This post, honest to God, hit me like a brick
Clark originally wants to do the wedding around Wayne Manor's vicinity, if not in the Kent's farm. They both agree they want a private wedding, but Clark just doesn't know where Bruce is planning this. He also wants to help and maybe plan this together, but Bruce quickly shut that idea out with his sweet, sweet smile and a convincing argument made after a heated post-proposal sex.
"C'mon, Clark, baby. You had this proposal planned without me, so I want to surprise you with the wedding." Bruce said with his syrupy voice, hand cradled Clark's face.
"I mean it's not a real proposal if you already know I'm gonna propose." Clark reasoned, pulling Bruce closer into his embrace.
Well, he did plan his proposal very thoroughly.
He painstakingly asked for Zatanna's and Constantine's help to locate the rest of Bruce's late mother's scattered pearl for him. He flew far across the solar system to get a meteorite and extracted its metal for the ring (Clark wants the rings to have an out-of-the-world material, a nod to his origin that's not from earth, and it also makes him feel like as if he has surrendered himself fully to Bruce). He gathered green space-dust during his journey away too. Clark had to grind some of the pearls and the green dust together with an obsidian before compacting it into a shimmering, greenish black gemstone (better than emerald, and definitely not kryptonite). He also put some of the pearl dust to the metal to give it a little glimmer.
Clark doesn't know if Bruce aware of it or not, but he chose the dates of their first ever meet for the propose.
It was a dinner date in one of the top Gotham restaurant Bruce actually like that's not for show, then they picked up extra desserts to-go from a small cafe Clark recommended (he did think about doing ring-in-cake trick but decided to be against it after a stern reprimand from Damian, who did a really good job for keeping the secret). He took Bruce for a detour flight to a remote uninhabited island which, with some help of Alfred and Bruce's kids, has plains stretched far filled full with rose bushes, similar to those from Martha's garden in the manor.
He gave Bruce a pouch filled with pearl. He didn't explain what it was, but he could see Bruce's eyes glistened with tears.
Not until Clark knelt and opened the small box he'd held for the entire day, beautiful ring glimmering under the moon's delicate glow.
He's never seen Bruce cries that much in front of him.
Clark never finished explaining the ring or even asks the question before he was dragged up by the lapel into a sloppy kiss, and Bruce demanded they immediately fly back to his bedroom in the manor.
"And I really want to prepare this once-in-a-lifetime event with you," Clark mumbled into Bruce's hair. He could hear Bruce soft chuckle, felt the shake of his body as Bruce laughed. "Why are you laughing?"
"Clark, baby, this is hardly your first wedding." Bruce lifted his head, pale blue gazing into his, grinning fondly. "And you know it's not my first either."
"Well yeah, but this is our first!" He whined, puppy eyes on display. Bruce laughed even harder. "Don't laugh!"
"Oh, whatever you say, handsome."
Bruce still laughed, but then he peppered Clark's face with kisses and everything feels alright again.
"Okay, you can pitch in."
"—you can only do the guest list. And I'll do the rest."
"Just the guest list?" Bruce stared at him with that fond, calculating stare—in right situations, it turns Clark so hard it makes him dizzy—while Clark flashed him back with his reliable puppy eyes. "Can't even choose the menu? Or the cake?"
"Fine, you can pick the caterer too."
"What about our suits, honey?"
"Don't push it, Kent." Bruce huffed. He shifted, trying to bring Clark down. Clark went along with him, body fully enveloping Bruce. "Now stop that sappy smile and go back to sleep."
"Aww, usually it's me who had to cuddle you to sleep." He nuzzled into Bruce, savoring how the tip of his ears slowly turned red. "It's cute when you're all sleepy like this."
"Yeah yeah, whatever you say, sweetheart."
And they had left it at that.
Fast forward to the D-day, he finds himself blindfolded—a lead lined one, believe it or not. Clark really shouldn't be surprised by how prepared Bruce is—by Alfred, a giddy but secretive smile plastered on his face, quiet literally the last thing he sees before his vision goes dark.
"You know I still can hear things if I want to, right?" Clark blinks, testing the blinds. He feels Alfred holding his arms, ushering him somewhere.
"I believe you will honor your promise to Master Bruce about not 'peeking', Master Clark." He hums as Clark pouts. "Now, I must warn you in case you stumble and crash into a wall, but we are going to go down to the Cave."
"The cave?? Are we going to do a cave wedding?"
"No, but you can keep guessing."
"You know, Alfred? I think I'm just gonna float and you can pull me around like a balloon." He floats, letting Alfred tugs him by the arms.
"Alright," The butler takes him in the middle of... a circle? "But I believe flying in Zeta-Tubes is off limits."
"There's a Zeta-Tubes in the cave?"
Clark barely has time to mentally braces himself before Alfred push the button, and after the few seconds of the familiar whoosing sensation of teleportation ends he feels... cold.
And sensation of falling snow melted in contact.
He hears some excited murmurs and the loss of contact as Alfred leaves him. Are they somewhere with snow? But it's nearly mid-June, and his nervous-addled brain can't really think of any places with snow that Bruce would consider at this time of the year, unless—
"Clark," He hears Bruce whispers. He always does. No matter where he is, whenever it is. Not even in a million years Clark will miss it. "You can take it off now."
The moment he opens his eyes, it feels like the air has left his chest.
Light, blinding light of snow spanning wide across the horizon, but somehow, there's no bitter coldness of the arctic winds biting at his skin. Rows of softly flying—flying? How did Bruce get the chairs to float? Maybe he asked Zatanna or even Michael's help for venue issues but that is not what's important right now—chairs neatly arranged like a crescent moon, and in the middle of the crowd, Bruce...
Bruce stands right in the middle of a stage-like area, Fortress of Solitude standing tall far in the background, its crystal-like structure shines under the Arctic sky.
Crushed diamonds mingle with scatters of pearls, twinkling across the span of his dress. Lace adorned his delicate neck, bat insignia dangling from a string of pearls. His skin is glowing, milky moonlight across the span of his back. And lastly, a silk so fine it's transparent, flowing with the wind, cascading down like a makeshift cape. The dress blends with the blinding white of snow among them, a white so pure one can tell where the dress ends and where the snow starts.
Clark sniffs up a sob, smiling so wide his cheeks ache even through the way he tries so hard to hold his tears. He succeeds—up until Bruce beckons him closer after their vows and then he tastes salt as they share the kiss.
Distantly, he hears people hooting and clapping, Bruce's sweet laughter threading through the noise. He doesn't really care, not when it feels like the world belongs just to the two of them.
Them, the World's Finest.
That title seems so fitting right now, not that Clark wants to brag.
He didn't care when they cheers as he greedily chased Bruce's lips for another kiss, nor does he care about their reaction when Bruce, furiously blushing, is picked up by bridal carry and flown into the safe seclusion of the Fortress of Solitude.
They, afterall, need to do the final step of their wedding; the sacred 'first' night.
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