Summary: Three times that Clark accidentally tickles Bruce, and the first time he does it for real. (Um, hi, so...I have Superbat brainrot right now, and even though I haven't posted in months, take this. I hope you enjoy it!)
For someone with super-strength, Clark is so gentle.
It’s a good thing, technically. If he were using the full extent of his strength, Bruce is sure he would have snapped him in half with a too-enthusiastic hug by now.
The Kryptonian seems to tip-toe his way through life; he does everything with this air of grace, of softness. Whether it’s to keep his powers a secret when he’s just Clark Kent, journalist from Kansas, or simply to avoid smashing every mug he gets his hand on, Bruce isn’t sure.
But it drives him crazy.
“I’m not made of glass, you know,” he says.
Clark gives him an infuriating smile. “I know that. But I still don’t want to hurt you.”
Bruce scowls. “If we were fighting for real, you wouldn’t hold back.”
“And if I wasn’t holding back, I could easily crush your ribs,” Clark replies. “Or snap your spine in half. I don’t think either of us wants that to happen.”
They’re sparring. Technically, neither of them need the extra training, but lately, Bruce has found himself looking for excuses to spend time with Clark, but has only mustered up the courage to invite him on work-related outings.
He’s still working on the whole vulnerability thing, and showing how much he really cares for Clark isn’t something that comes naturally to him. He can protect him in a battle, tease him about his country-boy charm, and even accept small amounts of physical affection, but for some reason, the words, Do you want to hang out sometime? feel heavy and foreign on his tongue.
So, sparring. That’s the best he can come up with.
And Clark is letting him win.
Logically, Bruce knows that what Clark is saying is true: If Clark used all his might, Bruce would likely end up severely injured. But he could try a little harder than this.
“I can take more than you’re giving,” he says. “You’re just letting me win.”
Clark has that stupid, charming grin on his face that makes Bruce unsure whether he wants to punch him or kiss him. One of those would probably leave him with broken knuckles, though, and the other would require him to talk about his feelings, so instead, he just glares at him.
Without any verbal reply, Clark rushes forward and tries to grab Bruce, and despite being caught off-guard, he dodges it at the last second.
Clark is still smiling as he charges, and it should feel predatory in some way, but instead it just comes across like a golden retriever who’s excited to play.
Bruce puts up a good fight, but even with Clark using half his strength, he’s no match for Superman’s powers. It should wound his ego a little, but he’s accepted a long time ago that he is only human, and his super-human companions will almost always have a leg up on him.
It’s more offensive to his pride when they go easy on him than when they win fair-and-square.
He’s on his back on the mat, panting as Clark holds him down.
“See? That’s more like it,” Bruce says.
Clark has barely broken a sweat. “I didn’t peg you as the type of guy who likes to lose,” he replies. “But you’re just full of surprises, I guess.”
He accentuates his statement with a soft poke to Bruce’s stomach, and his whole body goes rigid at the unexpected touch. It sort of tickles, which is a revelation he would have rather not made. Yes, logically, Bruce knows that most humans are ticklish, but after being trained to withstand literal torture, he sort of thought that particular reaction would have died out.
Apparently, it didn’t.
Clark grins. “Are you ticklish?” he asks.
“Don’t be stupid,” Bruce replies, and then, taking advantage of Clark’s distraction, flips them over so that he’s on top of Clark instead.
Luckily, he’s gotten good at hiding things like this. It’s all mind over matter; don’t react, don’t allow yourself to feel it. Whether it’s the physical ache in his body after a fight, the dull emotional pain when memories haunt him, or in this case, a ridiculous man attempting to tease him, Bruce can school is expressions, push the feelings down.
At least for a little while.
Even if Clark thinks he’s lying, he drops the subject.
***
Bruce isn’t used to being snuck up on.
He’s very in-tune with his senses, and can sense a person coming from rooms away. Years of training in the art of stealth have left him hyper-aware of every sound, every shift of the air.
That is, when they aren’t flying.
Clark has developed this absolutely obnoxious habit of hovering just above the ground, moving so carefully that Bruce can’t detect him as easily as he would a normal, walking person.
He seems to get a great sense of amusement out of taking Bruce off-guard, which should piss him off, but he finds it oddly endearing. He can’t remember the last time someone kept him on his toes like this, or attempted to mess around with him in a genuinely innocent way.
He is standing at the kitchen counter, running on very little sleep, internally cursing himself for his commitment to this double-life and all the trouble it brings. He scans the newspaper for any information of impending doom: Arkham breakouts, supervillain shenanigans…
Then, someone grabs his sides from behind, and he gasps, spinning on his heel, ready to attack whoever is breaking into his house—
Clark Kent is standing behind him, glasses askew on his nose, an expression of amusement slowly melting into one of worry.
“God, you’re such an asshole,” Bruce breathes, leaning back against the counter.
“Are you hurt?” Clark asks, furrowing his brows.
Bruce blinks at him. “No, just having a mild heart attack.”
“When I grabbed you, it seemed like I hurt you,” he says. “I swear, if you’re trying to hide another broken rib from Alfred, I’m tattling on you.”
“My ribs are fine, Clark.”
Clark, to Bruce’s bewilderment, grabs the hem of his t-shirt and lifts it up, searching for signs of bruising. He presses his hand into his ribs, palpating for an injury that doesn’t exist.
And for the second time in one month, Clark Kent is tickling Bruce Wayne, and his brain shuts down, forcing his body to go rigid in an attempt to block it out.
“Clark, I’m fine—“
“You can’t be fighting when you’re injured, Bruce, you’re going to make it so much worse—“
He presses his fingers into the spot between his two uppermost ribs and Bruce flinches, hard, and in an attempt to cover his ass, he blurts out, “Ow, okay, fine, you’re right! I’ll be more careful, just stop groping me.”
Clark pulls away immediately, a kicked-puppy look on his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“It’s fine, you didn’t know,” he replies, clapping him on the shoulder.
He looks so sad that Bruce almost feels bad for lying to him.
Key word being almost.
***
Bruce can’t remember the last time a person made him feel this way.
His face feels hot, and he’s mortified to realize this means he’s blushing, like some teenage Superman fangirl, and he can’t get the words he wants to say to form in his mouth and leave his lips.
Clark, who was just holding his hand, suddenly drops it. “I’m sorry, Bruce, that was totally inappropriate. If you don’t feel the same way, I completely understand.”
No, wait, that’s not what he’s trying to say at all!
The man he’s had feelings for for the past few months has just confessed to him, and Bruce’s emotional ineptitude has left him entirely speechless, and he’s fucking blowing this.
So, he does the only thing he can think to do, and grabs Clark’s hand again, pulling him in for a kiss.
Clark lets out a surprised little hum before kissing him back, wrapping his arms around his waist.
He tastes like coffee, and Bruce idly wonders if he’s in some drug-induced dream that he’ll inevitably wake up from any minute now, trapped in some psycho scientist’s lair, a lab-rat for a toxin that makes you imagine your greatest fantasy so that you’ll never want to wake up from it.
Sure, he’s a pessimist, sue him.
But when he pulls away from the kiss and opens his eyes, Clark is still there, real and sturdy and so fucking handsome, grinning like a fool.
Bruce smiles too, a real, genuine smile that he can’t seem to fight off of his face.
God, Clark has made him soft.
If it can’t get any more embarrassing, Clark picks him up without warning, and Bruce lets out an unbecoming noise that can only be described as a squeak.
He’s safely deposited onto the nearest hard surface, a table in the Batcave that is miraculously clear of miscellaneous shit, and Clark cages him in there, kissing him again.
Bruce kisses him back, hard, feeling a sense of urgency he has never felt with a partner before, this insatiable desire to be closer to him, to devour him and be devoured in turn.
Clark runs his hands up Bruce’s thighs and squeezes them, and Bruce is horrified when he lets out this breathy laugh against his lips, so caught up in it all that he hadn’t even had a chance to steel himself.
At first, he thinks that Clark doesn’t notice, because he just keeps kissing him.
Then, the next time Bruce needs to come up for air, Clark leans in and whispers, “You’re definitely ticklish.”
Bruce doesn’t even argue this time. “Shut up,” he says, and kisses him again.
They’re too caught up in other activities for Clark to bother testing it out, anyway.
***
Bruce shivers.
“What’s wrong?” Clark asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.
“You know what’s wrong, asshole,” Bruce hisses.
Clark nuzzles his face into the side of Bruce’s neck, pressing featherlight kisses there, and Bruce sucks in a sharp intake of air, squeezing his eyes shut.
“I really don’t,” Clark replies, his breath hot against Bruce’s skin. “Care to enlighten me?”
If it were any easier to kill Superman, Bruce would have probably done it by now.
He has never felt this sort of embarrassment before, this push-and-pull of Shut up, keeping talking. Stop, but don’t you dare stop. I sort of hate you right now, but I love you.
Clark has a tight grip on him, not enough to hurt, but enough that Bruce certainly isn’t going anywhere either. In that regard, he’s not afraid to use his strength against him.
But he’s being too gentle again, now with a deliberate motive in mind. The soft, barely-there way that his lips, his nose, his fucking breath brush against Bruce’s neck is making him want to crawl out of his skin, because it tickles like hell and he has no idea how to deal with it.
If he really wanted to, he could handle it. He could take a few deep breaths, center himself, try to ignore the feeling and fake his way through.
Why would he ever want to ignore Clark’s touch, even when it’s borderline torturous?
He’ll never admit it, but it’s sort of fun, the way Clark breaks down his walls. Even Alfred has remarked that Bruce seems lighter these days. He smiles more, takes better care of himself. He really has made him soft, but he’s beginning to come to terms with the idea that it might not be such a bad thing.
Clark runs his fingers along the shell of Bruce’s ear, and he whimpers.
“Use your words,” Clark teases.
Bruce breaks. “It fucking tickles, you asshole,” he says, all in one quick breath, before dissolving into laughter he had tried so hard to hold in.
“Oh, why didn’t you just say so? I’ll stop, if it’s bothering you so much.”
And he does stop, and Bruce is trying to catch his breath, and he’s sort of…disappointed that he stopped. But again, he won’t admit it, not even to Clark, because he’s still working on the whole communication thing, and he still feels this odd twist of shame in his gut at the idea of voicing what he wants.
Perhaps the instinct will come to him soon, a skill he can learn like meditation or piano or designing gear. Mind over matter: Tough it out, say the embarrassing thing, even if his voice shakes.
Just not tonight. He’s too tired to have the emotional bandwidth.
So, instead, he says, “Thank God,” and pushes Clark’s smug face away from his neck.
Maybe, eventually, Clark will see through that lie too.
A/N: 4.4Kish words. Hey, I hope you all enjoy the end of this trilogy! It was a lot of fun to write and I hope I did the characters justice Lmaooo. Also, this fic does include romantic Superbat, so if that's not for you I'd skip this one! Thanks :))
Pt. 1
Pt. 2
Summary: Clark wants to laze around in bed with Bruce for a bit before they have to get the kids up for school. Bruce, however, wants to sleep for a while longer. Hmm, whatever will Clark do?
“It's time to get up, Bruce, the kids need waking for school,” Clark murmured against his partner’s shoulder, following the words up with a kiss. Bruce barely mumbled against his pillow in response, making Clark sigh. In truth, there was still at least an hour until they had to get up, but Clark knew how long it took to get Bruce up in the morning.
It hadn't even been a particularly long night for the man, but he always tried to stay in the comfort of his bed longer during winter. This was particularly true with Clark in the bed, Bruce himself had admitted, since Clark’s internal body temperature was higher than a human’s– Bruce’s boys liked to call him a portable heater.
Of course Clark could always move, but he was only human (kind of) and curled around a sleepy Bruce Wayne, spooning him close in a state between wakefulness and sleep was just too enjoyable. So, Clark didn't move, hoping to spend the next hour cuddled with a half-asleep Bruce, as opposed to a fully asleep one.
“B,” Clark hummed, smoothing a hand down Bruce’s front. His muscles stayed soft under Clark’s touch, not so much as twitching, so Clark decided to change tactics from soft rubs to light traces with his finger tips. And bingo! A wobbly little exhalation could be heard each time Clark’s fingers fluttered just right over Bruce’s lower stomach, earning Clark the twitches he was looking for.
“Good morning, handsome,” Clark smiled. He pressed a quick peck to the nape of Bruce’s neck, the sleepy man rolling his head back in response. Clark hummed in acknowledgement. Though the reflex was objectively quick, it was relatively slow for Bruce, who seemed mostly unbothered by Clark’s ministrations so far.
Fine, time to be a little meaner.
Clark shuffled forward to press up as close to Bruce’s back as possible, before tracing the soft skin around Bruce’s navel, while his other hand skimmed up to his ribs. He used the finger of that hand to run feather-light strokes against Bruce’s lowest ribs, relishing in the way Bruce’s shoulders began to shake a bit in response.
“So sensitive,” Clark teased, pressing another quick kiss to the back of Bruce’s neck just to make the man’s shoulders shoot up protectively. His hands continued to tease at his partner’s skin, their touch too light to fully wake the man, while being too present for Bruce to completely ignore and sleep through.
“Is it worse in the morning, love? You're just way too sleepy to fight me off, hmm?” Clark whispered it against the side of Bruce’s neck, Clark’s head preventing him from protecting the vulnerable patch of nerves there.
“Kahal,” Bruce huffed out, voice croaky and dry from sleep. Clark fell in love with the man all over again, just as he did most mornings (especially those spent reducing his big, scary bat to a harmless puddle of giggles with his hands).
Clark swapped the hand at Bruce’s ribs to skitter across Bruce’s stomach, drawing the movements out to feel the man’s muscles contract against him. His other hand scritched at Bruce’s chin, making him push his head down reflexively. The movement displayed the back of his neck beautifully for Clark, practically begging for him to kiss it again. So he did.
Clark continued lavishing Bruce’s neck with pecks as his hands kept up the light touches, prompting Bruce to loll his head forward and back, attempting to defend against the ticklish feelings at both his chin and nape.
Eventually he woke enough to get some control of his limbs back, which Clark discovered when two hands grabbed at his wrists, holding on and lightly squeezing them.
Clark relaxed his touches, rubbing against one of Bruce’s pecks and his stomach. He nuzzled into Bruce’s nape just to keep the man on his toes (and to hear his surprised little titters).
“There you are.” Clark’s voice was practically dripping with sentimentality, but where Bruce may have scoffed and pulled away years earlier, the man simply huffed, relaxing further into Clark’s loving hold.
After a moment, Bruce cleared his throat, asking, “w’s that really nec’ssary?” Clark pinched at his stomach in warning, melting at Bruce’s startled answering snicker.
“You weren't waking up,” Clark said, letting the pout make its way into his tone since he knew how it exasperated Bruce. “And you're so grouchy in the morning.”
“‘M not grouchy,” Bruce complained. He turned in Clark’s hold to face him, snuggling back into the pillows with a content sigh. “Not every’ne’s as awake at th’s time as you.” His eyes were drooping, sleep threatening to claim him once again. Not on Clark’s watch.
“It's a weekday,” Clark said. He pecked all over Bruce’s face–the smooth spot where his brows usually furrowed, his cheeks just below the bags staining the skin under his eyes–in an attempt to rouse Bruce more. This attempt backfired, though, Bruce reflexively leaning into Clark’s touch as he began to drift off again. As much as that subconscious action warmed Clark to his core, they really would need to get up eventually, and Clark wanted to laze around in bed with his awake partner for a while first.
“Bruuuce,” Clark sing-songed into the man’s ear, smiling at how he hiked his shoulders up to escape the low word. “The boys have school.”
Bruce groaned, turning his head to burrow it into his pillow like a particularly annoyed cat. He was so cute in the morning. “Then I have work,” Clark continued, rubbing over Bruce’s uncovered shoulder. He then walked two fingers down from that joint to his elbow, chuckling at the goosebumps he left in his wake. “And I want to spend the morning with you first.”
Bruce groaned again but uncovered his face, looking at Clark with glazed-over eyes and a slight smile to his mouth. Clark couldn't help but kiss him, properly this time, utterly smitten with the man. The light flush on his cheeks made him look delightfully alive. “How long until we need to get up?”
Clark looked to the alarm clock, noting that five minutes had already passed just trying to keep Bruce from falling back asleep. “About an hour, just under,” Clark answered. He skritched lightly at Bruce's elbow just to see him blush a little more, still now embarrassed by how sensitive his arms were. Clark then brought his hand to Bruce’s forehead, combing his fringe away from his eyes.
“So we don't need to get up yet,” Bruce surmised, an eyebrow raising at Clark. Clark shrugged, letting his free hand tap against the left of Bruce’s chest in time with his heart. “I'm going back to sleep.”
“You're not,” Clark warned, glaring at him.
“You can't stop me from falling asleep, Clark,” Bruce rolled his eyes. He seemed to realise his mistake the moment the words left his mouth, if the way his eyes gained clarity was any indication. Clark just grinned. That sounded like a challenge.
As Bruce braced himself, Clark simply sighed dramatically, resting his weight against Bruce and rolling them so that Bruce was pinned under Clark, lying on his back.
“I suppose you're right,” Clark hummed, sitting up in Bruce's lap. He pushed down on Bruce’s chest to keep the man from sitting up, though he seemed content enough just to lay back and watch Clark’s antics. Clark knew he was an enabler, really, it was just buried under about five layers of brooding.
“Why don't I help you get back to sleep instead?” Clark smiled at the way Bruce’s face scrunched up slightly in confusion and patted his cheek condescendingly. “What's that song the kids like me to sing to them when they can't sleep? The one they tease you about?”
The shade of red that instantaneously stained Bruce’s face and ears, running down his neck, in response was too good not to laugh at. Clark couldn't help it, he always felt somewhat delirious when Bruce allowed his antics.
“Would it help you get to sleep, too, sunshine?” Clark teased. He felt like a predator toying with his prey, hovering over Bruce’s unmoving form as he was.
“This is ridiculous,” Bruce huffed. It was funny, really, how Clark ‘threatening’ to help him sleep was what woke him up in the end.
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine~” Clark loomed over Bruce while singing, a blinding smile firmly in place. Bruce tensed.
“Clark-”
“You make me happy when skies are grey,” He wiggled his fingers, slowly moving them down towards Bruce, drawing this out. He didn't get to be silly with his partner enough, in his humble opinion.
“This is ridiculous,” Bruce huffed, but his cheeks were red and he couldn't quite hide the telling uptick of his mouth. His lack of movement gave him away most, though– Clark may be strong, but he'd never truly trap Bruce, so he could escape whenever he wanted. If he wanted, of course.
“You'll never know dear, how much I love you,” Clark leant down, pressing a kiss to Bruce’s forehead, then each cheek.
“Kal,” Bruce whined, though Clark knew not to comment on his tone, lest he try to hide his handsome face again.
“So please don't take my sunshine away~” Right as he finished singing, Clark struck, holding Bruce’s ribs firmly in his hands and rubbing ticklish circles into them with his thumbs. If he held a bit firmer than strictly necessary just to add to the ticklish sensations at Bruce’s back, well, then, that was Clark’s business thankyou very much.
Bruce’s tension left him, head lolling back on his pillow as he collapsed into bright, wheezy laughter.
He had such a sweet laugh, rough and unused as it was, and Clark delighted in drawing it out of him.
“Hmmm,” Clark hummed with faux confusion, while continuing to tickle Bruce. “You seem even more awake now, did my lullaby not work, B?”
“Nahahah,” Bruce laughed, shaking his head desperately. His heart was slightly elevated and his cheeks were a lovely pink, betraying how much he was enjoying the affection.
“You- you ahahahare tihickling!”
“Oh? I hadn't even noticed. My bad,” Clark teased. He dug his hands into Bruce’s underarms, while settling his weight over the man to get close to his face.
“How much does it tickle, hmm? Are you having fun, sweetheart?” Bruce’s response was no more than cackles and Clark grinned, settling his face in the crook of Bruce’s neck to nibble at the spot.
When Bruce’s laughter turned particularly wheezy, Clark switched his technique to running barely-there touches up and down Bruce’s sides, while continuing to nip at the man’s neck. Bruce didn't quite manage to hide a squeak at the differing sensation, before continuing to lay still and laugh. In fairness, there wasn't much else he could do without tapping out, though he hardly ever did. This was in part due to his pride, but mostly because Clark knew when to stop to avoid pushing Bruce too much.
“Such a tickly ticklish thing, hm?” Clark teased against Bruce’s neck.
“Kahahal, n- nahaha!”
“Oh, no?” Clark blew a quick raspberry on Bruce’s neck, surprising him enough to earn another squeal followed by him bucking up. Clark tsked.
“I think-” another raspberry- “that you, Bruce Wayne-” another- “are sooo ticklish, that I'll have to stay with you at all times to keep you safe from anyone who might use this little fact against you." Clark finished up with one last, long raspberry at the other side of Bruce’s neck.
He sat back up after, easing up on Bruce to make sure he got some air, though the man did keep up a steady stream of laughter as Clark continued to trace his sides.
“You're ehevil,” Bruce huffed out after a while, hands clutching the sheets. His eyes shone with unshed tears and his cheeks were red with exertion, but there was a challenge in his eyes and an excitement in his grin.
“Oh I'll show you evil-” just as Clark dug back into Bruce’s ribs to elicit another bright squeal, the door swung open, revealing a half-awake, disgruntled looking Jason. Oops.
Clark jumped off of Bruce like he'd been burned, face quickly heating up. Though what they were doing was perfectly innocent, Clark knew how their position may have looked without context, and he prayed Jason hadn't noticed.
“Were you… oh my God,” the boy muttered the last bit, almost to himself, before running off. He left the door open behind him.
“Well, that's one way to wake him up,” Bruce joked, sitting up and pecking Clark’s cheek. Clark ignored the way his face kept burning and smiled at Bruce, pecking his nose back.
“Just the other two left, now,” Clark agreed. Jason chose that moment to reappear at their now-open door, looking much more alert than he did before. Dick stood to one side of him, his expression almost disbelieving, while Tim stood at Jason’s other side; the kid looked to be barely awake, swaying on the spot.
“Boys,” Bruce greeted, stretching and yawning. Clark reminded himself not to stare right now.
“Were you tickling him?” Jason demanded, completely disregarding Bruce to stare Clark down. Wait, hadn't Clark tickled Bruce in front of them before?
He thought back, trying to remember a single time he had, but ultimately coming up short. Huh.
“Well sure,” Clark smiled. “It's sometimes the only way to get him up in the morning.” Dick snorted at that, while Jason just looked determined, gaze moving to stare Bruce down.
“We’re owed some vengeance!" Jason demanded, inviting himself further into their room with Dick and Tim at his heels. Clark felt more than heard Bruce sigh next to him.
“You're welcome to try, Jaybird. I'd be more than happy to remind you how ticklish your hips are,” Bruce teased, cracking his knuckles. Jason’s face reddened and he snarled at Bruce. Clark thought he may have actually been about to try to take Bruce on alone before Dick cut in.
“Clark can help us,” he assured, looking at Clark with puppy-dog eyes that still managed to tug at his heart strings, no matter how ingenuine he knew them to be. “That is, if he cares about justice. Don't you think we deserve a little payback?”
Both Dick and Jay’s eyes were practically begging him to help, while Tim flopped onto the bed by Bruce’s legs sleepily.
Clark looked to Bruce. He could see the boys’ point, really. They deserved to get their dad back at least once (plus,a more selfish part of Clark could admit that he'd never get enough of Bruce’s laugh). At the same time, though, he wasn't sure if Bruce would actually be okay with that, since the kids might not think to watch Bruce’s microexpressions for any signs of true discomfort. Plus, Clark had already tickled him a fair bit this morning, and it was barely 7:30am.
Bruce, for his part, just raised an eyebrow at Clark. He seemed almost amused, if his goading smirk was anything to go by. Huh, maybe Clark worried too much. These were Bruce’s kids after all, plus, Clark could watch to make sure they didn't actually take the playfulness too far.
“Well, Kal?” Bruce spoke, carding a hand through Tim’s sleep-ruffled hair. The kid was mostly asleep again. He and Bruce were so alike, sometimes. “Think you can help the boys bring me to justice?”
There were very few people in this world that would describe Superman as evil, and even fewer who would describe Clark that way. In that moment, though, the smile that Clark felt overtake his features couldn’t be described in any other way. Oh, it was on.
“I'll hold his arms. Boys, have fun." Clark noted Dick and Jason’s matching grins, smiling at them for just a moment, before pouncing at Bruce.
Bruce’s smile was dangerous as he went straight for Clark’s ribs, knowing it was his only chance of winning this.
“Juhust accept your fahahate!” Clark laughed as Bruce tased his ribs. He reached out instead of defending himself, grabbing Bruce’s hips. It probably wouldn't have been enough to get Clark the upperhand, had Jason not snuck up to Bruce while he was distracted and squeezed just above the knee closest to him. Bruce went down quick, and Clark rushed to secure his arms.
“I'll get you back, Jaylad,” Bruce warned, but it wasn't fighting back as much as Clark knew he could, it seemed to be more of a show for the kids. He probably figured they'd feel more accomplished that way, and though Clark doubted Dick would fall for it, Jason was grinning victoriously.
“Worth it,” the boy snarked, climbing onto the bed.
Once Clark had wrangled Bruce onto his stomach and sat above his head, legs securing his arms, he looked up to see the boys.
Jason was practically vibrating in his spot next to Bruce’s side, while Dick was perched on the left, a still dozing Tim on his lap.
“Get him warmed up for us, Jay, Timmy needs a little more time to wake up,” Dick encouraged. He was rubbing Tim’s back and stroking through his hair, while nuzzling their cheeks together. Clark’s heart sung at the sight, and looking down revealed a similarly adoring look on Bruce’s face too.
“Okay, B, get ready for payback!” Jason was grinning wildly and he sat up on his knees, hands ready.
“Do your worst,” Bruce teased. He winked up at Clark and Clark knew he'd blushed in response when he got a look at Bruce’s self-satisfied smile. Oh, he was really asking for it.
“Go for his thighs, Jay,” Clark said, watching as Bruce's smirk turned into a glare. Jason gave Clark a mock salute before shuffling further down the bed. Unfortunately for Bruce, his linen pyjama bottoms wouldn't protect him much from his son’s attack, and his shirtlessness definitely didn't help defend him any.
Jason went for that same spot from earlier, this time on both sides. His little hands squeezed just above the backs of Bruce’s knees over and over again and every now and then he looked up at Bruce for a reaction.
Unfortunately, Bruce wasn't going easy on Jason at all, levelling out his breathing and schooling his expressions.
“He's being annoying,” Jason huffed with a pout, still squeezing away. “How'd you make him laugh, Clark?"
Clark smiled at him reassuringly. “Your dad's a pretty tough nut to crack, Jay, I caught him off guard while he was sleeping. He's pretty good at hiding his reactions.” Jason’s frown deepened, so Clark continued. “Except with one spot.”
“Which spot?” Dick asked, still cradling a sleepy Timmy but watching Bruce intently. The man in question stayed quiet, likely knowing what Clark’s next move would be and trying to prepare himself. Luckily for the boys, it would all be for nought when Clark started.
He held his hands up at either side of Bruce’s neck and wiggled his fingers, grinning as Bruce flushed just a bit. While he wasn't squirming, he was very obviously fighting to tamp down on a smile, and he only mostly succeeded.
“Woah! You're not even tickling him yet, is his neck really that bad?” That was Jason again, whose eyes were wide with shock. Clark really did need to start getting Bruce in front of the boys.
“Mhmm. His neck’s super ticklish! All it takes is one little finger-” Clark ran a finger down the side of Bruce’s neck, smiling fondly at the trail of goosebumps it left. Bruce’s shoulder tried to come up to protect the spot, but it was a struggle against how Clark had him pinned, and Clark outmatched even the Bat in raw strength.
“Woah,” a little voice breathed out. It was Tim, Clark realised, staring at his hands at Bruce’s neck with something like wonder. “Can I try?”
“Sure, Timmy, come sit with me,” Clark said, moving over to make room for Tim at Bruce’s head next to him. Bruce grumbled but stayed still, mostly resigned to his fate now. Dick shuffled himself a little closer to his dad too.
Tim copied Clark’s earlier movements exactly, wiggling his finger just inches from Bruce’s neck. It yielded the same result; Bruce trying and failing not to laugh.
“Ready, B? It looks like this is gonna tickle pretty bad,” Tim said, not waiting for an answer before moving. He skittered his fingers lightly over Bruce’s neck.
Though the movements were unrefined from lack of practice–Tim was often the one on the receiving end of this treatment, after all–the reaction was immediate.
Bruce tried again in vain to hike his shoulders up, though the rest of him stayed still. His smile turned to light huffs of laughter and Clark chuckled.
“I can't believe you've been holding out on us, B!” Dick laughed. “You said his thighs are pretty good? Will they work better now Timmy’s got him laughing?”
Clark hummed in affirmation. He reached out to hold one of Bruce’s hands, smiling when Bruce squeezed. It was sweet of him to let the boys have their fun and Clark felt helplessly endeared all over again.
A quick shout of laughter sounded through the room and Clark realised Dick had started pinching at the backs of Bruce’s knees. His movements were lighter and more precise than Jason’s, quickly jumping up and down Bruce’s legs rather than staying in one spot.
The boys all cheered when Tim found that particularly ticklish spot at the nape of Bruce’s neck and the man finally began to laugh in earnest.
“Bohohoys-” Bruce said, clearly trying to sound scolding but failing spectacularly. He had a lovely smile on his face, especially coupled with the spattering of pink on his cheeks.
“What's wrong, B?” Jason asked, crawling up the bed a bit to sit near Bruce's ribs. “Does it tickle tickle tickle?” he ran clawed hands across Bruce’s back and the man snorted before succumbing to a new stream of loud, wheezy laughter. The boys were laughing too, Clark realised, amused by their dad’s reactions. Clark chuckled, squeezing Bruce’s hand again and receiving another squeeze in response.
“Remember what he said to you the other day, Tim? About keeping you in the manor since you're so ticklish?” Jason was grinning, and Tim only flushed with a light nod, continuing to skitter his fingers over the back of Bruce’s neck. “Maybe we need to do that for B, since he's so ticklish! What if a rogue found out, huh? Gotham would be done for!”
Of course it was unlikely a rogue ever would find out about the specific weakness of Bruce’s, and even if they did they'd have to get past both his physical and mental armour to elicit a response, yet Bruce still laughed a little harder in response.
“Okahahay, okahahay. No mohohore boys!”
“I think we get to decide when you've had enough. You just lay back and laugh, dad,” Dick laughed, drilling his thumbs into the backs of Bruce’s knees while he spoke. The man twitched a little in response, but he kept them stubbornly still aside from that. He was too distracted keeping his legs in check, though, to hold back his heightening laughter.
Bruce snorted, descending into hazy cackles.
“Oh my God!” Jason cheered. “Do it again, Dickie.” Dick obliged and Bruce once again snorted, shoving his head into his covers. The boys laughed, each speeding up their tickling in an attempt to make Bruce snort again.
After they'd clawed the sound out of him one more time (Jason’s hands strayed too close to the man’s ribs, scratching near the delicate bones) Clark squeezed Bruce’s hand again. When he didn't receive an answering squeeze, he knew the man had had enough.
“Okay, boys, let him breathe now," Clark encouraged, pulling Tim into his lap with one hand, while the other continued to hold Bruce’s. Dick immediately moved back, seemingly also having realised that Bruce had reached his limit, but Jason kept going.
“C’mon please Jay. Your dad’s had enough.”
“What? No way! We have so much to get back at him for!” Jason protested. Thankfully Dick pinched the boy’s hip, pulling him into his lap when Jason tried to curl up to protect himself.
“You okay, B?” Tim asked, wringing his hands nervously. Clark rubbed at his shoulder comfortingly, not wanting the boy to worry too much.
“I'm fine, Tim,” Bruce assured after a minute, sitting up with a groan. “If I were you, though, I'd start running, boys.”
Before they could get up, Clark cut in with, “wait, no, go get ready for school please, boys. Bruce, you can get your revenge when they come home again at the end of the day.” Bruce rolled his eyes but didn't argue, nodding at the boys to listen to Clark.
“Shit, yeah, you're gonna make us late!” Jason exclaimed, racing out of the room, presumably to change for school.
“Language,” Dick scolded, following Jason into the corridor. “Take a nap, B, it helps,” he teased on his way out.
“You're okay, right?” Tim asked Bruce, still fiddling with his hands in Clark’s lap. Bruce huffed in amusement, turning to face Tim properly. He ruffled the boy’s hair and Tim leaned into the touch happily.
“I'm fine, Timmy, promise. I was overdue for some revenge from you all, don't you think?” His hand swept down to Tim’s neck, wiggling his fingers a little. Tim squealed and pulled his shoulders up, shifting away from him. Bruce chuckled. “Besides, I'll get you all back after school anyway. Go get dressed, sweetheart.”
Tim nodded, smiling at both Bruce and Clark as he began to shuffle towards the edge of the bed. Clark smiled back, heart warm with affection.
“As for you,” Bruce started, snapping Clark out of his thoughts. “We have some time while the kids get ready. Do your knees still make you snort?” Clark was given no time to process Bruce's words before the man had laid across Clark, squeezing at his knees.
“Waitwaitwait waihahahait,” Clark snorted, falling into his own round of laughter. At least he got what he wanted, he supposed– laying in bed with Bruce, both awake and happy. Not a bad start to the day, all things considered.
Clark growled around the area of the large living room, loving called the den, as he searched for Dick. The rug was plush under his socked feet as he grinned to himself, letting the anticipation build. Bruce sat in his arm chair with a book in his lap and tea on the coffee table.
Could Clark see little feet poking out from the spot behind the far curtain? Absolutely, the man has x-rax vision regardless. But right now he wasn't Superman or even reporter Clark Kent, he was just Clark; Dick's dad's boyfriend and hopefully a father figure to the small boy.
And anyhow, what was the fun in getting caught immediately?
"Is he behind...here?!" Clark yelled so Dick could hear as he quickly looked behind the bookshelf in the corner. Barely muffled giggles could be heard behind the curtain as Clark slowly got closer.
"You might never find him." Bruce comments with a small smile on his face. As much as he liked to pretend, Bruce loved the soft moments of play where Dick was truly allowed to be a kid.
"You're right." Clark pretends to sigh. "But I have to, this monster is getting hungry." He says with a playful growl and Bruce eyerolls at Clark's silliness.
"Now could he maybe...be behind..." Clark paused and chuckled softly as Dick laughed behind the curtain at the suspense. "Here!!" Clark yells as he finally swiped open the curtains snd snatched Dick into his arms before the boy had a chance to run.
Dick laughed as he was suddenly picked up and carried to the couch by Bruce. Clark tossed the young boy half hazardously onto the couch and quickly followed suit, tackling the boy gently and holding him in his arms.
"Clark, no!" Dick laughed as Clark pulled him close.
"Oh, no chum, Clark isn't here." Clark grins down at Dick, who is beaming so hard back at him his cheeks must hurt. "Only the tickle monster!" He growls before diving his head into Dick's neck, making playful nomming noises and nuzzling into the sensitive skin of Dick's neck to make him laugh.
Dick squeals and throw his head back, immediately thrown into a giggle fit at Clark's actions. "Nohoho!"
"Oh, yes." Clark says into Dick's neck before blowing a raspberry, sending Dick into loud cackles.
Clark digs his fingers gently into Dick's sides to tickle to, wiggling persistently at the spots he knew were sensitive. He crawls one of his hands around to Dick's belly while his other sneaks up to his armpit, all while still nuzzling whatever stubble he had against Dick's neck.
Dick shrieks below Clark, his face bright red as he cackles and kicks his feet against the couch. Dick was rather good at escaping by squirming from grips but was effectively trapped while Clark held him.
Bruce chuckles as he stands up from his spot and watches the two as he walks back. "D-Dahahad!" Dick laughs. "Save mehehe!!"
Clark loosens his hold to let Dick squirm out and run towards Bruce, still giggling as he hides behind the older man's legs.
"You want me to save you from the mean tickle monster?" Bruce hums, pushing Dick's now messy hair out of his face.
Clark growls playfully as he stands up from the couch. "The tickle monster doesn't exclude any victims." He grins. "You might be next."
Bruce gasps as he plays along. "Oh, no!" He says dramatically. "Run, Dick! Save yourself!"
Dick giggles as he streaks out of the room and down the hall, making his way to his next hiding spot in the manner. Clark catches Bruce in a hug as soon as Dick runs out, smiling down at his boyfriend.
"You caught me." Bruce murmurs, a fond look in his eyes that was reserved for Clark alone.
"Now what to do with you?" Clark hums thoughtfully.
"I can think of a few things." Bruce says quietly as he leans up and catches Clark in a gentle kiss that Clark happily reciprocates.
While kissing, Clark sneaks a hand down and squeezes Bruce's hip, rubbing a thumb into the ticklish pressure points. Bruce pulls back with a laugh as he shoves at Clark's hand, grinning despite himself even as he tries to glare.
"You're done."
"Really?" Clark grins. "I was just getting started."
Still clearing out wips, have some cute cuddly superbat
"This is ridiculous."
Clark chooses not to respond as Bruce glares up at him from where his head in laying in Clark's lap, the two stationed in their shared bed in Wayne Manor.
"You're the one who always comes back in a sour mood, not me." Clark says, fluttering fingers into Bruce's neck as a warning, grinning when he scrunches up.
"I don't come home grumpy." Bruce's scowl wavers when Clark reaches back to keep tickling but Bruce is fast enough to catch his hands this time.
"Debatable." Clark says quickly and continues talking before Bruce can defend himself. "Regardless, I have a game we can play that will be fun, cheer you, and use that brain of yours." Clark taps Bruce's forehead with a finger before he gently pulls his boyfriend's arms down to rest as his sides and then hooking his legs over them, effectively trapping them.
"Is this my kind of fun or yours?" Bruce asks as he tests Clark's trapping of his arms.
Clark eyerolls at the snark. "Both, now listen." He replies. "I'm going to give you a riddle that you have to solve but also tickle you at the same time."
"This sounds a lot like your kind of fun-"
"We'll start off easy and then get harder." Clark ignores Bruce's comment. "And if you get it wrong they'll be a punishment. Ready?"
"Do I get to know the punishment first-?"
"Nope!" Clark grins and reaches down to flutter fingers into the sides of Bruce's neck. "Okay, here's your first riddle. What is at the end of a rainbow?"
"A pohohot of gold." Bruce says sarcastically, immediately regretting his choice of words when Clark reaches down and digs into his armpits in retaliation. "Okahahay!"
"Take this serious." Clark says but he's grinning.
"The le-hehehe-letter W!" Bruce laughs, squirming as much as Clark's hold will allow. "Clahark!"
"Good job!" Clark laughs along with him, stopping the tickling momentarily as he looks at his next riddle, letting Bruce catch his breath as well. "If an electric train is traveling south, which way is the smoke going?"
Bruce raises an eyebrow at Clark who laughs at his expression. "You think you're funny." He grumbles and grunts a laugh when his side is repeatedly poked.
"I think I'm hilarious." Clark responds. "Come on, what's the answer?"
"It's electric, there's nohoho smohoke!" Bruce squirms from the offending pokes until Clark lets up.
"You're doing good, let's up the ante." Clark murmurs.
"This riddles are easy, Clark." Bruce smiles, more smug than anything. "I'd hope I'd be doing good."
"Oh, since you're so confident, then don't mind if I do." Clark grins when Bruce belly laugh when his hips are repeatedly squeezed, rubbing thumbs into the divots there. "Alright, B... you can see a boat filled with people and it has not sunk, but when you look back, you don’t see a single person on the boat. Why?"
Bruce laughs both at the tickling and the absurdity of the question. "Whahahat kind of question is thahahat?!"
"It's a riddle, not a question." Clark snickers, now massaging into the muscle of Bruce's lower abs, pulling laughter like taffy out of the man below him. "What's the answer?"
"Ahaha-! I-I dohohon't-" Bruce kicks his feet on the bed, stalling for time as he thinks. "They're engahaged!"
"The answer was married, but I guess I'll count that." Clark replies and moves his hands up to his final spot, Bruce's ears.
"Ohoho, come ohohon!" Bruce cackles, his face a bright shade of pink as he tries to squash Clark's hand against his shoulder but only opens up the other side. With his arms securely trapped all he's left to do is kick his legs uselessly and squirm side to side.
"Okay, last one." Clark says over Bruce's raspy laughs. "A man's height is six feet, he's an assistant at a butcher's shop, and wears size 9 shoes. What does he weigh?"
"Whahahat?!" Bruce whines through his laughter, shoving his face into Clark's leg as his cheeks heat up further. "This is dumb!"
"I thought you were a great detective?" The kryptonian grins at the attempted glare sent his way. "Come on, you can figure it out."
"Nohohot while your-" Bruce lets out a quiet yelp as Clark slows his fingers to just tracing, the gentle sensations worse than the rougher fluttering.
"Not while I'm what?"
"F-Fuck you!" Bruce grits out, a wide grin on his face.
"What's the answer, Bruce~?" Clark sing-songs.
"I don't knohohow!"
"Is that your answer?" Clark grins back. "Because that, unfortunately, is incorrect. Which means you get the special reward for losing."
"W-What-?" Bruce begins to say before Clark dives down, blowing a long raspberry right under his ear. The deep vibrations send Bruce into immediate hysterics, his laughter bouncing off the walls of the room.
Clark continues to press raspberries deep into Bruce's skin until he can hear the desperation in his laughter, squirming now feeble as he's run out of energy.
Clark pulls back and lets Bruce breathe, enjoying the grin on his face and any leftover giggles that spill out.
"The answer was meat, by the way." Clark adds. "Because he's a bucther."
Bruce glares darkly up at his sunshine incarnate boyfriend and eyerolls as he melts into his lap. "That's stupid."
"Stupid enough to trick The Batman." Clark grins and Bruce wipes the smug look off his face with a kiss.
"You're lucky I love you." Bruce murmurs against Clark's lips.
Summary: Bruce Wayne is no stranger to flings and one night stands. He is an attentive lover, good at grand gestures, but it’s almost always come from a place of performance. Now, with Clark, he knows how to have sex, how to show him off at parties…But affection still feels foreign to him. (My lovely mutual @fickle-tiction sent me an idea via DMs and I ran with it. I hope you enjoy it!)
Bruce knows how to be romantic.
He’s never been in a long-term relationship, obviously. How would he explain the late nights, the myriad of injuries, and why he suddenly disappears whenever the bat-signal is in the sky?
But he’s dated. Well, he’s had flings. Affairs. One night stands.
Bruce knows how to have sex with one or two strings attached, more accurately. He can take a woman on a fancy date to an expensive restaurant, hold the door open for her, pay the tab. He can make sure that the paparazzi snap a photo or two of her on his arm. He can fuck her good and hard before sending her on her way without a phone number for her to reach him at, because he doesn’t really do second dates.
He supposes that doesn’t really count as romance — it’s more like a carefully constructed transaction: The women get to say they fucked Bruce Wayne, the richest man in Gotham, and tell all their friends how polite he was, how intelligent the conversation was, and how mind-blowing the sex was. And Bruce, in turn, gets the reputation of a player, a womanizer, a man who uses his wealth and status to get the girls and can always get them off.
It’s all part of his Brucie Wayne persona, the version of him that the tabloids love, the paparazzi drool over, the general public of Gotham hate or revere, depending who you ask.
He exists within these two states: Bruce Wayne, the philanthropic heartthrob, and Batman, an enigmatic vigilante. And the man in between…Well, he’s not sure he knows who he is without these two extremes.
There’s no particular thing about Bruce that he feels screams who he is. His home is finely decorated with expensive, minimalistic things. He drives cars because they are fancy and expensive, not because he necessarily likes them. His clothes are finely tailored, but show no personality. He doesn’t remember the last time he sat and listened to an album, watched a movie, or tried something new just for the hell of it.
He doesn’t have interests or hobbies, the way that the average person does. He works out, to maintain the strength and stamina that being Batman requires. He pretends like he does all these extreme sports to explain away the injuries and scars; he has technically paraglided and skydived before, just under very different circumstances than one would imagine. It wasn’t for the adrenaline rush or a fun vacation activity, it was necessity.
Yesterday, Clark asked him what his favorite color was, and Bruce couldn’t give him an answer.
“Black?” he said after a long stretch of silence. “But I’ve never thought about it before.”
Clark had stared at him like he had three heads. “I thought everyone had a favorite color.”
Bruce wasn’t sure why it made it feel so defensive. “Well, I guess I don’t.”
He cares what Clark thinks about him, tries his damndest to treat him with a sort of kindness Bruce usually reserves for the children, and even then, he knows none of them would consider him nice. Sure, he loves them and they know it, but it’s an unspoken thing that lurks in the way he trains them, protects them, worries for them.
But he wants Clark to think he’s nice.
All of this to say, Bruce has feelings for Clark Kent that are confusing and frankly annoying, because Bruce has better things to do, i.e. saving the world, than pining for his…friend? Well, he supposes that he and Clark are friends, and he knows that they should probably stay that way.
Because he doesn’t know how to do romance right, and Clark deserves better than this, his inability to express his emotions, his lack of an instinct for physical affection.
Clark is the human equivalent of an excitable Labrador, and Bruce’s energy is more that of a black cat who has been hit by several cars and still refuses to die.
They won’t work, and Bruce accepts that rather quickly, because what he does have a natural instinct for is suppressing his emotions.
***
Clark is going to be the death of Bruce Wayne, one way or another.
Whether it’s a Justice League mission gone wrong, Clark turning on him one day (which feels unlikely, but Bruce has learned to be prepared for anything), or a heart attack caused by those goddamn puppy-dog eyes, Bruce has accepted his fate.
Speaking of puppy-dog eyes, that was all it had taken for Bruce to agree to bring Clark as his plus-one to an event, which otherwise was not allowing the press inside.
So now, he’s standing in a new suit, nursing a glass of champagne, and biting his tongue as some pretty actress fiddles with Clark’s tie, clearly into him and too drunk to go about it tactfully.
Envy is a more unfamiliar emotion than most for Bruce; he has just about everything a man could want, in terms of wealth, reputation, and tangible objects.
When he was a child, the only thing he ever felt envy towards were the children who had living, loving families. Seeing a father scoop up his daughter at the playground, a mother kiss her son’s bruised knee while he went about his life used to make pain twist deep in his gut, and he would find himself thinking: Why does that child deserve parents, and I don’t?
He had learned early on to bury that feeling, too.
But now, watching Clark stumble over his words as he talks to this woman, Bruce feels absolutely pissed. He walks over before he can think it through, turns on that Brucie Wayne charm, and puts a hand on Clark’s shoulder.
“Did you want some more champagne, baby?” he asks, offering his glass.
Clark turns from the woman to him and back again, looking bewildered. “What?”
The actress has finally stopped touching him. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you were…with someone,” she says, eyeing Bruce curiously.
He gives her a smile. “I mean, who could resist this face?” he replies, taking Clark by the chin and squishing his cheeks between his thumb and fingers.
Bruce can feel the warmth of Clark’s blush on his fingertips.
Clark offered the actress a smile before she walked away, her plans foiled.
“Baby?” Clark says.
“You looked uncomfortable. I figured pretending you were taken would be the easiest way to get her to go away,” Bruce replies, like it was the obvious solution, a perfect plan.
Clark blinks at him, clearly still confused, but going along with it like the good sport he is. “You do know that she’s gonna take that information straight to the papers, right?”
Well, Bruce hadn’t really thought that part through, but whatever. He doesn’t care what the papers say; the persona he displays to the public is that of a playboy, anyway. Nothing he does to keep up the thrill-seeking businessman act embarrasses him anymore, and he certainly isn’t going to be embarrassed at the idea of being associated romantically with a good-looking, successful person simply because he happens to be a man.
He shrugs. “Well, we might as well give them something good to write about,” he replies, wrapping an arm around Clark’s waist and pulling him close.
With anyone else, this action would have meant nothing. He could have done it without a second thought, without even needing to be attracted to or interested in the person. But with Clark, the touch makes Bruce feel more conscious of his every move, more cautious than he normally would be.
Clark is one of the few people in this world that Bruce would utter the word friend in reference to, and truly mean it. He understands how a friendship is supposed to work, from an outsider’s perspective, and he’s pretty sure that fake-dating isn’t a normal activity that friends participate in.
There is no rulebook, no manual, no scientific study, and no perfectly scripted act that he can turn to now. It’s very rare that Bruce ever feels unsure of himself, but in this moment, touching Clark, he feels out of his element.
Two plans emerge before him in his mind: First, he could drop the act now that the woman is gone, stop touching Clark, clear his throat, and continue on with the night. Let the papers try to run the rumor, allow it to settle down and die when no one can prove it, and then he’ll be seen with a different woman next week, and he and Clark can forget it ever happened.
The second option is that he can put on his charm, flirt with Clark like it means nothing to him, every move methodical—fix his glasses right when the camera comes out, adjust one of those curls swooping down onto his forehead as a group whispers, make sure they all see what an attentive partner Bruce Wayne is, and then at the end of the night, he and Clark can pretend it never happened.
Strangely, he finds that he wants to do neither. He wants to keep touching Clark, without the prying eyes and flashing cameras, and he wants to mean it. He doesn’t want to flirt with Clark as the version of himself that the general public sees, to be fake with him. But he doesn’t know how to make it sincere, to turn off the carefully crafted persona and tell Clark how he feels.
Bruce knows that Clark can hear his heartbeat, but sometimes, he worries that Clark can read his mind. Perhaps it’s just the over-pouring amount of empathy that Clark has that makes Bruce feel that way, but it still surprises him when Clark leans close and murmurs, “We don’t have to stay.”
“You’re here to get a story,” Bruce replies, arm still wrapped around Clark’s waist.
He throws his arm over Bruce’s shoulder, squeezing him back in a one-armed hug. “I think anything I write will be overshadowed by our love affair, now,” he teases.
“I’m sorry,” Bruce says, and the words feel so foreign on his tongue, but Clark deserves an apology for this, letting his emotions get in the way of both of their jobs tonight.
Clark chuckles. “For what? I got to see one of these fancy parties, made some connections…And I got to see you smile, even if it was fake.”
Bruce suddenly feels very warm, and he removes his arm from around Clark’s middle. “It’s going to look even more scandalous if we leave early, you know.”
Something in his stomach flutters when Clark just grins.
Bruce can hear the clicking of cameras as they not-so-subtly sneak out of the event, fingers interlocked. The minute they’re outside, he drops Clark’s hand, and he thinks he imagines the disappointed look on Clark’s face.
***
Bruce is trying to not think too hard about what this means.
Clark is…Well, he’s Clark, he’s fucking Superman, and he’s beautiful. Don’t get him wrong, Clark’s a nerd, with bizarre music taste and too-big suits and crooked glasses, but his curls fall so perfectly in his face when he’s not smothering them in gel, and he’s grinning at Bruce so innocently, as if he didn’t just have his cock inside of him.
This is one of the few times in his life that Bruce feels that sex meant more to him than putting on a performance, adding a notch to his bedpost, with the added benefit of a little stress relief.
Sex is easy for him, while intimacy is not, and yet everything about the way Clark had touched him, how he’s looking at him now feels so intimate. Bruce has never allowed someone to have such power over him like that, and it’s the first time he’s ever felt that vulnerability made something better.
But now, Clark is seemingly trying to cuddle with him, and that is too much for Bruce to handle for one night, so he gets out of the bed and gets redressed.
But when he turns around and sees the look in Clark’s eyes, that kicked-puppy little pout, he sighs and crawls back into the bed, laying flat on his back, with a few inches of distance between them.
“Why do you do that?” Clark asks.
“What do you mean?”
“When we’re in public…In front of the cameras, you’re so touchy. Even when we’re around the League, you’ll touch me…A hand on my shoulder, at least. But when we’re alone, you never reach out first.”
Physically intimacy, he’s good at, in the form of rough, passionate kisses and wandering, steady hands. Even with the unfamiliarity of doing it with a man, Bruce had known his way around their earlier endeavors.
This is the part he’s awful at. Talking about his feelings is not something he’s ever really done, never had much of a reason to, and now he’s scared he’s going to fuck this up.
But he’s going to try to explain himself anyway, because Clark is the only person who has ever made him feel this light hopefulness in his chest, has made unable to swallow the instinct to smile. He figures that that’s as close to romantic as he’s ever gotten.
“When we’re in public, I’m always pretending to be someone I’m not,” he replies simply. “Either I’m playing up Bruce Wayne’s ‘whirlwind romance’ for the press, or I’m showing that Batman is a supportive teammate and friend. I’m never myself when there are other people around.”
“So, do you…not like it when I touch you?” Clark asks.
Such simple words feel ridiculously awkward coming out of his mouth. “I do,” he replies. “It’s just…Not in my instinct to do it back. Or first. I don’t know how to act like…your boyfriend. I’m not good at this.”
Clark tentatively scoots over on the bed, their shoulders brushing. “That’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Together.”
Together is also a word that rarely leaves Bruce’s mouth, but he echoes it back anyway, before capturing Clark’s lips in a kiss.
***
Bruce trails his fingers lazily over Clark’s back, almost absent-mindedly.
He’s surprised when Clark flinches away with a soft gasp. His fingers freeze in mid-air, eyeing the other man with curiosity and concern.
“Are you okay?”
Clark gives him a sheepish smile. “Yeah, just ticklish.”
“Oh.”
Bruce pulls his hand away then, awkwardly folding them across his stomach. Of course, when he tries to be sweet, he finds a way to mess it up.
Scooting closer, Clark says, “You don’t have to stop; it still felt nice.”
Then, upon seeing the apprehensive look on Bruce’s face, he backpedals. “Unless you don’t want to, it’s fine—“
There’s a fond smile threatening to tug at the corners of Bruce’s mouth, and instead of fighting it back, he allows it to spread. “I can keep going.”
Clark’s face looks pink in the dim light of the room, and Bruce returns his fingers, tentatively, to his back, still unsure of himself and unfamiliar with the tenderness of it all.
He hears the contended sigh of the man beside him, feels Clark practically melt under the touch, like a cat being pet. It’s sort of adorable, a word which had never really been in Bruce’s vocabulary before.
A rare feeling overtakes him: Mischief.
Clark is such an open book, and Bruce finds it incredibly endearing. He’s working on his ability to be open, too, but honesty comes as easy to Clark as breathing.
If Clark so willingly provided the information that he’s ticklish, then it wouldn’t be so bad if Bruce were to explore it, would it?
He lightens his touch, and Clark twitches slightly. He brings his fingers closer to Clark’s side, and hears a little huff of air, like he’s holding back a laugh.
Bruce pulls him closer, a newfound confidence in his actions surging through him. He presses his face into the side of Clark’s neck, brings all ten of his fingers to Clark’s sides, and strokes them slowly, softly.
The touch is so gentle, and yet Clark barks out a laugh immediately.
“Bruce!” he says.
“Yes?” Bruce replies, feigning innocence.
“It tickles.”
“I know. Do you want me to stop?”
Clark’s answer only comes in the form of giggling, and so Bruce doesn’t stop.
He keeps his touch gentle, exploratory. He traces his blunt nails all over Clark’s sides, his ribs, his stomach. He presses a few firm kisses into the crook of Clark’s neck, which also seem to cause bubbly laughter.
Bruce doesn’t even realize how hard he’s smiling until he finally lets Clark breathe, which he knows he technically doesn’t need to do, but still.
He gets the urge to pull away then, to stop touching him, maybe even apologize. But before he can do any of those things, Clark wraps his arms around him and hugs him close.
“That was mean,” he murmurs, but his body language speaks to the contrary.
Bruce lets himself relax into Clark’s hold, feels the heat radiating off of his blushing face, the way his chest rises and falls a little more rapidly than usual. “You could have easily stopped me,” he replies softly. “If it was really that mean.”
Clark tweaks his side, and Bruce flinches.
Their eyes meet.
“Don’t,” Bruce says, his voice barely a whisper.
Clark hesitates. “Actually?”
His instincts are telling him to say yes, actually, don’t you dare. If he sets the boundary, Clark will listen. But those instincts are the same ones that told him not to pursue this happiness, to stop touching Clark at that party, to shut himself off from other people and the world.
He’s trying to ignore those instincts more now. To stop putting on an act all the time.
The word feels awkward, heavy in his mouth, but Bruce says, “No.”
And Clark grins, and pounces.
It turns out that the laugh Bruce usually gave at parties, pretending to find some unfunny joke hilarious, sounds nothing like the real thing, the breathy giggling that escapes him when Clark’s hands latch onto his hips and squeeze them.
Before Clark came into his life, romance was just an act that served one of his alter egos well. But Clark has brought out the man between his personas, the Bruce that resides between playboy and vigilante.
And for a first time in a long time, this happiness is not an act.
i've read pretty much every batman-related post that @august-anon, @fickle-tiction, and @tickle-bugs have posted, so these may be incredibly derivative, but i'm hyper-fixating on batman/superbat so hard rn so take these
look, after all the training he has gone through to withstand just about anything, you would think that bruce wayne wouldn't be ticklish
and you'd be, like, half right...he's very good at turning it off and suppressing his reactions to it
but he still is ticklish—he is only human, after all
clark is one of the few people that bruce ever lets his guard down around enough for clark to discover this particular weakness
bruce is ticklish...well, pretty much everywhere
once you break his resolve enough to get him laughing, he's pretty much done for, like his whole nervous system reignites
his ears, neck, ribs, and hips are all extremely ticklish
he would never, ever admit it to anyone (except maybe clark, if he can get over the emotional constipation for one minute) but he sort of likes it. it's fun and it reminds him of his childhood and it makes him feel like clark really loves him, to want to touch him like that and make him laugh
clark is ticklish, too, but often ends up being the ler in his dynamic with bruce, simply because bruce is too much fun to tickle
clark is also very ticklish, but he openly admits that he finds it fun and isn't embarrassed by this fact at all
his sides, stomach, and knees are all super sensitive
he also associates it with his childhood with ma and pa kent, and he just loves physical affection and laughing and letting loose
bruce isn't used to being on the giving or receiving end of all that affection/attention, but it oddly feels easier to receive it...it's less effort to lay there and laugh than it is to be the one doing the tickling, wondering if he's doing it right and if clark is having fun
he likes the way that tickling makes his brain shut off, and clark is more than willing to assist him in the regard
bruce does still get his revenge sometimes, and clark just has the sweetest, giggliest laugh in the universe that makes everyone melt
whereas bruce flips between making odd grunts and whimpers, to letting the giggles slip out, to belly-laughing, and back to trying to hold it in all within a matter of minutes (it's all still cute, too)
I just saw your tags on that video and if you write that fic I will absolutely lose my shit omg
listen I can write fics but titles aren't my thing be nice yall 😔
Unlicensed
Summary: Bruce doesn't put his trust in a lot of people, especially when it comes to his body. When Clark offers to help him with a pulled muscle, he reluctantly takes the offer but Bruce's unlicensed chiropracting season soon becomes unexpectedly giggly.
It had become a regular thing for Clark and Bruce to do some missions together, even more so once they were officially dating, but still keeping it private.
It didn't take extremely long for Bruce to pick up on Clark's mannerisms (he did that way before they started dating though). He liked to think he still kept to himself, any quirks he had being remotely minute.
It didn't take long to realize that he wasn't as slick as he thought he was. When Clark bought him coffee from a particular café that he liked, he played it off as coincidence. That is until it became a regular thing. Clark would fly over and bring him coffee whenever he knew Bruce was up late (he gave up on trying to get Bruce to sleep a long time ago).
There was a soft knock on the door to Bruce's office. It was extremely late - or early, depending on how you look at it - so it likely wasn't one of the kids awake. Most of his robin's kept to their own confines whenever it was this late.
"Come in," Bruce says, voice a bit gruff from not being used in hours.
Clark walks into the office, coffee and pastry in hand. He wore a smile that reminded Bruce of the sun, though he'd never say something that sappy out loud.
"You don't have to keep bringing me coffee, y'know." Bruce says but he gratefully takes the drink and pastry from Clark. "I know you aren't a night person."
"I don't mind, really I don't technically need sleep." Clark shrugs before kissing Bruce's forehead.
Bruce hums as he sips the coffee Clark brought him. On a regular day, he always had plain black coffee but he did enjoy the sweetness that came with the coffees that Clark would bring him.
"What are you working on?" Clark asks as he sits down on the empty space of Bruce's desk, glancing down at his computer.
"Paperwork and bills for Wayne Enterprise." Bruce says. "It's mundane, but I like to do it myself instead of hiring someone else." He says and Clark nods in response.
Bruce reaches back to the computer, using his left arm to type and keeping his right tucked by his side. He could see Clark watching with narrowed eyes.
"Did you hurt your arm?" He asks and Bruce holds back a sigh. He had been on patrol the night before and taken a fall off a roof, due to the concrete being slick from rain. In an attempt to not smack the ground below, he shot off a grappling hook but with it catching him sharply, he had strained his shoulder. Of course he didn't voice this to Damian, who was with him at the time, or Alfred when he got back to the cave, or Clark now.
"It's fine." He replies with a half shrug, his shoulder too sore to do a full one.
"You're right handed, why are you typing with your left?" Clark asks, knowing he had Bruce cornered, and Bruce shoots him a glare. "You're not fooling anyone, I can see that it's got a knot in it."
Bruce sighs and replies with a grumble. "Fine. I just pulled it while out on patrol with Damian yesterday."
"Just pulled it?" Clark asks skeptically. "Why haven't you gone to, like, a chiropractor or masseuse?" He asks.
Bruce hesitates for a moment. He was working on being more open with Clark anyway and it's not like he would make fun of Bruce for his reasoning.
"I... I had a bad experience with one the first time I tried to go to one." Bruce mutters. "I don't really trust people with my body anyway."
Clark nods with a hum before hopping off the desk. "I could try and help with it." He offers. "I pull muscles from over straining them all the time. Lois has showed me a few ways to work out the knots though."
Bruce glances at Clark as he thinks. If there were anyone he would trust with this it would be Clark.
"I mean, I'm not licensed or anything." Clark jokes. "But my x-ray vision helps me with seeing muscles kind of, so it make it easier for me to massage out the knot."
Bruce nods as Clark rants. He hesitates before sighing.
"Just be.. gentle." Bruce says reluctantly and he quickly has to hold back a smile when Clark grins excitedly.
"I will, I promise." Clark says as he walks over. "I'm the best unlicensed chiropractor you've ever been to."
"The only one I've ever been to." Bruce replies and Clark laughs. They move over to the couch in Bruce's office, deciding it would be easier and more comfortable than Bruce's spinning office chair.
"You're really tight in the back of your shoulder to your neck." Clark murmurs as he presses into the muscle. Bruce grunts at the soreness, wincing as Clark gently feels the knot.
"I'm gonna start here," Clark says, feeling the muscle on Bruce's neck. He tilts Bruce's neck to the other shoulder before gently pressing his thumb into the tight muscle, massaging at the knot there. The sensation wasn't exactly painful but still sore and Bruce grunts at the feeling. To credit Clark, he was being gentle and Bruce could feel the knot loosening with his touch.
Clark shifts his touch and Bruce automatically stiffens. Now it wasn't just a sore feeling but his massaging sent tingles through his neck, butterflies fluttering in his stomach.
He grips the couch below him to hold back a grin, doing his best to not squirm. This didn't go unnoticed by Clark.
"I'm sorry, am I being rough?" He asks, pulling his hand back and giving Bruce a reprieve from the ticklish sensation in his neck.
"No, it's fine." Bruce says. "I'm just, uh.. sensitive. Kinda." He mutters. "You can keep going."
Clark hesitates before digging his thumb into the knot which almost has Bruce squeaking from the tickle it sends down his spine.
"Does this tickle?" Clark asks when he feels Bruce's shoulders start to shake with held back laughter.
"A little." Bruce mumbles after a moment of hesitation.
"Oh my gosh," Clark grins and Bruce scowls. "You're too cute."
"No, I'm not-" He starts to protest before Clark blows a stream of cold air at his neck while massaging and he scrunches up with a squeak.
"This is too good." Clark chuckles as he moves down to rubbing at his shoulder, the muscle by his ribs. Bruce finally gives in with a grin, holding his stomach as he laughs.
"Does it hurt or just tickle?" Clark asks while working out the knot.
"B-both!" Bruce laughs, trying to keep his squirming minute. He breathes a sigh when Clark pulls his hand back. "It feels sore but also ticklish." He mutters and Clark grins.
Bruce watches as Clark walks around to stand in front of him. Clark lifts up Bruce's arm before digging his thumb into the muscle of his pec. Bruce can see it coming a mile away but still folds like a lawn chair.
"This muscle is tight, we need to loosen it." Clark says with a grin, mischief written all over his face as Bruce laughs.
"No we do-hohoho-don't!" Bruce laughs, trying to use his other arm to cover up his armpit. He tries to stand up but Clark quickly lays him down onto the couch, pinning his arm above his head before going to town on his armpit.
"I can't let you leave still feeling sore," Clark teases, grinning down at Bruce. "What kind of chiropractor would I be? Letting a patient leave untreated."
"Cla-ahaha-rk!" Bruce laughs, tipping his head back against the couch as snickers pour from his mouth. His laugh is scratchy but still bright as Clark continues to torment his underarm, digging into the muscle with a practiced ease. "You're nohot even massaging!"
"I'm a professional, you wouldn't understand my methods." Clark replies simply.
Clark continued, not even sticking to Bruce's armpit but also straying down towards his ribs. His large hands wrap around Bruce's ribs as he squeezes the bones, even going do far to dig his fingers into the back of Bruce's ribs just to watch Bruce arch his back away from his touch.
Bruce can feel his face burning with a blush that has to be as red as a tomato. He closes his eyes against the offending sensations, kicking his feet against the couch he was pinned to.
Not being able to stop Clark was a blessing and a curse. On one hand, being completely out of control of the situation wasn't so bad, but being tickled within an inch of his life was definitely not his favorite use of Clark's strength.
Although he did have to admit that this was fun. Tickling wasn't extremely common for him, both growing up and in his adulthood, but it was fun. He'd never say it outloud, but the sensation wasn't unpleasant and letting loose was something he should probably be doing more often.
"Okay, ohoho-okay!" Bruce laughs after Clark had gone back to digging into his armpit. "I'm not sore!"
"Hmm, are you sure?" Clark teases but he does slow down his actions. "As long as my patient is fully satisfied." He says as he releases Bruce's arm.
"I-I'm leaving you a bad review." Bruce says as he catches his breath.
"Do you feel sore?" Clark asks as he sits down beside Bruce's head. After a moment of moving his shoulder and arm he actually was surprised to find it feeling a lot better than before, even with Clark's method of loosening the knot.
"Whatever." He mutters when Clark grins. "Thanks." He adds after a pause.
"You're welcome." Clark says after pressing a kiss to Bruce's forehead and then lips, which Bruce happily reciprocates.
"Y'know," Clark grins, pulling back mid-kiss which has Bruce huffing (and totally not pouting). "If you wanted me to tickle you, you could'a just asked." He teases.
Bruce can feel his face burning as he smacks Clark with a pillow. "You're dead." He growls before launching his own counter attack, Clark laughing before he even touches him.
I just saw your tags on my headcanon and .... you should def write that. Yup. It'll be good for your soul. Trust me.
Ask and you shall receive 🙂↕️🙌
Just For You
Summary: Hal walks in on Clark messing with Bruce while the two think they're alone post mission. After trying it for himself, he's disappointed when it doesn't work quite as well as it did for Clark.
Clark peeked into the changing room and smiled when he saw exactly who he was looking for. Bruce stood with his upper layer of armor off and cowl set aside, left only in the soft civvie sort of material that he wore under his gear during the colder months.
The changing room was quiet and comfortably warm. The Hall of Justice was always like this post mission, everyone following their own routines to wind down and relax, whether it involved a shower, stretching, meditation.
"Hey, you." Clark says, and Bruce merely turns, raising his eyebrows in greeting. "I was wondering if you'd already headed back to the manor yet."
"I think I'll take a shower before I head back. It's not that late yet." Bruce replies as Clark walks over.
Bruce lets Clark pull him closer and press a soft kiss to the spot in between his eyebrows. He responds with a rare huff accompanied by a soft smile.
"You're in a good mood." Clark says, and he wraps arms around him from behind and buries his face into Bruce's neck.
"What can I say? The mission went surprisingly well." He says and smothers a grin when Clark huffs a laugh into his neck.
The way Bruce almost scrunched his shoulder wasn't lost to Clark, and he purposefully noses behind Bruce's ear, enjoying the way Bruce squirms uselessly.
"Clark -" Bruce goes to whine before cutting himself off with a small squeak as Clark spreads his fingers where they rest on Bruce's ribs.
"Yes?" Clark responds innocently, pressing a kiss to the soft spot under his ear.
"You're being -" Bruce grits his teeth to hold back a laugh, his grin still peeking through as Clark scribbles on his side for a moment.
"I'm not doing anything, I don't know what you're talking about." Clark says, squeezing the soft spot under Bruce's ribs when he goes to protest. "Speaking of talking, you seem to be having trouble doing that."
"You are so dead." Bruce tries to growl, but it comes out more high pitched then he intended due to Clark wiggling his index fingers into his armpits.
Bruce squirms in an unbreakable grip with Clark happily teasing him, continuing to tickle him whenever he tries to talk.
"What's so funny?" Clark says when Bruce throws an elbow as hard as he could before breaking into scratchy giggles.
"Clark!" Bruce says, pushing at the hands flexing on his stomach, but to no avail.
Clark hears the footsteps down the hall over Bruce's rough laughter and debates with himself to continue messing with Bruce. He knew Bruce was a secretive person, but he did deserve some revenge for relentlessly teasing him the past week, even during missions and training. Clark would do anything to go back and have Bruce never learn the term Supershit, but here they were.
He saw Hal poke his head into the room before backing mostly out of sight, at least for a human. Meanwhile, Bruce tried to curl around Clark's hands that were squeezing at his stomach, laughter flowing from him.
"Cla-haha-Clark!" Bruce protests, continuing to aimlessly elbow Clark, cursing through his mirth.
Clark waited until he saw Hal walk down the hall and out of Bruce's sight to finally release Bruce, pressing a final teasing kiss to his cheek.
"I'm going to suspend you permanently over a pool of kryptonite." Bruce glares as he catches his breath. Clark simply grins back at him.
"You would've done that already if you wanted to." Clark replies, grabbing his elbow gently and pulling him into a kiss.
Bruce grumbled something incoherent afterward, knowing that Clark was right.
--------------------------------------------
Oh, this was gold.
Not only did he catch Clark and Bruce being romantic, but he caught Clark tickling Bruce. Bruce, of all people. The Batman, Dark Knight, King of Brooding, was ticklish.
This was too good to not be exploited.
The gym was almost always occupied, whether Hal himself was in there or Bruce was training on the punching bags, or Diana was sparring with whoever she could get to volunteer.
Thankfully, today was no different than that.
Hal walked casually into the gym, secretly ecstatic to see Bruce and Clark there, standing by the punching bags. They must have just started working out since they weren't sweaty yet. Did Clark even need to work out? Another question for another time.
Hal grinned to himself as he walked up behind Bruce. It was difficult to sneak up on a vigilante, but he seemed preoccupied with whatever Clark was talking about.
"..and I was telling Lois about -" Clark pauses as he sees Hal but recovers when the green lantern puts a finger to his lips.
"- about, uh, the aliens we fought the other day. The blue ones?" He says, trying not to look at Hal.
"Green ones." Bruce corrects easily. "You can stop trying to sneak up on me, Hal. It hasn't worked, and it never will." He adds without turning around.
Hal huffs as he eyerolls. "Whatever. It was worth a shot." He says before launching himself at Bruce, finger digging into the other man's armpits. If only more people were here, maybe even Victor could've recorded for blackmail.
Hal's grins quickly falls however, when Bruce stays the exact same. He turns his head and raises an eyebrow, expression relaxed and neutral.
"Are you done?" Bruce says calmly, and Hal feels a flush gathering on his face.
"I-I, uh..." Hal falters, pulling his hands away after a few more seconds. "I just got back from the bar... must've had too much." He mumbles quickly.
Bruce grunts in reply, and Hal walks out of the gym as quickly as possible.
Bruce huffs once Hal is out of the gym and he turns back to Clark, who has confusion written on his face.
"What?" Bruce asks. Had he done something wrong? Hal was usually playful like that but his antics never worked on Bruce, no matter how hard he tried.
"You aren't ticklish?" Clark asks, looking akin to a kicked puppy. "Have you been pretending to be for me?"
"Of course I am." Bruce responds easily, as if Clark had asked him if the sky was blue.
"Then why didn't you react to Hal? I've done exactly what he just did a billion times, and it has always worked." Clark says as Bruce starts to wrap his hands so they don't get injured on the punching bags.
Bruce raises a silent eyebrow at him. "Come on, Clark. He doesn't get to see that, that's only for you." He says. "I'm not going to let just anyone tickle me, Clark."
Clark's stomach filled with a happy warmth that only Bruce could cause and he felt like smothering Bruce in his affection right then and there but takes a deep breath to steady himself.
"You let me tickle you?" Clark rebounds, teasing grin on his face that makes Bruce eyeroll.
"Don't push it, Smallville." Bruce replies with a small smirk.
