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1 ~
The first time it happened, Clark barely even realised what he was feeling.
Bruce had called him in to assist on a mission in Gotham City, which was such a rare privilege that Clark was even a little excited. It was a hostage situation, apparently, and even though Bruce could have taken it on by himself (he’d made that point very clear), there were enough hostiles and unknowns in the situation that he’d felt the need for back-up.
With both Batman and Superman there, the fight was over in seconds. Bruce came in from above; Clark, through a wall with the police not far behind. Before long, all the hostage takers were on the ground in handcuffs and the hostages were being helped outside. Clark was speaking to the head of the SWAT team about some minor detail of the raid, when he noticed it.
Bruce, speaking to one of the hostages. Not just any hostage. A kid.
It barely even felt like an invasion of privacy to turn his hearing to the conversation across the room.
“You’ve been so brave.” Bruce’s gravelled voice might as well be next to his ear. “You’ve been so good. It’s all over now, I promise.”
The kid shook his head and backed away, clutching a teddy bear closer to himself. Bruce knelt down in front of him – Clark was carefully definitely not watching from the corner of his eye– and said, “Is that your bear?”
The kid sniffled and nodded.
“Does he have a name?”
“He’s –“ another sniffle “- he’s called Paddington.”
“That’s an excellent name for a bear.” Clark, who knew Bruce far too well, could swear he could hear a hint of a smile in Bruce’s voice. “What about you? What’s your name?” Clark wasn’t even pretending to not watch, now.
“’m Elliot.” The death-grip on the bear tightened; Elliot wiped at his eyes with a sleeve.
“Well, Elliot, I’m Batman. And we’re going to find your mom, okay? I promise she’s right outside waiting for you.” Bruce held out a hand, and Elliot reached out and took it.
No one said a word as Batman walked out, Elliot’s hand in his.
And Clark had this weird feeling in his stomach, like a warmth, like a hot summer day and a smile and fireflies’ glow all mixed together.
---
Later, on a rooftop in Gotham somewhere, Bruce said, “You’re grinning like an idiot.”
Clark shrugged, smile on his face. “Guess I’m just having a good day.”
2 ~
The next time he felt it, it was at a party.
Which was ironic, really, because normally he hated them. He attended high society parties all the time – usually for the Planet, but sometimes at Bruce’s request. A large number of Gotham’s criminals seemed to be among the elite – between them and the criminals in Arkham Asylum, they made this a weird city. Then again, in Metropolis they had a cyborg bad guy who called himself Metallo and was powered by green Kryptonite, so really, who was he to talk?
This particular party, though, was worse than usual. He was here because Bruce had asked him to be – some rich guy attending had connections to Deadshot, apparently. Given Deadshot was somewhat of a nuisance in Gotham (in the same way the Flash was kinda fast, or the Joker was a little crazy), Clark was here listening in to anything the guy might say that could lead to his capture.
Unfortunately, that meant he had to be here at some charity function Bruce had thrown, surrounded by rich old men and insipid giggling women. This was not his idea of a good time.
“If you scowl any more, I’ll start to worry about you vaporising my guests.” Clark glanced to his left to find Bruce having materialised beside him, that half-quirked smile on his face.
“I’ll try my hardest not to.” Clark deadpanned back, and was rewarded with a laugh – and something in his stomach felt like butterflies, like popcorn popping or birds hopping through cornstalks in the hot Kansas sun.
“Come on, Clark. What do the kids say – let’s blow this joint.” Bruce inclined his head towards the door, a hint of a smile on his face.
“What about –“
“I bugged him an hour ago. Anything he says will go straight to my computer. Come on.” A slight smile from Bruce was all it took to persuade him, and then they were out the door.
---
Somehow, they ended up in a Burger King. Everything about the situation was so totally ridiculous that Clark couldn’t help but beam across the table at Bruce.
“What?” Bruce said, eyes narrow and suspicious, sauce on his lip.
“Nothing.” Clark said, and took another bite of his burger to hide his smile.
3 ~
The next time, it had not been a good day.
Well, it had and it hadn’t. Darkseid had made an unexpected appearance from Apokolips, trying to take Earth for himself. The League had managed to stop him with as few casualties as possible, but they could never save everyone. And now the League was heading back to the Watchtower to give everyone time to deal with that.
Clark stepped off the transporter platform, intent on heading straight to the showers and then bed, but a sound behind him made him stop. Someone else teleporting in – but that wasn’t the weird part. The weird part was the barely audible crackle and wheeze that accompanied every breath, the rigidly regular breaths and steps that told him Bruce was in pain.
Something in his stomach dropped, like riding a rollercoaster or a sudden dip in the road or an elevator plummeting down.
Bruce never allowed himself to admit that he was in pain, or needed help – god, that man was more stubborn than Clark’s ma’s prize heifer – but he let Clark wrap an arm around his waist, maybe leaned into him a little. Let Clark steer him towards the medical bay with a minimum of protest and no real fight.
Let him see vulnerability that no one else ever did.
---
Bruce moving on the medbay bed roused Clark, and he blinked awake in the chair beside him. His hand was still in Bruce’s from when he’d fallen asleep that way, and he carefully pulled free. Bruce didn’t even notice.
“How long was I out?” He was trying to sound serious, but his voice was way too scratchy for that, and Clark couldn’t resist half a smile
“Eight hours. Probably the longest night’s sleep you’ve had in a while.” Bruce just glared at him, trying to get up and then wincing ever so slightly – but enough that Clark knew his injuries must be incredibly painful, given the level of pain Bruce had proved himself capable of tolerating. “No, lie back down.”
Bruce glared at him again, but lay back down.
“You’ve got four broken and three fractured ribs, a bruised lung, and you were bleeding a lot. You are not getting up.”
Bruce snorted. “I wondered if they were broken.”
“What – you knew you might’ve broken ribs and you just kept fighting?” Clark frowned, shaking his head. “Bruce – you can’t do that.”
Bruce looked Clark in the eye, that terrifying intense look in his eyes. “Why not? There are things more important than broken ribs and bruised lungs, Clark. Batman is what the world needs him to be, and the world needs Batman to not feel pain.”
“Yes, but – you aren’t like the rest of us. You feel pain.” You’re human, Clark wanted to say. You heal slowly. You need time, and protection, and love –
“You need to be more careful,” was what he really said. Bruce just harrumphed and looked away across the room.
4 ~
After that, he started noticing it when it happened.
His ma knew about Batman, about Bruce and everything he did, and when she heard he wasn’t going to be celebrating Mother’s Day, she’d put her foot down immediately. “You tell that boy he’s coming to Smallville for Mother’s Day,” she’d said, in that no-nonsense voice she had. “He needs to get away from the city more.”
And that was how Bruce ended up sitting at a Kansas kitchen table with Clark and his ma on Mother’s Day, eating chicken pot pie with apple dumplings for dessert. It felt easy having Bruce here; comfortable. His ma doted on him like he was her second son, offering him seconds and thirds with a ferocity that had Bruce almost eating more than Clark.
And at the end of the night, once the dishes were cleared from the table, Bruce offered Clark’s ma the most beautiful set of earring she’d ever seen. She fussed, said that she couldn’t possibly, that they were worth far too much for an old farmer like her, but in the end Bruce insisted and so she took them, cradling the box close. It was the kind of gift, Clark knew, that in another time, another place, might have gone to a different Martha.
There was an odd look in Bruce’s eyes, something like peace.
---
Later, washing the dishes beside Bruce, Clark gently bumped his shoulder with his own. “Um. Thank you, for what you got her. You really didn’t have to.”
Bruce wiped the last few drops of water off of a plate with a dishcloth, turning his head to survey Clark. “Yes, I did.”
He didn’t normally get this close to Bruce, and there was a perfect moment right then, when the world went still and Bruce’s eyes were so blue and his lips so close and Clark could just lean in, taste them for himself –
“You boys doing okay?” His ma’s voice from the doorway, and Clark caught himself. His stomach felt all knotted up, like wire fencing curling up or a tangled patch of blackberries.
“We’re fine Martha, thank you.” Bruce looked away from Clark, and the moment was gone.
5 ~
After Mother’s Day, Clark had a name to put to the feeling.
For the most part, he pretended like there was nothing there – like his stomach didn’t flutter at the sight of Bruce, like he didn’t smile at every one of Bruce’s texts, like he was normal. Like everything was normal.
But that was so hard sometimes. Bruce had a reputation to maintain – and playboy billionaires didn’t get a reputation simply from doing nothing. Bruce had to party.
The worst part was working at the paper. Showing up for work and being told he’d be covering an event Bruce was at, or even just seeing someone else’s article about it. Having to go to parties, and see Bruce’s hand on a supermodel’s lower back, Bruce whisper in some woman’s ear with a smirk, Bruce make drunken, lewd, suggestions to women who lapped it up. Having to know there was nothing he could do about it, because Bruce wasn’t his, was never his, would never be his.
At one particular charity event he was covering, he even caved and used his hearing to locate exactly where Bruce was in the busy room. There was the steady heartbeat – right next to another, quicker one. From somewhere on his right. He glanced over, spotting Bruce and some woman at the side of the room - well, glimpsing, really, given they were in the process of vanishing out the door.
There was a twist in his stomach, like a knife wound or being near Kryptonite or when Lois told him that they needed time apart, that this wasn’t working.
God, this was like Lois all over again, except this time he hadn’t even actually been in a relationship with Bruce. But he might as well have been. How long had they known one another? It had been so long, and they fought like an old married couple anyway, and they were best friends and –
Clark loved him. Clark loved Bruce, and he could never tell him. And he could never have him.
Clark made his excuses, vanishing out the door and into the night.
+1 ~
It was a month after the party, now, and Clark was getting used to that knife twist in his stomach. It was a part of him, now, like flying or dorky glasses or loving Bruce. For better or worse.
He touched down lightly at the secret entrance to the Batcave, going through the retina scan and other security systems before finally making it inside. Bruce was at the computer, typing up something to do with his latest case – he was wearing the costume but not the cowl. Even after all this time, Clark still found that oddly jarring to look at.
He padded lightly over to behind Bruce, leaning on the back of his chair and peering at the screen. “Riddler, huh? He give you any good riddles?”
“Nygma is not someone to treat lightly, Clark. He poses a serious danger to this city.” Bruce glanced up, meeting Clark’s eyes in the screen reflection and letting out a sigh. “Okay.” He spun the chair to face Clark, and Clark took a step back. “I have a riddle for you.”
Clark grinned. “Okay, Batman, if you think you can outwit me.”
“Which one of us is the bigger idiot?” Bruce regarded him coolly for a moment, and Clark just blinked, confused, grin fading into horrible realisation.
“I’m sorry, what –“
“You’re in love with me. I should have noticed much sooner, honestly, I’ve just been very busy recently. You nearly kissed me on Mother’s Day in your kitchen, and you’ve been finding excuses to spend time around me.”
This wasn’t how Clark wanted this to happen. Ideally, it’d never happen; even more ideally, Bruce would love him back – not launch into this brutally blunt rejection. The knife in his stomach twisted deeper.
“I’m – I’m sorry. I get that it makes you uncomfortable. I’ll - give you time to decide what you want to do about it.” He heard himself say the words, but he didn’t remember deciding to – on auto-pilot, he turned to leave.
But then reality came crashing back in the moment Bruce grabbed his arm.
“No, wait – Clark. That’s not what I – this sounded a lot better in my head.” For the first time, ever, maybe, Bruce looked unsure as his eyes looked anywhere but Clark, and his hand dropped back to his side. He took a breath. “Clark Joseph Kent. I – love you.”
The knife in his stomach vanished, replaced by the sun on his skin on hot days and cicadas singing in trees and the taste of apple pie and home – an overwhelming feeling of coming home. Because that’s what Bruce was – he was Clark’s home.
Clark and Lois’ love had been like a supernova – light, glorious, but too bright to look at, and destined to burn out early. But Bruce – Bruce’s love was quiet, brooding, patient, like the darkness he inhabited. If Clark was day, Bruce was night. They balanced.
Clark leaned forward and drank in the dark, one hand on Bruce’s cheek, the other on his hip.
They broke apart, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. Clark smiled an inch from Bruce’s lips, and Bruce half-smiled back. “Bruce Wayne. I love you too.”
The knife in his stomach gone, the knots unravelled – Clark’s stomach felt like summer. He imagined, just for a moment, that he could hear birds sing.
---
Later, in Bruce’s bed, Bruce said, “I think it’s you.”
“It’s me what?” Clark said, lazily stretching and rolling over to hook an arm over Bruce’s bare chest.
“You’re definitely the bigger idiot of us two.”
Clark snorted, nuzzling into Bruce’s neck. “Right, so it’s my fault you have no people skills and can’t show emotion to save your life.”
Bruce's lips on the top of his head; Bruce's nose buried in his hair. "It is not too late for me to kick you out of my house, Kent." But the words weren't threatening in the slightest, and even less so since they were mumbled into Clark's scalp.
"Go ahead and try." Clark laughed. Outside, it was a beautiful day. Cicadas sang in the trees, somewhere someone was baking apple pie, and Clark Kent was home.