on par with his own.
Clark misses that, those evenings curled up together, talking about little things. He misses poking at Bruce until the man grunts in the way only he can and accepts Clark’s proposal for a date night. He hasn’t had any date nights this month. Which is also why these last four weeks have been absolute hell. No date nights, no missions with the League, no monitor duty together. No Bruce.
Clark is used to being apart from Bruce, it’s not like they live together (yet. Clark is working on that). Bruce likes his own space and even Clark needs a few days just to himself sometimes. But being forced apart? It is not something Clark ever wants to experience again. He prides himself on being very independent but a month apart? Even someone who isn’t madly in love wouldn’t be able to take that, when they’ve first had a taste of being with someone like Bruce.
When Constantine had asked for Bruce’s help, Clark hadn’t thought much of it. He doesn’t know John very well of course, so he wasn’t really sure what to expect. Bruce had been instantly suspicious, but that wasn’t anything new either. Bruce would probably be suspicious no matter who asked for his help. He still hesitates when Dick asks him to look over a case, although that might have something to do with the differences in their methods. Dick wouldn’t ask for Bruce’s help if he didn’t mean it though, even Clark knows that. Bruce is a complicated man, but he’s suspicious of John Constantine for a reason. Or twenty. Depending on when you ask.
“He’s a conning magician,” Bruce has told him, and that’s enough for Clark to know that Bruce doesn’t trust him entirely, valid reasoning or not.
Bruce has a thing about magic. A thing he won’t talk much about. Besides the ‘magic is unpredictable’ he will admit to if he’s pressed or the even more used ‘magic isn’t real’, Bruce won’t tell Clark why he’s so sceptic or suspicious of Constantine. It doesn’t really matter either way because in the end Bruce still agrees to help. It can’t be that bad if Bruce is willing to overlook it long enough to help out.
Neither of them had expected the mission to last for an entire month though. Bruce had grunted his goodbye and there hadn’t been a grand sendoff or anything. Even Bruce would’ve wanted to spend the night together if he knew they were going to be apart for this long. At this point Clark is tempted to let Constantine have a piece of his mind if the man doesn’t have a very good excuse for keeping Bruce away from him, from his family, for so long. Clark knows it must be important even though the magician wouldn’t tell him any details.
“No can do, chief,” he’d said with a cheeky smile. It didn’t reach his eyes, and Clark had been struck with how different his blue eyes were to Bruce’s, or even Clark’s own. They were very cold and hard, no space for warmth within this man. “Need to know only.”
Clark can’t really fault the guy for being careful. The few things he knows about John are sinister and dark, and he wouldn’t be surprised if John has made quite a few dangerous foes along the way. It doesn’t stop Clark from cursing his name when the third week goes by, and he still hasn’t heard a word from Bruce. He knows he has to stay patient – if something had happened, he would’ve known. He would’ve felt it. It’s not like he truly believes in soulmates (at least not if Bruce asks), but if there really is such a thing, he knows he and Bruce are it.
The simmering frustration he’s felt towards Constantine for four weeks (32 days, five hours and fourteen minutes) dies out the second Clark’s eyes land on Bruce. He’s standing next to Constantine, and it looks like they’ve been arguing – friendly arguing judging from Bruce’s relaxed stance. They stop talking the moment the computer alerts them that Clark is in the cave. Clark barely registers Constantine’s presence, all his pent-up frustration slowly seeping out through his pores as he looks at Bruce.
He looks like hell. Clark doesn’t have to use his x-ray vision to know Bruce is bruised and beaten and – is he limping? Clark feels anger rise back up in his chest, slowly burning through what’s left of his rumored infinite patience. Half Bruce’s suit seems to have been either cut, burnt or torn and Clark wants to cover him immediately with his cape. He knows Bruce won’t want to show weakness like that, but he is tempted to ignore his wishes this once. He looks like a mess and what’s worse is that he looks too exhausted to hide it.
What really worries Clark is when Bruce pushes his cowl off – what’s left of it anyway, one lens is shattered, his left cheekbone all the way up to his ear is uncovered, and it looks like one of the little bat-ears have been broken off. His face is exposed, and they might be in the cave, but Clark wasn’t aware Bruce would ever show himself to Constantine like this. They have been God knows where together for a month, of course, so maybe Bruce has had to expose himself in that time. Clark will have to ask him later; he doesn’t want to have that particular conversation in front of John.
Bruce takes a few wobbly steps forward. He is limping, and Clark feels tears gather at the corners of his eyes as his chest tightens painfully. His heart feels like it’s been trapped in a vice that’s suddenly released. He usually wouldn’t show affection openly like this in front of others – Bruce doesn’t like it – but for once he isn’t the first one to make a move.
Bruce locks their eyes together and they’re wet, glistening. There’s pain there, but more than that there’s warmth and if Clark isn’t mistaken a little relief as well. The bags under his eyes are impressive even for Bruce’s usual standards and his lips are cracked. There’s bruise forming on top of his cheekbone and below his jaw as well. He hasn’t shaved in at least a day it looks like. He’s absolutely beautiful and Clark feels his throat tighten. He feels like he’s being reunited with the rest of his soul, like it’s been missing. And it has, because Bruce is his other half, his partner in every sense of the word, and he’s missed him so much.
“Clark.” Bruce says his name like a prayer, the word barely above a whisper, but even without his enhanced senses Clark would be able to hear him.
He is by Bruce’s side before he can blink. He can tell the display of his powers throws Constantine off for about a second before he gathers himself. Bruce isn’t the only one who’s exhausted it seems. John’s exhaustion isn’t anywhere on the list of things Clark cares about right now though. He knows he should probably be more polite, but from the few conversations he’s had with Constantine, he won’t be judged too harshly for his behavior. Clark knows Bruce won’t mind at least, which is what matters most.
Clark doesn’t care that Constantine is still there or that he can hear Alfred coming down the stairs to make sure Bruce is alright. All he cares about is that Bruce is here, within reach. He can’t not touch him. He reaches out but before he can grab a hold of Bruce’s shoulders, Bruce takes a step forward and drops his head onto Clark’s chest with a heavy sigh.
It takes Clark’s brain a moment to process this development. He hadn’t meant to do much more than hold onto Bruce’s shoulders until at least Constantine had left, but apparently Bruce wasn’t worried what the warlock might think. He must really be exhausted then. Clark shakes off his initial surprise and wraps his arms around Bruce’s back, making sure to flatten his entire palm between Bruce’s shoulder blades like he knows makes Bruce feel safe.
When Clark puts a hand on the back of his neck, Bruce shuffles closer, burying his face in the crook of Clark’s neck, leaning against him. Another deep sigh escapes his lips and Bruce’s shoulders drop at least half an inch, like he’s been tensing up for yet another fight the entire time he’s been back on Earth. There’s no way Clark is letting him out of his sight for the foreseeable future. He knows, logically, that Bruce will probably not allow him to lock them both in the bedroom for a week, but even Superman can have unattainable dreams every now and again.
“Nice working with you, Bats,” John says with a grin, leaning sideways as if he’ll be able to catch Bruce’s eyes from where he’s smushed against Clark.
“Fuck off,” Bruce says, voice muffled into the skin of Clark’s neck. There’s no real heat to his words and it sounds oddly like when Red Hood tells Batman to ‘fuck off’. There’s definite resentment in those two words, but that’s not all there is. There’s some affection in there as well, Clark can tell. Reluctant maybe, but affection, nonetheless. He doesn’t know what to think about that, but for now he just tightens his hold on Bruce’s neck.
Clark can’t help but glare a little too heatedly at Constantine when he doesn’t immediately leave. Their eyes lock and something akin to gratitude flashes in those cold eyes for a brief moment. Clark isn’t sure what that means but he doesn’t have time to analyze John’s facial expressions, because in the next second he isn’t in the cave anymore. He vanished in a way that would leave even Batman looking like an amateur.
“Showoff,” Bruce mutters as he slides his arms around Clark’s waist.
Clark can hear Alfred turn around on the staircase, his quiet voice saying something about tea. Clark smiles and he pulls Bruce closer. Alfred has always been good to him, and he trusts Clark enough to take care of Bruce, at least for a little while. It’s the ultimate stamp of approval.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Clark says and tries his hardest not to laugh when Bruce just groans in response. Clark can’t help but think of a teenage-Bruce grunting and being difficult towards Alfred.
Despite his unwillingness to actually move Bruce doesn’t protest much when Clark begins walking them towards the showers. It’s awkward and stumbling but Clark isn’t sure if Bruce is exhausted enough that he’ll forgive Clark for carrying him there. When Bruce’s hip bumps against one of the steel tables, Clark decides that he’ll just have to.
Bridal carry isn’t exactly easy when Bruce’s arms are like vines around his waist, but Clark is imaginative. He bends his knees and grabs the back of Bruce’s thighs. The angle is weird, but it’ll do. He hoists Bruce off the floor, trying not to giggle as the movement has Bruce’s hands sliding up his sides and under his arms.
“This is new,” Bruce comments but he doesn’t move other than to slump even further. Clark feels like he’s carrying a sack of potatoes.
“You’re not making this easy for me,” Clark responds. It’s easier than before though. He can hold onto Bruce with one arm around his thighs and still navigate the doors with his other. Half his face is also pressed into Bruce’s chest and that’s always enjoyable. His heart is even louder here, and Clark takes a moment to just listen and breathe.
“You gonna move or what?” Bruce asks after a while, tapping his feet against Clark’s thighs. He’s being generously patient with Clark today, but he wiggles a little as if to remind him where they are and what they’re doing.
“Right.”
Clark walks the rest of the way to the showers and settles Bruce down on the floor again gently. He reaches up to pull what’s left of the cowl from where it hangs awkwardly at Bruce’s neck, and Bruce lets him. Clark hesitates for barely a second when he looks at Bruce’s suit. There’s not much left of it. He looks at Bruce, searching for confirmation. They’ve talked about this before; Bruce is not a fan of the way Clark seems to enjoy tearing his suits apart.
“They’re expensive equipment, Clark,” Bruce will always say.
“You’re a billionaire, Bruce,” Clark bites back every time.
They have come to a tentative agreement that if the suit isn’t already on the verge of throwing out, Clark should not just pull it directly off Bruce’s body. This time there’s not much left to save, so Clark carefully grabs at Bruce’s hips. He barely has to pull before the Kevlar and under armor falls off.
“I can undress myself, you know,” Bruce has enough attitude left to say. He doesn’t move though, just stands there as Clark tugs the remnants of his suit off.
“So, you’d rather I let you shower by yourself?” Clark asks with a raised brow. He knows how much Bruce enjoys when he washes his hair, even on days where he isn’t injured. It’s a little mean, but Bruce deserves the same attitude he’s giving.
“Hn,” is all the response Clark gets, which is as good as ‘No, I want you to help’ in his book.
“That’s what I thought,” Clark can’t help but tease. He’s out of his own uniform in the blink of an eye and then he’s pushing at Bruce’s lower back. “Into the stall we go.”
“I’m not a child,” Bruce mutters even as he wobbles to where Clark wants him.
“Never said you were.”
“Ever heard of actions speak louder than words?”
Clark rolls his eyes as he turns on the shower. The water heats up in under ten seconds, but he keeps a hand underneath the spray to make sure before he pushes Bruce into the hot water. He splutters for a moment but then closes his eyes as he lets the warmth wash over him. Clark watches him for a while until the tugging in his chest gets too much to ignore any longer.
“Would I do this to a child?” He asks as he crowds Bruce up against the tiles. Bruce easily lets him, opens his arms and legs, makes room for Clark’s body with his own. Clark cradles Bruce’s cheek gently. The water is pushing Bruce’s hair over his forehead, and he looks so much younger like this. Happier too, although Clark allows himself to think that is because of him.
“God, I hope not,” Bruce says with a laugh, trailing his hands over Clark’s hips.
“Stop being creepy.” Clark pulls a face.
“Stop talking,” Bruce counters with a smirk.
“Make me.”
And Bruce does. Of course, Bruce does. He never fails to amaze Clark, whether it’s his brilliant mind or the use of his tongue. The hands at Clark’s hips pull him in closer, so close not even the water can come between their bodies. Clark needs no more encouragement to use the hand on Bruce’s cheek to lead him into a kiss. His lips are still cracked, but he’s smiling as their lips meet and Clark presses even closer.
God, he’s missed this. Missed Bruce.
It takes them a while to get out of the shower but when they do Bruce is cleanshaven and the grime has been washed from his body. He’s still limping but not as badly as before the shower; it doesn’t change the fact that Clark orders him to get his ass to the bedroom. Bruce doesn’t argue much, after Clark tells him exactly what they’re going to do once they get to the bed.
They make their way slowly up the stairs (Bruce is refusing to be carried, the stubborn idiot) and Clark finds himself a little curious. While he would love to just postpone the conversation a day or two if Bruce would let him, he also wants to know what in the world could have Batman look so drained he couldn’t even be bothered to hide it.
“So,” Clark starts carefully. The tone of his voice is enough that Bruce knows exactly what he’s hinting at.
“Lanterns,” Bruce hisses back, in a way only he can. There’s nobody else who can have a single word sound like a string of curses quite like Bruce can. That’s all the information Clark needs to figure out why Bruce is this exhausted. It’s one thing that he’s bruised and sore, but to show physical affection in front of someone like John Constantine? Of course, there had to be Green Lanterns involved.
“What happened?” He asks as he wraps an arm around Bruce’s waist. He’s getting wobbly on the last few steps.
“Tomorrow,” is all Bruce says, and for now that’s okay. Because Bruce isn’t going anywhere, and they have tomorrow. They have all the time in the world.
