Moot Deliberation

by quack_says_the_sane_one

Summary:

Clark Kent has been Superman for a while now, and the last thing he expected to happen in that time was for him to develop feelings for the cold and distant Batman. But when his day job thrusts him into acquaintance with the billionaire Bruce Wayne, Clark thinks this new attraction will make the perfect distraction from his coworker. That is, until Batman begins acting strangely, almost as if his crush wasn’t as unrequited as he’d thought...

Bruce Wayne likes to keep a healthy work-life balance. That means no friendships with his coworkers, especially not Mr. Goody Two-Shoes with his dark hair and his innocent act. And Bruce is positive it is an act - at least, until he runs into Mr. Goody Two-Shoes at a fundraiser, wearing jeans and a sweater instead of tights and a cape. But hey, Clark definitely doesn’t realize who he is, so maybe they can be friends outside of work. Superman doesn’t need to know his secret identity has been cracked; Bruce knows nothing if not how to keep a secret.

Chapter 1: New Old Acquaintances, Part 1

As far as anyone knew, Clark Kent had been off work for a week to visit his aging mother. In reality, he had been off-world, dealing with an interplanetary conflict of catastrophic proportions. No one on earth - aside from his fellow Justice League members - even knew how nearly they had all avoided being blown into asteroid dust. Clark still felt a little shiver down his spine when he thought of Batman’s dark, solemn eyes as he told them all exactly how deadly their mission would be. Although, truth be told, Clark couldn’t say with 100% certainty that the shiver was due entirely to Batman’s doom predictions. It may also have had something to do with the way he’d been staring into Clark’s - Superman’s - eyes at the time.

All in all, Clark was thoroughly looking forward to an evening of socializing, even if it was for work. Some completely normal journalism at a completely typical human event sounded like heaven compared to aliens and global catastrophes and politics.

“Got your eye on anyone?” Lois Lane, Clark’s coworker from the Daily Planet, leaned towards him, eyes still scanning the crowd of rich donators.

“Perry told me to snoop out Wayne,” Clark replied, also searching the crowd.

This fundraiser was one of the biggest events in Gotham City every year, and their boss Perry White had assigned three journalists to the party. Jimmy was already out there chatting with a trio of older women in floor-length gowns, but Lois was biding her time, waiting for her instincts to lead her to the biggest scoop.

“Damn,” Lois said, glancing sideways at Clark. “I wanted him.”

Clark gave her an apologetic smile. “I’d leave him to you if it were up to me. I hear the guy’s pretty full of himself.”

Lois shrugged. “Makes for an interesting read. People like to get angry.”

“I suppose.”

A voice caught his ear, making him turn his head, and Clark finally spotted him far across the room. Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, wearing a crisp black suit and holding a glass of champagne, was deep in discussion with a tall red headed woman. Both wore wide smiles, and as Clark watched, Wayne threw back his head and laughed.

“Target acquired?” Lois had just caught sight of him too.

“Guess so.”

Lois gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “Break a leg. And get the scoop.” They exchanged a grin, and Clark set off to interrupt Wayne’s conversation.

“Excuse me,” Clark said when he reached the pair, sticking out his hand first to the woman and then to Wayne. He gave them both a wide smile. “I hate to barge in, but I was hoping you might be able to answer a few questions?” He held up his notebook and pen for emphasis.

The woman’s eyes flashed with annoyance, though she quickly neutralized her expression. Wayne was looking at Clark strangely.

“And who are you supposed to be?” he asked.

“Clark Kent with the Daily Planet. I just wanted to ask you a few questions,” Clark repeated.

Wayne’s eyebrows shot up, but then a wave seemed to pass over his face, turning his features politely disinterested.

“I’ve heard of you,” Wayne said. “Seems like you write damn near half the articles in that paper.” His tone was carefully bland, and Clark couldn’t tell if he thought that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Clark shrugged. “I get a lot of assignments.”

Wayne looked at him for a moment longer, then seemed to remember the red headed woman at his side. He turned his head towards her, and she gave him a coy smile. It quickly vanished.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” Wayne said, in a tone that made it very clear he would not. The woman scowled, turned on her heel, and made a beeline for the growing crowd of women forming around Jimmy.

“So,” Wayne said, leading the way towards the table of refreshments, “You had questions for me? They wouldn’t have anything to do with my company being a front for a massive tax evasion scheme, would they?”

Clark blinked, momentarily bewildered. “Oh, you mean the article I wrote this summer.”

Wayne swapped his glass for a full one and handed another to Clark. “I have to admit, you do your research. I didn’t think anyone knew about my Swiss investment accounts.”

Clark watched as Wayne turned to face him, leaning back against a pillar with one hand in the pocket of his slacks and the other raising his glass to his lips. Clark thought privately that Wayne’s heartthrob status - verified by his being on three separate issues of Sexiest Man Alive in the last five years - was extremely well deserved. He looked relaxed and suave and self-assured, and the black dress shirt he wore under his tux suited him much better than a typical white one would have.

You’re not here to report on his suit, Clark reminded himself sternly. Out loud he said: “I don’t always get to pick the subject of the articles I write.”

Wayne raised dark brows over the edge of his glass. “Did you pick that one?”

“No,” Clark admitted. “I don’t actually think you’re running a tax evasion scheme. But a lot of people do, and part of my job is giving people what they want to hear.”

Wayne nodded thoughtfully. After a moment and another sip of champagne, he gestured at the notebook Clark still held in his left hand. “You going to ask me those questions? Or was that just an excuse to talk to me?”

Clark felt himself going red and wished his species’ physiology was a little further removed from that of humans. “Right”

Wayne gave him a roguish grin. “It’s okay, Kent. I have lots of fans. It wouldn’t be the first time someone faked a job to get my autograph.” His eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter.

Clark cleared his throat, not wanting to deny too forcefully and offend the man. “I’ll ask my questions and get out of your way. I’m sure there are plenty of women eyeing you for an opening as we speak.”

Wayne smiled wider. “Not just women.”

Was Wayne flirting with him? The man truly had no shame.

Chapter 2: New Old Acquaintances, Part 2

It was him, plain as day. As Bruce answered Kent’s questions, the few doubts he’d had vanished.

It was his dark hair that curled despite his best efforts to comb it flat, one little ringlet hanging down over his right eye. They were his broad shoulders, though Bruce was used to seeing them squared back instead of rounded, as if he was folding into himself. Those were his blue eyes, shielded behind unfamiliar glasses though they might be.

Superman.

Superman was here, in regular blue jeans and a grandma sweater and rectangular glasses. Holding a pad of paper and jotting down every word Bruce said. Blushing at his least suggestive comments.

He was actually, physically blushing.

Bruce’s first thought was that this had to be some kind of prank - no way they just happened to run into each other out in the world. But Superman - Kent - clearly had no idea about Bruce’s true identity. And anyway, Bruce was pretty sure he wasn’t this good of an actor.

He was, however, oddly endearing. He kept pushing his glasses back up his nose with his pen, ducking to hide his ever-reddening cheeks.

Bruce had always insisted upon keeping his fellow League members at an arm’s length, because in his experience, non-superhero life got much more complicated when he allowed his feelings into his work. If he’d known it was this much fun to mess with the Kryptonian, he might not have tried so hard to keep their distance. Bruce wasn’t sure where all of Superman’s confidence went when the suit came off, but Clark Kent appeared to have none of it. He was downright bashful.

"I think that's all I need to know," Kent said finally, flipping back through the pages he'd written on and quickly scanning his notes.

"Perfect," Bruce said, throwing an arm over Kent's shoulders and nearly laughing out loud at his startled expression. "There's someone I want to introduce you to." As Bruce steered them into the crowd, he wondered if what he was about to do was maybe a little bit cruel.

They approached a pair of women deep in conversation. Bruce lifted his arm and called, "Diana!" and felt Kent go rigid at his side as the dark-haired woman turned to respond.

"Bruce!" she said, smiling and holding out a hand to bring him into the conversation.

Wonder Woman was one of the few members of the Justice League whose secret identity wasn't much of a secret among them. Each of the Leaguers knew Diana Prince. Which meant Clark Kent knew Diana Prince, though he probably didn't want her to know that.

"Who's this?" Diana asked as she finished greeting Bruce and noticed his guest for the first time.

Bruce pulled him forward, noting the split second of resistance before Kent remembered he couldn't use his super strength and allowed himself to be led into the group. "Clark Kent. He's a reporter from the Daily Planet, that paper in Metropolis." Bruce watched Diana's face carefully for signs of recognition, but her expression remained impassive as she held out a hand to shake. Huh. Well, no matter. Kent's quiet panic as he fielded questions about himself - probably trying to remember what Diana knew about Superman - was amusing enough without Diana being in on the joke.

In fact, Bruce couldn't remember the last time he'd had this much fun. Which was why, despite his better judgement, he found himself taking Kent aside when Diana and her companion meandered off towards the drinks table.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe your editor has been trying to talk me into letting one of his journalists snoop out my mansion for quite some time now. Perry White?"

Kent straightened his glasses, looking extremely relieved to be out of Diana's company at last. "Yeah, he thinks people are dying to get an inside look."

"Well," Bruce said, smiling wide, "I was thinking just the other day that maybe it's time I give in. You'd get first shot at it, of course. I wouldn't go telling you this just to scoop the story right out from under your feet."

Kent's eyebrows went up. "Oh... that's very kind of you." He smoothed his sweater down self consciously, and Bruce couldn't help wondering if it was because he was uncomfortable, or maybe for another reason.

Bruce was used to the affect he had on people. He was used to the way they projected false confidence or became speechless in his presence. Kent did neither, and Bruce found it surprisingly refreshing. And maybe a little bit adorable. But it did make it hard to know exactly what he was thinking, if he was really being affected by Bruce's charms or was just nervous because he was rich and influential.

Though Kent hadn't actually confirmed anything, Bruce clapped a hand on his shoulder as if the matter was settled. "Perfect. Have your editor get in touch with my people, and we'll set something up. I'll make sure they know you get first chance," he added with a wink.

Kent's face reddened again, and Bruce had to stifle a pleased grin. Loathe though he was to forego the most amusing part of his evening so far, he did still have responsibilities at these events. Besides, milling about with the same person all night was bad for networking. He shook Kent's hand and left him there, not bothering to hide his smirk.

Chapter 3: Family Affairs, Part 1

Perry was beyond thrilled when Clark broke the news that he’d gotten the all-clear for an exclusive insider look at Wayne Manor. He’d promised to make the call first thing in the morning to set it up, then sent Clark home with instructions to rest so he’d be in top form when he went to the mansion.

Clark left his briefcase inside the door and sat down gently on the couch, head full of the evening’s events. He needed to draft his portion of the article about the fundraiser and send it to Lois. He needed to write up a list of questions to ask Wayne about the mansion’s history and special features. He needed to stop thinking about Wayne’s smile.

Really, it was just unfair. Clark had known he was good-looking, of course. He’d seen photos, and more than a few people at the office claimed him as a celebrity crush. But somehow, none of that had prepared Clark for the real deal. Wayne was downright gorgeous. Like, he should have pursued a modeling career type of gorgeous. Thick dark swoopy hair, piercing gray eyes, an incredible jawline, and perfect teeth. Clark had been immediately taken with all of it. And something about Wayne’s hands had made his heart rate kick up, too.

This was ridiculous. Clark barely knew the man. He should not be sitting in his living room, staring off into space and daydreaming about Bruce Wayne’s hands.

Heavy boot falls above his head announced that Connor was leaving his bedroom, and sure enough, he appeared a moment later after jumping the entire flight of stairs.

Clark sighed. “You know I hate it when you do that. I’ll have to replace the floorboards again.”

Connor folded his arms over his chest. “I heard your heartbeat speed up. I thought maybe there was trouble. Floorboards don’t matter if we’re being attacked.”

Clark groaned inwardly. Sometimes he forgot that Connor shared his heightened senses, though he must have gotten the paranoia from Lex’s side of the gene pool.

“We’re not being attacked,” he told Connor. “And I don’t barge into your room every time I hear your heartbeat speed up. Maybe we need to agree to leave those kinds of things be, okay?”

Connor blushed. He hadn’t realized Clark knew about his secret significant other, which was mostly true; Clark knew very little. He didn’t know who the person was, how long they’d been talking, or even what gender they were. But he did know that Connor got very excited following every vibration from his cell phone, and that was enough information to needle with.

“Whatever,” Connor said, scuffing the toe of his boot against the carpet. “What’s for supper?”

Clark felt the corner of his mouth tip up in amusement. Another thing they shared was a nearly insatiable appetite. The two began to rummage through the fridge, and soon their little kitchen was full of the scent of simmering bacon.

Connor and Clark had had a… difficult beginning. They had tried the father-son thing for a while, but I just didn’t work. Mainly because while yes, technically, Connor was young enough to be Clark’s son, physically they were barely more than a decade apart. Connor may have been born only two years ago, but he had the mind and body of a teenager - an angry teenager - and didn’t appreciate Clark smothering him in parental supervision. Eventually though, they settled into a much more brotherly relationship, and when Connor came to live at Clark’s apartment, that’s what they told everyone they were. Some people - mainly Lois - had questions of course. Why hadn’t Clark ever mentioned a brother? for example. But it was hard to deny the glaring physical similarities; if it weren’t for the age difference, they could’ve passed as identical twins.

One of the things they’d bonded best over was food. They had very similar tastes, although Connor did enjoy a few things (like sushi) that Clark was again certain came from Lex. All in all, though, breakfast for dinner was one of their absolute favorites. Especially after Clark finally took Connor to meet his parents, and he got to experience the glory of a Kent family breakfast on the farm. He always asked for his eggs “the way mom makes them” now.

Clark loved hearing Connor call his mother “mom”. It made him feel like they truly were family, and sometimes it was hard to imagine that Connor really hadn’t grown up with him on the farm, scaring the chickens when his heat vision came in and scaring dad when he floated out of the baby seat and onto the ceiling.

After dinner they sat in the living room together, put on a nature documentary, and each began on their respective work. Connor had homework, and Clark of course had to draft his piece on the fundraiser. And on Bruce Wayne.

Clark had promised himself he simply wouldn’t think about Wayne any more than he absolutely had to, which seemed like a sensible course of action… until he realized that writing an article about the man made “more than he absolutely had to” quite a bit indeed. Clark sighed heavily, still staring at the blank document on his laptop screen. He had no idea how to begin this paper.

His pager vibrated in his bag and Clark snatched at it, glad for a distraction. But it wasn’t anything important, merely Green Lantern signing off his shift at the Watchtower to Diana.

Diana.

Clark had recognized her immediately, of course. Her street wear and super suit both left her face and hair completely uncovered. He wasn’t sure how he’d been lucky enough that she hadn’t also immediately recognized him, but her face had showed no sign of it and her heart rate had remained steady throughout their entire conversation. Clark was certain his secret was safe, and yet… what were the odds that she’d just happened to be there, at an event he was covering for work? What were the odds she was friends with Bruce Wayne?

The pager buzzed again in his hand, Diana responding that she had taken over and all was clear. Clark’s mind drifted back to the first thought he’d had when he first picked up the device… distraction.

Yes, he could use a distraction. From Diana, and definitely from Batman, whose prickly exterior had completely thwarted every attempt at friendship Clark had ever made. He’d had feelings for his fellow super for months, and he really needed to get over it. Maybe it was a stupid idea, but Wayne had at least seemed happy to flirt. He could lean into that, lose himself in this attraction to someone else. And even though it was likely to go absolutely nowhere, it could still be fun. And distracting.

Yes, Bruce Wayne would make a perfect distraction.

Chapter 4: Family Affairs, Part 2

Bruce couldn’t believe his own nerve. This was insane, he was insane. There was simply no way that Clark Kent was Superman.

He’d been sure at the party, but far away Bruce was finding it hard to picture the features he’d been so convinced Kent and Superman shared. It also didn’t make sense logistically. Bruce had known most of his fellow Leaguers’ secret identities for a long time, excluding J’on, Hawkgirl, and Kal, because they were aliens. They didn’t have secret human identities. J’on could be whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Hawkgirl couldn’t hide her wings to blend in with humans. And Kal lived in an ice fortress in the middle of the arctic.

Not in Metropolis. Not as a journalist.

Clark Kent was not Kal El.

Which meant Bruce was messing with a man who really didn’t deserve it. But what if he wasn’t? That possibility was even worse. If Kent was Superman, Bruce was inviting a god damned Meta into his city. For fun.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

The sounds of an argument broke into Bruce’s thoughts, and he looked up to find Dick and Tim fighting - loudly - across the batcave. Bruce frowned; they both should’ve been preparing to go on patrol, just as Bruce himself was.

He slid his cowl into place and stalked over to the two boys, both of whom were not even in their suits.

“What is going on?” Bruce asked when he reached them.

Both boys looked up suddenly, so consumed with their argument they hadn’t even noticed his approach. Tim’s face was red with anger, and Dick was scowling. Neither responded.

Bruce crossed his arms over his chest. “Well?”

Tim looked back and forth between Dick and Bruce for a moment before bursting out “He took my belt!”

Bruce furrowed his brow and asked “Your utility belt?” at the same moment that Dick shouted “I did not!”

Bruce silenced him with a look. “Tim, why would he have taken your utility belt? He has his own, and, need I remind you, he invented half the things in yours.”

Tim stomped his foot, an immature habit he hated but still slipped into now and then. “I don’t know, but I do know where I left it, and he’s the only other person in the house!”

Dick opened his mouth to shout back, but Bruce held up a hand and he shut it again, fuming.

“Did you happen to ask Alfred?” Bruce checked.

Tim suddenly couldn’t meet his eyes. “No,” he mumbled. “He’s not here.”

“He’s upstairs you little-“

“Dick.”

Dick rolled his eyes and folded his arms with a pronounced sigh, but he held his tongue.

Bruce held his gaze sternly for a moment longer before looking back to his younger son. “Alfred has been on the top floor all day. Why don’t you go and ask him now?”

Tim looked like he wanted to say more, but he whirled around and left the cave anyway. Bruce watched him go, turning to Dick only when he heard the bunker-thick door bang shut.

“You ought to know better than to engage in this sort of behavior, Dick.” Bruce had hoped that he would’ve grown out of it by now, but while the two Robins usually got along, they still had very rough patches here and there.

Nightwing, Bruce corrected himself. Dick hadn’t been Robin since Tim became Robin. He was Nightwing now. A hero in his own right, not a sidekick.

"He's always accusing me of things lately. It doesn't matter that he knows I didn't do it. It's like he hates me." Dick's voice sounded wrung out, exhausted by the fight.

Bruce dropped his arms to his sides. "Why would he hate you?"

Dick shook his head tiredly. "I don't know. I think something's going on with him."

Bruce set a hand on Dick's shoulder. "Go get ready for patrol. I'll talk to him."

Bruce found Tim several minutes later, leaning against the Batmobile with a sour look on his face - and his utility belt around his hips. So Alfred had moved it after all. Bruce decided not to mention that, instead sidling up to his newest Robin and leaning against the Batmobile too.

"Is this going to interfere with your patrol duties? Your training? Your schoolwork?" he asked.

Tim's head shot up, his glare landing like a spotlight on the eyeholes in Bruce's cowl. "Is what going to interfere?"

"Something is clearly bothering you. I'm not going to make you tell me everything, but I cannot allow you to treat your brother this way."

Tim looked for a minute like he might start shouting, but then all the fight went out of him and his body slumped against the car. "Okay," he mumbled, eyes trained firmly at his feet.

Bruce waited a long moment to give Tim space to add more, but evidently he didn't feel like opening up. Finally, Bruce clapped his adopted son on the shoulder. "Let's get going."

Tim nodded defeatedly, climbing into the backseat of the Batmobile. When Nightwing arrived moments later, he looked utterly shocked to find that Robin hadn't taken the opportunity to steal the front seat. So was Bruce, when he thought about it. Who got to ride shotgun was a constant battle between the two; Dick thought he ought to have it because he'd always had it, and Tim thought Dick had had his turn and didn't need it anymore. "But it's Robin's seat," he often said, "and you're not Robin anymore." Tim didn't apologize, but Bruce and Dick exchanged a significant look and silently agreed this was enough of an apology anyway.

With the past and current Robins sitting quietly, Bruce's thoughts returned to Clark Kent. Was he really going to invite a reporter into his home, something he'd always refused to do because of the admittedly miniscule risk of them discovering the Batcave, over a likely inane hunch and a desire to mess with the unflappable Superman? Could he really back out now that he'd agreed to it? What the hell had he been thinking?

It was a good thing Gotham was peaceful that night, because Batman was too preoccupied to be an entirely effective vigilante.

Chapter 5: Regular Curiosity, Part 1

Notes:

I would like to take a minute to apologize to everyone waiting on updates to my other work. I promise I haven't dropped them, I just have really bad writer's block rn and the only way around it appears to be my deep and extensive superbat brainrot. So yeah. I really am sorry and I hope to be back to regular updates soon. Luv ya <3

Clark wasn't sure what you did to announce yourself at a mansion. If this were a normal house he might've knocked or rung the doorbell, but there didn't appear to be a doorbell to ring, and knocking felt... too insignificant. If he waited much longer though, he was going to miss his appointment time. Just as he was raising a fist to knock, however, the door swung inward to reveal a thin elderly man in a dapper suit.

"Right on time, Master Kent," the man said. "If you will allow me to escort you into the sitting room?" He gestured into the hall with one arm.

Clark followed the man, who introduced himself as Alfred and left him sitting uncomfortably on the very edge of a fancy armchair Clark feared he might ruin if he sat in it properly. It was several minutes before Wayne arrived. In the intervening time, Clark listened intently. He heard the faint sounds of two distinct and vaguely familiar voices somewhere in the depths of the house, but couldn't identify them. Finally, just as Clark was beginning to think Wayne had forgotten their appointment and either slept in or gone off partying, the sound of approaching footsteps made him rise suddenly from the chair.

Wayne strode into the room, and Clark's breath was violently punched out of his chest - which shocked him, considering he barely needed to breathe anyway.

If Wayne had been striking in a suit, he was downright stunning in casual clothes. His dark wash jeans hugged his thighs in a way that was entirely distracting. He wore a tight white t-shirt that showed every line of the very impressive abs he apparently had, the sleeves stopping just above his biceps. His hair, which had been carefully combed and slicked back at the party, was now neat but loose, allowing the front pieces to brush his temples and draw attention to those striking blue-gray eyes.

As Clark gulped like a fish and tried to locate his tongue, Wayne adjusted his watchstrap, blowing irritably at a strand of hair that clung to his lashes as he did. Thankfully the struggle with the watch allowed Clark just enough time to get his wits about him; when Wayne looked up again, he was wearing a polite smile.

"Right," Wayne said, clapping his hands together - Clark's eyes lingered on his long fingers and black nail polish - and displaying his dazzling teeth with a wide grin. "Shall we begin?"

Clark reached around and extracted his notepad and a pen from the messenger bag slung over his shoulder. "I was hoping we could start with a brief history of the house? When it was built, how long it's been in your family, that kind of thing."

Wayne nodded. "We can talk while I show you around. Sound good?"

Clark nodded, perhaps a little too emphatically. He didn't want to look like a bobble-head, or to embarrass himself in front of this gorgeous man. They began walking, and Clark couldn't help noticing the flex of Wayne's biceps every time he opened a door or gestured at a painting hung high up on a wall. He was equally attractive from the back as from the front, which completely dashed Clark's plan of walking behind him so as not to get too distracted by his face. Every time Wayne turned to look at him, brilliant smile on display, Clark's mouth went dry.

What is wrong with me? he thought wildly. He hadn't taken a single note, couldn't remember anything Wayne had said about the in-home art gallery they'd just passed through. It was a damn good thing Connor wasn't here, because if the tiny increase in Clark's heartrate when he thought about Wayne's hands had made Connor think they were being attacked at home, whatever Clark's pulse was doing now would probably make him think there was a doomsday-level alien invasion in progress.

As the pair passed through another set of French doors, two dark-haired young men ran up to them. The older one appeared to be chasing the younger, both boys' faces drawn taut in concentration. They nearly barreled straight into Wayne, and Clark realized these two must be who he'd heard before from the sitting room. Wayne caught them each by a shoulder and smoothly turned them around to face Clark.

"Boys," he said, voice holding the firm warning Clark's mother had used in the presence of company to mean behave. "This is Clark Kent. He's here to write a newspaper article about the mansion."

Clark smiled and gave them a little wave, which the younger one returned. The older of the two was giving him an oddly searching stare, brow furrowed.

A hand still on each of the boys' shoulders, Wayne said "These are my sons, Dick and Tim." Tim, the younger one, gave Clark another small wave.

"I didn't realize you had children," Clark said.

Wayne sent the boys off with instructions to retrieve Alfred if they needed help with anything, then gestured for Clark to follow as he led the way up another staircase. "They're both adopted," he said. "I'm in the public eye quite a bit, and I prefer to keep them out of it, so almost no one knows about them." He stopped, turned around on the stair, his face suddenly very serious. "Incidentally," he added, "I would greatly appreciate it if you left them out of your piece when this is all over."

Wayne's gaze simmered on Clark's face, and Clark felt his chest warm inexplicably. So the careless playboy partyer did have a heart.

"Of course," Clark said. "I never saw them."

Wayne nodded appreciatively, the muscles in his face relaxing. They began walking again.

"So," Clark asked after a few minutes of silence, "how did the famous Bruce Wayne happen to adopt two teenagers?"

Wayne cut him a look, and Clark held up his hands. "Regular curiosity, not journalistic interest. I swear." He made a cross over his heart to emphasize his sincerity.

Wayne snorted, eyes suddenly twinkling with amusement. "Are you always such a boy scout?" he asked in a distinctly teasing tone of voice.

Clark blushed - again. What was it about Wayne that made him feel constantly wrong-footed? But before he could respond, Wayne shook his head.

"I'm an orphan too, which I'm sure you know. I took Dick in when he was ten years old, not long after the rest of his family perished. Tim was interning at my company through a school program when his parents died, and I adopted him not long after." Wayne stuck his hands in his pockets as he walked, glancing at Clark now and then.

"I'm sorry to hear about their families," Clark said quietly.

Wayne shrugged. "Neither of them talks about it much, and sometimes I forget they're not actually my biological children. Honestly, I think they sometimes forget too."

Clark very nearly told him he understood, catching himself just in time. Wayne couldn't know that Connor wasn't his real brother. Or could he? It wasn't as if the two would ever meet, wasn't as if Wayne would ever tell Lois or Jimmy what he'd said. But then the moment was over, and Wayne was escorting him into a massive home theater nearly the size of the barn Clark had grown up milking cows in.

Chapter 6: Regular Curiosity, Part 2

Notes:

Should I be naming these chapters? What do you think?

Bruce watched Kent rotate slowly on the spot, his face a mask of awe. He wasn't sure what had possessed him to be so candid about the boys, knew that giving Superman too much information about them might let him connect the dots - because he was once again absolutely positive that this was Superman. The uncertainty that had nested in his brain over the course of the three days between the party and now had completely evaporated the moment he’d stepped into the sitting room and seen Kent again.

"You have seen a movie theater before, right?" Bruce asked as Kent's wide eyes roved over the projector screen.

Kent's face turned red in the dim light. "Yes, but we didn't have ones this big where I grew up. And certainly not in the house."

Bruce strode farther into the room until he was standing at Kent's side. "Feel free to swing by and use it if you feel like broadening your horizons."

Kent turned to him, eyes almost comically large behind his glasses. "Really?"

Bruce clapped him on the shoulder. "Of course. What's mine is yours."

Kent appeared absolutely overcome by this show of generosity, which Bruce found highly amusing considering the amount of alien tech he'd seen on their missions - and, if Kal was to be believed, possessed himself inside that ice palace of his.

They moved on, walking side by side now, and Bruce contemplated all the names for this man he now had to choose from. Kent, Kal-El, Superman. Which was the real him? Or was he like Bruce himself, each name being part truth and part a role he played? Batman was more serious than Bruce was in real life, party boy Wayne was too flippant. His real self was somewhere in the middle, the best (and sometimes worst) pieces of each coming together to make the whole Bruce saw in the mirror when he was alone.

Which raised the question: which face should he wear with Kent? Obviously not Batman. But he'd already showed too much of the real Bruce. Party boy Wayne didn't have children, didn't care about anyone but himself, and certainly didn't allow journalists into his home. He'd been different with Kent from the beginning, all because he knew him. Or, at least, a version of him.

Although, granted, the version he knew didn't often gawk at him like a smitten schoolboy.

Bruce caught Kent's eyes on him every time he glanced his way. He saw how Kent's gaze had lingered on his muscles when they had greeted each other in the sitting room, which was hilarious when taking into account the impressive muscles Bruce knew hid beneath yet another of Kent's grandmotherly sweaters, although he had to admit the Batsuit didn't really allow for so much of his own physique to be visible. He wondered idly if Superman would allow himself to be quite so noticeably taken with Bruce Wayne as Clark Kent was.

It hit him like a ton of bricks in that moment, and Bruce wasn't sure why it hadn't occurred to him before. Superman, Kal-El, Kent - whatever you called him - was attracted to him. Superman had a crush on Batman and he didn't even know it.

Bruce couldn't decide whether the amusement was worth the mess he was getting himself into, and yet... he couldn't bring himself to end it. He wanted Kent around. It was fun watching the way he reacted to things, namely Bruce himself. He wasn't sure why, because it wasn't as if he was unused to admirers, but Kent's obvious captivation made him feel good. He liked the way Kent swallowed hard when Bruce smiled at him, adam's apple bobbing. He liked watching the flush creep into his cheeks over the tamest things. He liked seeing Kent squirm. Bruce decided he even liked the glasses he was positive Kent didn't really need - Kal had multiple different super visions for God's sake.

They were still cute though.

The pair made their way through the manor, visiting the home gym, the pool, the library, the massive decorative dining room they never used, and more. Bruce noted that Kent began taking notes in the library, something he had glaringly forgotten to do up to that point, and smirked. Maybe his charms worked better than he thought; he'd had no idea he could be quite so distracting without even trying. Well, without trying hard. He had intentionally dressed himself in an outfit he'd known would be appealing. He hadn't expected it to work quite so well though.

Finally they reached the entertainment room, and Bruce strode over to the bar and offered to make drinks. Mainly because he was curious whether Superman drank - could Kryptonians even get drunk? Even if they couldn't, he wouldn't have been surprised of Kent abstained purely on principle. It would fit with the whole "righteous man of God" thing he had going on as Superman, and with the innocent farm boy act he played as Clark Kent.

It seemed Bruce would be kept in suspense a while longer though, because Kent just gave him a lopsided smile and said "No drinking on the job, sorry."

Bruce swiveled to the other counter. “Then, coffee?”

Kent nodded. “That would be great, thanks.”

As Bruce made the coffee, Kent maneuvered carefully into one of the bar stools across the counter. He looked almost afraid he might break it - which, Bruce reminded himself, he very well could. It was funny seeing how carefully Kent moved, in complete opposition to the immovable confidence of Superman. Bruce supposed it had something to do with the fact that if Clark Kent broke something with apparent super strength, people probably wouldn’t be as forgiving as if Superman had done it. There was also the issue of it being a dead giveaway.

Coffee brewed, Bruce poured two cups and set one in front of Kent. “Do you take sugar? Milk?”

Kent smiled and thanked him again. “Black is fine.”

“Suit yourself,” Bruce shrugged, adding what Alfred and Tim called an ungodly amount of sugar to his own mug and stirring it idly with a paper straw.

They sipped at their coffees for a minute, steam curling lazily into the air between them. Finally Kent spoke up.

“Would it be alright if I brought one of my photographer friends around to take some pictures of the rooms we visited?” His voice was hopeful but timid, as if he thought this might be crossing a line.

On the contrary, Bruce was grateful. He’d already been trying to think up a way to get Kent back here without being too obvious. He pretended to think it over for a minute.

“Okay, I’ll just have to make sure the boys are away,” he said finally, and Kent smiled. “Actually, why don’t I give you my cell number. That’ll be faster than setting up appointments through official routes.” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and added, with a wink, “And this way you can use the theater whenever you feel like it.”

Kent’s smile widened, seemingly in spite of himself, and his cheeks tinged just the faintest shade of pink. “Sounds good to me,” he said.

Notes:

Sorry to add this after I’ve already posted the chapter, but I got a question about my thought process with their coffee choices that I wanted to answer for anyone else who was wondering:

Clark grew up around farmers. I also grew up in a farming community, and every single one of those men drinks their coffee black. Personally I feel like Mr. Kent would’ve raised Clark to take it black like he did.

Whereas Bruce barely sleeps and needs all the energy he can get, and it seems to me like caffeine alone wouldn’t be enough for him after a while. A shit ton of sugar with caffeine might do the trick though.

Chapter 7: Suits, Part 1

Clark was just standing to rinse out his mug in the small sink behind the counter when his pager buzzed, and he tried to dig it out without drawing attention. The vibration had been fairly loud, so he was surprised that Wayne showed no sign of having heard it. On the contrary, he was fiddling with his watch again, completely oblivious.

Clark peaked at the pager as it buzzed again and read three lines of text:

WW: We’ve got a situation
GL: Who do you need?
WW: Full league response

Fantastic. Diana wasn’t one to blow things out of proportion, so this must have been serious. Clark wished whatever it was could’ve waited until tomorrow, or even for just a few more hours.

He cleared his throat, still unused to the lying that came with getting himself out of situations when Superman was needed. Wayne looked up from his watch.

“Yes?” he asked.

Clark held up his phone. “My brother and I have a special emergency code that he just texted me. He knows not to use it unless it’s important, so I think I ought to go home and check on him. I’m sorry to bail on you like this-“ he started to add, but Wayne raised a hand.

“Of course you should go, by all means. We can get in touch about those photos when things settle down.”

Clark nodded his thanks and turned to go, as quickly as he could without it being suspicious.

When Clark flew into the Watchtower conference room, only the Flash and Batman had yet to arrive. Wonder Woman was already in the middle of a debrief, and Clark was startled to hear Lex Luthor’s name.

Clark took his seat at the big conference table as Diana nodded once to him and continued her debrief.

“According to our sources in Byalia, contentions have been high ever since Vandal Savage and a large group of meta humans set up camp within their borders. This new treaty, whatever it is, seems to concern them, and I think we all need to be worried that Luthor is involved.”

Here Diana paused, glancing at Clark, and he knew why. The last time Luthor got mixed up with metas, they ended up with Connor. That had turned out alright in the end, but there were several times where it could have gone badly wrong. The League had supposedly destroyed all Lexcorp’s remaining samples of Clark’s DNA, which meant that if Lex wanted something to do with super-powered humans - or aliens - he would have to get that access somewhere else.

Somewhere like the domain of Queen Bee. And if Vandal Savage was somehow involved? Diana was right, they all had reason to be very worried.

The Watchtower’s robotic voice announced the arrival of Batman and the Flash, who entered only a moment later. Diana quickly caught them up, and as they were all rising from the table, a sensor started going off loudly from the control room. Batman was gone in an instant, and Superman flew after him. He alighted before the giant control panel in time to see Batman send a video feed from one of the smaller screens onto the big one that spanned the entire front window of the Watchtower when it was employed.

The rest of the League was behind them now, and so all of them had a front row seat to watch the destruction play out before them.

A man the size of a gorilla, with flesh swollen and twisted like that of some diseased tree roots, was picking cars up off the street and hurling them into nearby buildings. Two girls who appeared to have concussive sound blasting abilities were screaming circles of destruction behind him, sending everyone within five hundred feet to their knees as they clutched at their heads.

The feed switched, and Clark saw Vandal Savage walking alongside Queen Bee as she bent people’s wills to hers, leaving the pair with a straggling tail of zombie-like civilians. Lex was nowhere to be found, but he usually preferred to make his deals and then sit back and allow others to do his dirty work. The feed switched twice more, each video clip showing scenes of chaos and panic and infrastructure being razed to the ground.

Clark turned to face the group. “Diana, I want you to take Aquaman, Batman, Flash, and Green Lantern and engage the metas trashing the city. Hawkgirl, you’re with me. We’re going to slow down Savage and Queen Bee as much as we can.”

Everyone nodded, but as Clark was turning to leave, Batman grabbed his upper arm.

“I want to send Nightwing after Luthor,” he said, emotion unreadable in his glowing eyes and deep, even voice. “Can Superboy go with him?”

“Good idea,” Clark said, trying to show equal amounts of feeling in his own face, unmasked though it was. “I’ll tell him to head to Byalia right now. Can Nightwing get in touch directly to rendezvous, or do I need to tell him a meeting place?”

Batman released Clark’s bicep - why had he held on for so long? - and said “Once Superboy has his gear on, Nightwing will be able to contact him. He just needs his com.”

Clark gave a single nod, floated into the air, and was off like a rocket.

He contacted Connor through their emergency com line, then set his sights for Byalia. Hawkgirl flew silently at his side, not even asking why he was accompanying her on this half of the mission instead of Wonder Woman.

The truth was that, while most people thought they knew Queen Bee’s beguiling powers worked on all men and only men, they didn’t work on Clark. Wonder Woman and Batman both knew this, though he had let them think it was due to some facet of his alien biology. Clark was pretty sure the truth was much simpler: he wasn’t into women. The theory had been corroborated when he’d had to rescue Diana from a mind-controlled state. Queen Bee’s powers didn’t work on Clark, but they did work on Diana. No one knew but the two of them; Diana hadn’t asked him not to tell, but he felt it was information he had no right to do anything with. Better to simply send her away from direct contact with Queen Bee, especially now that the villain knew she could control Wonder Woman.

Selfish as it was, Queen Bee always made him think of Batman. He had seen her powers work on the nocturnal vigilante; it was because of their last encounter with her that Clark had finally accepted he had no chance with Batman.

Chapter 8: Suits, Part 2

Bruce had been having such a good day. Trust Vandal Savage to ruin everything.

The fight was harder than even he had expected. Aquaman was out of commission less than ten minutes in, and Flash left to bring him to the sea and did not return for a long time. Batman himself sustained multiple injuries to his head and torso getting thrown through two separate walls. Diana and Green Lantern were nearly crushed under a falling building, and probably would have died if Flash hadn’t returned just in time to whisk them to safety.

Batman wasn’t sure how long they could hold out, wasn’t sure how long they’d been fighting already. Hawkgirl and Superman joined them at some point, both looking quite the worse for wear, and Superman almost immediately got himself knocked out. It was too bad having invulnerable skin and unbreakable bones didn’t stop one’s brain from rattling around inside their head.

Batman and Hawkgirl, though both injured, together managed to lug his ridiculously heavy dead weight to a safer area. “Go,” Bruce said to her. “I’ll get him up.”

“You sure?” Hawkgirl asked, eyes full of concern behind her mask.

“He’ll be fine,” Bruce insisted, waving her away. “They need all the help they can get.”

Hawkgirl nodded and flew off, and Bruce turned back to Superman’s unconscious body. He sighed. “You big idiot. You know your head is a weak spot. Why you insist on watching everyone else’s back but your own will never fail to confound me.”

Superman groaned, and Bruce smiled despite himself. It was hard to imagine that only a few hours ago, this man had been touring his mansion, drinking coffee at his bar, staring at him like he’d never seen a more attractive person.

Knowing exactly how painful it would be for Superman’s overpowered senses, Bruce retrieved a vial of smelling salts from his utility belt and uncorked them below the Kryptonian’s nose.

Superman sat up immediately, coughing like he might hack up a lung, and Bruce re-stoppered the vial and returned it to it’s compartment. “Here,” he said, offering Superman a tissue.

“What was in that?” Superman asked, eyes streaming.

Bruce shrugged. “Does it matter? It worked.”

Superman shook his head as if to clear it, then got to his feet. “Come on. They need our help.”

Bruce made to stand as well, but his likely cracked rib sent sharp, painful shockwaves through his torso that stole his breath. He doubled over, breathing hard, and a hand landed on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Superman sounded alarmed, which Bruce found odd. Normally he was all calm collected positivity in front of other League members.

“I’m… fine,” Bruce responded. But then he tried to straighten up again, only to fall to his knees as hot sparks of pain crackled through his chest cavity.

Superman said something else, but Bruce couldn’t make out the words. Was his vision going foggy? And then he was floating - no, flying. Being carried? Bruce couldn’t tell. He stopped trying to think and gave in to the blanket of darkness tugging on his mind.

Bruce sat straight up in bed, panic gripping his chest when he realized he wasn’t wearing his suit. Where was his mask? But then… was this his room? How did he get back to his house? What happened with Savage and the metas?

“Oh good, you’re up,” Dick said, entering the room with a tray of tea things. He set it on the bedside table and sat down beside Bruce’s legs.

“What happened?” Bruce asked, leaning back on his pillows.

“Superman brought you back to the Watchtower just as Superboy and I were returning to report on our mission. I took over and brought you home while Superboy stayed to fill in the League.” He saw Bruce’s next question coming and added “The others handled Savage and his goons. Luthor broke the treatise with Queen Bee.” Here he grinned wickedly. “We gave him the very gracious choice to either recount his signature or go for a nice fly with Superboy.”

Bruce sighed, relieved. “So we don’t have to worry about Byalia being an outpost for meta trafficking.”

“Not right away, at least. I very much doubt Luthor will give up that easily.”

Bruce nodded. “How long was I out?”

Dick grimaced. “Four days.”

“WHAT?”

Dick held up his hands as Bruce lunged up from bed. “Alfred insisted we kept you under, or you would’ve tried to go back to normal and hurt yourself worse.”

Bruce slumped onto his pillow again, rubbing his temples. Of course Alfred would be determined to baby him. “What about patrols? Have you and Tim kept up with them?”

Dick looked genuinely offended. “Of course we have. What did you think, that we’d take the week off? We don’t need to get along all the time to take our jobs seriously.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said placatingly. “I’m just… stressed out.”

Dick shook his head. “I know. But you don’t have to worry about us.”

I do anyway, Bruce thought, but he didn’t say it. He drank the tea Dick had brought, finding that sitting up for more than a few minutes at a time made his breaths ache to take. He reluctantly stayed in bed all day, aside from a short walk to the bathroom and back, and it was not until he was settling in for bed that night that he thought to check his phone.

The screen was full of email notifications, a couple of missed alarms, and-

Crap.

From Clark Kent
Tuesday: Things are all okay here, when works for you to have us take those photos?
Wednesday: Just checking up, you alright?
Thursday: I’m sorry if leaving the way I did made a bad impression, I’m not usually so flaky.

Crap, crap, crap.

Bruce groaned and began to type a very late reply.

Chapter 9: Visitors, Part 1

Sorry, I’ve been at a conference this week. Tomorrow work? I’m free all day.

Clark was so relieved to see the message from Wayne at last he nearly laughed out loud. He had known, logically, that something had likely come up unexpectedly for the businessman. But that didn’t stop him from feeling like he must have messed up somehow, left a bad impression.

But no, it was all fine. Wayne had just been busy, that was all. Clark forced himself to wait an hour before responding, so as not to seem like he’d just been sitting around by his phone, even though he totally had.

That should be fine, thanks!

Clark looked at his phone, thumb hovering over the send button. Was the exclamation point too much?

He was definitely overthinking this.

Clark sent the text and then pulled up Jimmy’s contact, hit the call button, and waited while the phone rang on speaker.

“Hello?” Jimmy’s voice came through garbled, as if he was underwater. Clark shook his head but didn’t comment on it; the photographer’s phone was always doing weird things. It didn’t help that he’d dropped it in the toilet last week.

“Hey Jimmy. Can you and your camera be ready tomorrow morning? I’ve got a job for you.”

The line crackled and faded out, and then Jimmy’s voice came through again. “-kind of job?”

“It’ll get you inside Wayne Manor.”

A series of bangs that sounded like Jimmy dropping his phone, and then he was back. “You serious? I swear to god Clark, you better not be pulling my leg. Every photographer’s dream is to see the inside of that thing!”

Clark laughed. “I doubt it’s every photographer, but yes, I’m serious.”

“I’ll be ready!” Jimmy hung up, too excited for polite goodbyes, and Clark snorted.

“What was that about?” Connor asked, strolling into the kitchen and opening the fridge.

Clark tucked his phone into his back pocket. “Just work stuff.”

Connor raised an eyebrow like he didn’t quite believe it, but said nothing. He dug a bag of beef jerky out of one of the packed bottom drawers - Clark really needed to clean the fridge one of these days - and closed the door.

“Would you mind if I had a friend over tomorrow night?” Connor asked, leaning against the counter and popping a strip of jerky into his mouth a little too nonchalantly to be entirely natural.

It was Clark’s turn to raise a skeptical brow. “Depends. Who’s this friend?”

Connor swallowed and Clark noticed the faint but unmistakable uptick in the speed of his pulse. “Just someone from school. He’s not a weirdo, I promise.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Richard, but we all call him Dick.”

Dick. But wasn’t that…. Clark’s thoughts spun off on a wild tangent, and he had to reel them back in. There was no way it was the same Dick.

“Sure,” he said calmly. “Make sure you finish your homework before he gets here though, and he’ll have to leave before ten. Fair?”

Connor nodded, trying to hide his nevertheless blatantly obvious excitement. “Fair, thanks!” He dashed up to his room, so happy he floated a few inches above the ground with each stride.

The next morning, Clark pulled into Wayne Manor’s expansive drive a few minutes early; he wanted to be sure he got there before Jimmy, or who knew what the young photographer might try to sneak around and get stealth photos of. Clark didn’t want Wayne to find pictures of his yard in the newspaper that he hadn’t authorized. It was a bad look for journalistic integrity. Plus, he didn’t want to mess up this budding friendship - if it could even be called that. Sure, they didn’t know each other well. But Wayne had invited Clark to use his in-home movie theater, and he assumed rich people didn’t just do that for anyone.

Clark frowned to himself, gripping the steering wheel. Maybe that was too presumptuous of him to assume. Maybe he was seriously misjudging the entire situation. Maybe Wayne was just a generous guy.

Jimmy’s rusted out old Cadillac swerved into the drive, knocking Clark violently out of his doubt spiral. Clark helped Jimmy get his camera bag out of the trunk, and they strolled up to mansion's door together. Just as on his previous visit, Alfred opened the door before they could knock.

"Master Kent, Master Olsen," he said, directing a polite nod of acknowledgement at each of them. "If you'll follow me."

They were led to the same sitting room Clark had waited in last time, and he sat in the same chair. Jimmy dropped his bag to the floor and rotated slowly on the spot, wide eyes taking in the dark red polished wood and fancy embroidery and paintings and every other extravagant thing he could see. Clark tried to focus, but he couldn't hear either of Wayne's sons anywhere in the house. He heard Alfred inform Wayne they were there, and a lot of footsteps, and then Wayne pushed open the door directly across from Clark's chair.

Today he was wearing dark gray cargo pants and a loose black hoodie. Somehow, having less of his physique visible did not make him any less breathtaking, and Clark's eyes caught on random small details - the silver stud in his right ear, the same watch he'd been wearing last time they spoke, the five o'clock shadow making his jawline even more striking. But then Clark squinted suspiciously. Was Wayne limping? He was certainly holding himself with less than his usual casual grace. Was he hurt?

Wayne stuck out his hand. "You must be Jimmy Olsen."

Jimmy grasped Wayne's hand in both of his, shaking exuberantly as he babbled his thanks for the opportunity to photograph the famous Wayne Manor. Clark caught the tiniest of twinges in Wayne's face, but he covered it easily with a wide smile. "I'm glad to have you. I was looking into some of your work this morning, it's very impressive."

Jimmy looked like he might explode from sheer joy. "Really? Thanks!"

Wayne smiled again. "You're welcome." He turned to Clark then, offering his hand, and Clark stood and shook. Their fingers fell apart much sooner than he would've preferred, but he knew they couldn't just stand around holding hands. They were here for a reason.

"Jimmy will just need a couple of minutes to set up his equipment," Clark said. "Should we start in the dining room?"

"Whatever you say," Wayne said, flashing Clark a grin and turning to lead the way.

Chapter 10: Visitors, Part 2

Kent gave the Olsen kid a few scant instructions on the general scope of the shots he needed for different parts of the article, then left him to his work. It was kind of cool seeing the creative process, the way Jimmy set up his screens to get just the right lighting, the different angles he shot from. He was clearly extremely excited to be here, but when he got to work, he settled into the calm ease of a professional. He was good at what he did, that was plain.

Bruce and Kent stood off to the side together, watching Jimmy. Bruce was surprised by how many shots he took in the dining room before telling them he was ready to move on.

"Does it usually take this long to get a good picture?" Bruce asked quietly, leaning towards Kent.

The other man nodded, arms crossed over his chest. "He's very particular. Wants it to be as close to perfect as possible."

Bruce made a huh sound. Kent turned slightly to glance at him, seemingly about to ask a question, and paused. His gaze gave the impression that he was looking through Bruce, not at him, and Bruce realized that could very well be what Kent was doing. Was he using his x-ray vision? Bruce hoped he wouldn't notice the recently broken rib hiding beneath his hoodie and skin and muscle. But what if he wasn't looking that far, just past the clothing layer? Bruce found the idea didn't bother him nearly as much as he would've expected, although he had to remind himself that wasn't exactly Superman's style.

Across the room, Jimmy lowered his camera. "I think we're all good here..." he started to say, trailing off when he noticed Bruce and Kent just looking at each other.

Bruce started and caught Kent's gaze, noticing the slight flush rising in his cheeks. They turned away from each other quickly.

"Great," Kent said, stepping forward to help Jimmy carry his equipment to the next location. Bruce rubbed at the side of his face with one hand, wondering what in the world had gotten into him.

The trio moved into the library, where Jimmy had to sit down for a moment before he was coherent enough to work. He told Bruce tearfully that he had never seen a more beautiful mahogany than that of his bookshelves. Bruce glanced over Jimmy’s shoulder as the young man clasped his hand and caught Kent hiding a laugh behind his hand.

A few hours later they stood together in the art gallery as Kent skimmed his list of shots. “I think that’s everything,” he said.

Bruce glanced at his watch. “It’s well after lunch time, would you two care to stay? I’d hate to send you away on empty stomachs.”

Jimmy looked up from where he was packing his equipment back into its complicated and many-compartmented bag. “That’s awfully nice of you Mr. Wayne, but I’d really like to get back and start editing these shots.” He eyed Bruce nervously, as if afraid the older man would be offended to have his invitation turned down.

Bruce tried to smile as understandingly as he could to put the kid at ease. “That’s okay, it’s up to you. I’m sure the photos will be perfect.” He turned to Kent. “How about you? Got things you need to take care of?”

Kent checked the time on his phone. “Actually, I don’t need to be anywhere until five. I’ve got a few hours.” He glanced down at Jimmy. “I’ll just help him load the car and be right back.”

When Kent returned, Bruce gestured to a side door with one arm, and they began to walk.

“So,” Kent asked, sticking his hands in the pockets of his khakis. He was wearing a regular long sleeved shirt today instead of a sweater, and his chest and upper arm muscles were much more visible. “We’re not going to eat at that giant dining table, are we?”

Bruce snorted, ending on a wince. Why did everything have to hurt his stupid rib? “No, there’s a much smaller dining area right off the kitchen. That’s where the boys and I usually eat.”

“Will they be joining us?”

“Most likely.” Bruce had texted Dick the all-clear to come up from the batcave once Jimmy had left.

Sure enough, when the pair entered the small dining room with a much more normal-sized table, Tim and Dick were already seated, munching on ham and cheese sandwiches. Alfred stood at the stove, pink ruffled apron tied around his waist in hilarious contrast to his pressed suit and serious expression.

"I told the young masters I would have a more substantial meal ready in a short time, but they did not wish to wait," Alfred informed Bruce as he stirred the steaming pot before him.

Tim looked up and said around a bite of sandwich, "We'll still be hungry after this, we can have both."

Bruce ruffled his hair. "Don't speak with your mouth full."

Kent and Bruce sat in two of the remaining chairs, close enough together that their elbows brushed if they both used their armrests at the same time. It was not long before Alfred placed steaming bowls of ravioli before all four of them, hung his apron on a hook beside the fridge, and sat at the head of the table with his own bowl. The five had quite a pleasant dinner, and Bruce was surprised how much he enjoyed having Kent there. The man had impeccable manners, not even letting his elbows touch the table the way all three of the Waynes did. He sat nearly as ramrod-straight as Alfred, thanked the butler at least three times for the meal, and politely wiped his mouth with a napkin once his bowl was empty.

"Bruce?" Dick asked, as they were all getting up to put their dishes in the dishwasher, "Is it okay if I go see a friend tonight?"

Bruce paused. It wasn't Dick's night for patrol, so that wasn't an issue. However, he'd never asked to see "a friend" before. He preferred to spend his free time at home or else with his fellow young heroes, such as Kid Flash, who Bruce knew he was close with.

Kent lifted Bruce and Dick's bowls from their hands and placed them in the sink, rolled his sleeves, and began to rinse the dishes before placing them into the washer. His eyes were darting strangely, and Bruce had the odd impression he was purposely turning his back, busying himself so as not to appear too interested.

"Who is this friend? Where do they live?"

Dick shrugged like these were the least important details. "His name's Connor. He lives in Metropolis." Over at the sink, Kent went stiff.

Bruce was missing something.

Chapter 11: What’s Up With Tim? Part 1

Clark tried to relax as Tim said grumpily, "Just tell him he can go, Bruce. You always let Dick do whatever he wants."

Wayne sighed. "Tim, we both know that's not the whole truth. But yes, Dick, you can go. Be home at a decent time, alright?"

Clark finished loading the lunch bowls into the dishwasher and turned in time to see Dick give Wayne a quick hug. The older man patted his back. "Do you need a ride?"

"No, he's picking me up."

That gave Clark pause - Connor didn't have a car. Surely he wasn't planning to reveal himself to this boy and fly them to Metropolis? Were they close enough for Connor to feel safe doing that? Perhaps it was time to come clean.

He grabbed a towel off the counter and began drying his hands. "You know, I could give you a ride." Clark hesitated, but now he'd said it and there was no point holding back. "You're going to my house, I think."

Dick was wearing an interesting expression. Pride? No, that wasn't quite it. Perhaps... yes, he looked triumphant.

Clark had no idea what that was about, but he didn't have time to think about it. "Your house?" Wayne asked, looking back and forth between Dick and Clark.

Clark leaned against the counter. "Yeah. My brother asked me yesterday if he could have a friend called "Dick" over, and I told myself it couldn't possibly be the same Dick I'd just met a few days ago." Clark shrugged. "Guess I was wrong."

Wayne raised an eyebrow. "What an odd coincidence."

It sure is, Clark thought, but he just offered a small smile. "So, how about it? Want a ride?" he asked, tilting his head at Dick.

Dick glanced at Wayne briefly, then nodded and smiled back. "I'll text Connor not to come." He pulled his phone out but paused, looking back at Clark. "When do you think we'll be leaving?"

Wayne smirked. "You in a hurry?"

"No," Dick said, ducking his head. "I was just curious." And then he mumbled something about getting his backpack ready and hastily slipped out of the room.

Wayne looked back at Clark, eyes sparkling with amusement. "So. My son is apparently good friends with your brother, even though we only just met."

Clark set the towel back in its place and put his hands into his pockets. "Looks that way. Although I have to wonder how they got to know each other. Connor told me he was a friend from school, but Connor goes to Metropolis High, and I'm guessing Dick attends a school here in Gotham."

Wayne nodded. "He does. Maybe they met online and Connor didn't want you to worry he might be meeting someone who wasn't what they claimed?"

"Maybe, but they are meeting at my house, so I'd have found out if that were the case anyway." Then Clark shrugged. "It's not a big deal, though I may have to have a chat with Connor about honesty in the near future."

Wayne chuckled. "I wonder if Dick would tell us how they got talking if we asked when he comes back."

Before Clark could respond, Tim muttered something. He was still sitting in his chair, moodily staring at the stretch of table in front of him.

"What was that?" Wayne asked.

Tim huffed and swung his foot at the table leg. "Nothing," he grumbled.

"Tim-" Wayne began, but the boy stood up quite suddenly, sending his chair toppling over backward. He stomped out of the kitchen, ignoring his name being called. Clark could hear his heavy thudding strides for a long time after he was out of sight.

Alfred, who Clark had completely forgotten was there, sighed heavily. "Shall I go speak with him, Master Wayne?"

Wayne sighed too. "Thank you, Alfred, but I think we'd better let him cool off. I'll talk to him once Dick leaves." He turned to Clark. "I can walk you to the door? Normally I'd say it might be a while before Dick shows up, but he appears to be rather eager to leave."

Clark's stomach did a little swoop at the smile Wayne gave him, grey eyes sparkling. "Sure," he said, trying to sound casual. Clark said goodbye to Alfred and thanked him for lunch one last time, then the pair exited the kitchen and began to wind their way through the house. Clark could hear Dick banging around what was supposedly his bedroom, and Tim listening to loud music.

It made him think of what Tim had mumbled to himself, assuming they wouldn't hear. He'd been partially right; Wayne had not understood. But Clark had heard the words quite plainly: I could tell you how they met. Did Tim really know? Or was he just assuming? Was Connor's secret... dangerous, somehow? And why was Tim so angry about this anyway? He seemed personally offended by Dick and Connor's friendship. And even more confusing was the fact that he was clearly angry with Dick, so why not spill his secret? Why not just tell Wayne how they met?

Clark came back to himself quite suddenly as Wayne's elbow brushed his arm and sent a shower of little electric shocks into his bones.

"You good, Kent?" Wayne asked, tilting him a half-smile. "Looked like you were somewhere else."

"Oh, um, yeah. Just thinking about all the editing I have to do tonight. Sorry." Clark cleared his throat, butterflies dancing in his stomach. "And... you don't have to call me that. My name's Clark."

Wayne's smile grew very wide. "Okay."

They walked in silence until they came to the sitting room Clark was now familiar with, and Wayne threw himself down into an armchair. He looked so effortlessly flawless, even in something so casual as a hoodie. He blew his bangs out of his eye and gestured widely at the array of chairs. "Take a seat, I don't know how long Dick will be and I'd hate to have you just standing around until he gets here."

"I'd be fine," Clark said. But he sat anyway.

"When do you think the article will go public?" Wayne asked, propping his chin on one hand and meeting Clark's gaze in a way that felt oddly intense.

Clark swallowed, forcing himself to speak and not just sit there staring into his eyes. "Uh, probably Tuesday or Wednesday. Jimmy normally takes a little longer to finish the editing, but he was pretty excited about this shoot."

The corner of Wayne's lips quirked up. "He's a charming kid. Talented too, by the looks of it."

"He's very passionate about his work. They'll be good photos."

"What about you?"

Clark blinked. "What about me?"

Wayne's grinned changed, turning... almost teasing. "Are you passionate about your work? Do you enjoy journalism?"

"Oh." He felt his face heat up and lamented that he'd almost gone a whole hour without feeling flustered by Wayne's charms. "Yes. I do enjoy it. I like getting to meet new people and learn about their lives, and sometimes I get to travel which is fun."

"Is that why you're here? To learn about my life?"

Clark clasped his hands together in his lap. His first instinct had been to respond that he was here to learn about the mansion, but that felt rude to say after Wayne had offered to let him use the theater and had fed him lunch. Especially because it was only partly true. He was saved from having to respond when Dick's voice echoed down the staircase behind them.

"Bruce?" he called.

Wayne sat up straighter and turned towards his son's voice. "We're in here!" he said over his shoulder.

Dick jogged down the stairs wearing a blue backpack and a new outfit. It wasn't anything fancy, but Clark had to wonder why he'd bothered changing at all.

"I'm ready to go," the young man said, with a clear effort at airiness.

Wayne looked back at Clark, mouth working as he tried to contain his amusement. Clark had to look away, or he was going to laugh too.

"Why don't you go put your things in Mr. Kent's car?" Wayne said to Dick.

"Okay."

Clark tossed him the keys and watched as he made for the door, reminded strongly of the way Connor had left the kitchen after getting permission to have Dick over. He snorted a laugh, unable to help himself once Dick was out of earshot.

Wayne laughed too, standing. "Something tells me this is less of a casual friends kind of meet up and more of a date."

Clark stood as well, shaking his head with feigned dismay. "I fear you may be right."

"I suppose this means we'll be seeing more of each other," Wayne said, leading the way to the door, and Clark's pulse sped up.

"If we must," he responded casually. Wayne laughed again, and Clark was struck by how beautiful he was. He wanted to make Wayne laugh all the time.

At the door, Clark stuck out a hand. "Thank you for the interview, Mr. Wayne. And the photos, and lunch."

Wayne took his outstretched hand, but shook his head. "It's Bruce," he said. "And it was my pleasure."

"Bruce," Clark said, testing it out. The name felt good on his tongue. He smiled, and it was in that moment he realized he was still holding Wayne’s - Bruce’s - hand. He felt the heat rising in his cheeks, but Bruce just grinned.

They shook, finally, and then Clark had to force himself to let go. He opened the door, stepping out into the early evening.

Bruce leaned against the open door, still grinning. “See you later, Clark.”

The way he said his name made Clark’s breath hitch, and he tried to look calm as he raised a hand to wave. “Bye.”

The door closed, and Clark jogged to the car and slid into the driver seat. Dick had the engine running already, one earbud in and his laptop open on his knees. He quickly slid everything back into his bag and buckled his seatbelt and Clark backed the car out of the drive, and then they were on their way.

Chapter 12: What's Up With Tim? Part 2

Bruce stood in the sitting room for several minutes after Dick and Clark left, wondering what in the world had gotten into him. Sure, Dick could take care of himself. And yes, Clark was really Superman so it wasn't as if he was a stranger. But Clark didn't know that. And here Bruce was sending his child off with a man he supposedly barely knew. Surely Clark would think that was odd? Well, if he got his head out of the clouds long enough to notice. He had been pretty distracted.

It was possible Bruce had turned up the charms a little too hard there towards the end. He'd wanted to have a little fun, see Clark squirm a bit - harmless stuff. Except that it had worked maybe a little too well, and Clark had been looking at him in an oddly unsettling sort of way. With his big blue eyes and his broad shoulders hunched in as if to hide himself from the redness in his face.

And then when they said goodbye, when Bruce looked into his eyes and used his name, Clark's reaction had been exactly what he'd wanted. Yet it was accompanied by a strange unsteady feeling in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps Alfred was right and he should've stayed in bed longer. This damn rib needed to finish healing and stop making him feel weird.

Bruce's phone vibrated. He pulled it out to find a text from Dick that was just a photo he'd taken of himself and Clark. Since Clark was driving his eyes were on the road rather than the camera, but he held two fingers up next to his face in a peace sign. Bruce grinned; since when did Superman make peace signs?

Have fun, he texted back. Do you need a ride home?

The response was quick. No, Connor will bring me back.

Okay. Be safe.

Oh my god Bruce! Dick texted back, adding the sick face emoji, and Bruce laughed. He hadn't meant it that way, not really, but it was nice to know where Dick's head was at. He wondered idly if it would make things weird if Dick and Connor started dating.

Wait, why would it? Bruce shook his head and reminded himself that he still needed to check on Tim.

He found the boy sprawled face down on his bed, head buried in the comforter and music blasting loud enough to rupture Bruce's eardrum. He strode quickly to the speaker and pressed the power button.

"Hey!" Tim yelled, lifting his head to glare and Bruce.

Bruce sat down on the bed. "We have to talk."

Tim snorted and put his face back down in the blanket. "No we don't," he said, voice muffled in the bed. "You'll just think it's stupid teenager stuff."

"I will not. It matters to you, so it matters to me. Please, Tim, I can't help if you won't let me."

Tim rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling for a long moment. Finally he said quietly, "You can't help anyway."

Bruce furrowed his brow. "Are you sure there's nothing I can do?"

"There's nothing anyone can do," he said.

Bruce waited, but Tim didn't say anything more. He set a hand on the boy's knee. "Well?" he prodded gently.

Tim sighed loudly. "Have you ever really wanted something, only to lose it to the guy that's better and smarter and cooler than you?" Then he snorted. "What am I saying, of course you haven't. You're Bruce flipping Wayne."

Bruce didn't think now was the right time to delve into this possible resentment, so he let it go. "What was the something you really wanted? Who did you lose it to?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "Dick, who else? I always lose to Dick." His voice was so bitter it almost made Bruce wince. "Perfect Dick with his perfect face," Tim muttered. "He gets whoever he wants."

Not a what, Bruce realized. A who. "Tim," he began gently, "Is this about Connor?"

Tim's eyes very suddenly began to fill with tears. "Dick gets whoever he wants," he repeated.

Bruce frowned. He hated seeing Tim so upset, but also- "How do you two know him?"

"He lives with Superman, Bruce. How do you think we know him?"

"How did you-"

Tim gave a sad little half-laugh. "You're not the only one with eyes. We knew that first day he was at the house."

"So, Connor is Superboy." It wasn't a question, Bruce knew it must be true. He couldn't believe he hadn't realized this the moment Clark first mentioned his brother. "You know each other's secret identities?"

Tim wiped his eyes aggressively, as if he was angry at the tears. "The three of us and Kid Flash had to go undercover as students a few months ago. We've all known since then."

So, both of his sons had fallen for the same guy, who also happened to be their coworker and also and alien. What could he possibly say to Tim to make any of this easier?

“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t much, but it was true. “This must be really hard for you. Is this why you’ve been so angry with Dick lately?”

“Yeah,” Tim sniffed. “I… I know it’s not his fault. Connor’s great, everyone loves him. But I just wish… I don’t even know. I wish I didn’t always feel like second fiddle to the original. Everything I do is either not as good as Dick, or he already did it first so it isn’t special. For once I just want to be me.”

Bruce had had no idea Tim was struggling so much, and he felt awful about it. He should have known. He was their parent; it was his job to notice these things.

Bruce didn’t often hug the boys, but he thought now was probably one of the times that he should. He held his arms open, and to his surprise, Tim immediately launched himself up and into the hug. He sobbed quietly into Bruce’s shoulder, and it made Bruce’s heart ache.

They sat together, neither speaking, for what felt like a very long time. Bruce was determined not to be the one to break the embrace.

When Tim finally pulled away, wiping at his eyes and taking a shuddering breath, Bruce gently brushed his hair back off his forehead. “What can I do to help? Not about Connor, I know I probably can’t fix that. But you shouldn’t have to feel like you’re living in Dick’s shadow. What do I need to do so you know how much I appreciate you?”

Tim paused, looking up into Bruce’s face with red eyes. “You… you do?”

“Of course I do,” he said softly. “You are both very important to me, but that doesn’t mean you’re the same in my eyes. I appreciate everything you’ve done for Gotham. And you’re not just an associate, Tim. You’re my son, and you’re still a kid, and you shouldn’t have to live your whole life chasing the goal of being like Dick. He is his own person, as are you.”

Fresh tears welled in Tim’s eyes, and he ducked his head and stared down at the blanket. He sniffed a few times but didn’t respond, so Bruce set a hand on his shoulder.

“I do appreciate you, Tim. And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like Dick was a standard you had to live up to. That isn’t fair.”

Tim nodded. “Thank you,” he said thickly. “I can’t really think of anything right now… could I just tell you when something bothers me?”

“Of course you can,” Bruce said. “You can always come to me with things that matter to you, even if you think it wouldn’t matter to me.”

“Okay.” Tim was quiet for a moment. Then he said, so softly that Bruce almost missed it, “Can I have another hug?”

Bruce wrapped his arms as tightly around Tim as his bruised rib would allow.

Chapter 13: Little Talks, Part 1

Notes:

Listening to stray kids as I write this and tbh Bang Chan is pretty much exactly how I picture Bruce. Except, y'know, like ten years younger lmao. Anyways, enjoy.

Clark sent Dick up to Connor's room when they entered his house with instructions to send the other boy down. Connor traipsed down the stairs a few minutes later, his radiant smile dimming slightly at the set of Clark's jaw and his crossed arms.

"What?" Connor asked defensively.

"Would you like to explain why Dick was under the impression that you would be picking him up tonight? You don't have a car, Connor. Please tell me you weren't planning to fly him here?"

Connor swallowed hard. "Um. Would you be mad if I said he already knew I had powers?"

"What?" Clark hissed, lowering his voice so Dick wouldn't hear from upstairs.

Connor scratched at the back of his neck. "Yeah. He, uh, caught me once. He doesn't know who I am," he added hurriedly at the panicked look on Clark's face. "I didn't tell him everything, and he's kept my secret. I don't think he'll tell anyone."

"You can't just go telling everyone your secret identity willy-nilly," Clark began, but Connor cut him off.

"Willy-nilly? God, Clark, who even says that anymore?" Connor quickly squashed the amused smile flickering around his lips, schooling his features into something more serious to match Clark's thunderous expression. "I trust Dick, okay? He hasn't told anyone, and it’s been a few weeks now. I really don't think we need to worry about him."

Clark sighed heavily, running both hands through his curly hair. "Fine. But if there are reporters outside the house tomorrow asking to talk to Superman, I'll be holding you personally responsible."

Connor just nodded. "Can I go back upstairs now?"

"Yes, fine. Go." Clark waved him away, slumping down into an armchair when the boy was gone. He was pretty sure Connor was still hiding something - perhaps Dick did know he was Super Boy - but there really wasn't anything to be done about it now. Clark knew Batman had been researching mind-control and hypnosis methods for months, but he doubted they'd cracked memory wiping yet. Even if they had, the ethics of that were... questionable at best. Especially when it came to minors, which Clark was pretty sure Dick still was.

Clark needed to relax. He was just stressing himself out now.

Clark took several slow, deep breaths. He focused on relaxing his muscles one by one, letting his mind wander. And of course, as they always did these days when allowed to range as they pleased, his thoughts turned to Bruce Wayne.

Clark was pretty sure Bruce had been hiding some kind of injury. An internal trauma or bruised rib? He had moved gingerly, without his usual lackadaisical grace.

Not that he’d been less attractive. No, as usual Bruce Wayne had damn near taken Clark’s breath away without even trying. Those eyes, sharp and twinkling with all the smiles he held back. His voice, smooth and sultry, reminding Clark of dark leather and whiskey. His easy grin, lips so perfectly soft - or, at least, they looked soft. They looked like they would feel incredible.

The man was a siren.

Clark had the sudden urge to text Bruce. He wanted to set up that movie date-

What? Had he thought that? No. It wasn’t a date. They would just be… hanging out. Spending time together. Alone. In a dark empty theater. Nothing but popcorn and armrests between them.

This exercise in relaxation was not working.

Clark jumped as his name echoed down the staircase. “Can we order a pizza?” Connor called.

“Yeah,” Clark answered, getting up from the chair and adjusting the front of his suddenly too-tight khakis. He pulled out his phone just as the boys made it down the stairs.

“Do you know what you want?” Clark asked.

“I’m fine with whatever,” Dick replied just as Connor said “Supreme.”

“That work for you?” Clark asked Dick, who nodded. “Okay,” he said, dialing the number for the pizza place near his work. “I’ll call you down when it gets here, alright?”

“Thanks, Clark.” Connor tugged on Dick’s sleeve, pulling him along as he practically flounced up back up the stairs. The radiant look on his face made the stress tensing Clark’s chest release a bit, and it fell away completely as Dick turned to follow and Clark caught the matching expression of pure happiness he wore.

This wasn’t just a hang out between friends - Connor was in love. And if the way Dick looked at him was any indication, maybe they really could trust him with their secrets.

Clark made the call to the pizza place, ordering two large supreme pizzas and chatting with the guy who usually manned the phone for a few minutes. When he hung up, he stared down at the home screen of his phone. After a moment’s hesitation, he opened his messages with Bruce and started to type.

I think this may be more serious than we realized.

Bruce responded much faster than Clark had expected. The little bubbles that signaled he was typing popped up almost immediately, disappearing after a moment to be replaced by two words:

What is?

My brother and your son, Clark sent back. From what I can tell, it looks like more than just a crush.

Once again, Bruce’s reply came quickly. Well, I guess we’ll be seeing each other more after all.
Then, before Clark could type a response, another message popped up.

Looks like I won’t have to keep making up excuses… Suppose I should thank them. :)

Clark’s stomach flipped over so violently, he wondered if this was what it would feel like to be punched in the gut without his invulnerability. Had he read that right? He couldn’t have, could he?

He read the message again, more slowly this time. The words did not spontaneously rearrange themselves into something easier to understand. Was Bruce saying that he would have invented reasons to keep seeing Clark after their business arrangement was over? Was that why he’d offered to let Clark use his home theater? Clark had assumed he was just being generous…

Oh, right. He needed to respond, or Bruce might assume he had overstepped.

I could do it for you, since I’ve got them both here now :)

That looked good, didn’t it? Confident and cool, but not too brazen. Clark took a breath and hit send.

Chapter 14: Little Talks, Part 2

Bruce perched atop the highest building in Gotham, face in the shadow of his cowl as he listened to the police scanner at his side. He’d patrolled for hours after Clark signed off to pick up his pizzas. He’d double checked on Dick when he got home, then returned to the streets. So far, he’d knocked out a common burglar and tied him up for the beat cops to find, helped an elderly man get into his house after he lost his keys, and given a treat to a dog that was keeping up its whole neighborhood with incessant barking.

Objectively, it was good that the city was quiet. But hell if Bruce wasn’t bored out of his mind.

Bruce fingered the slot in his belt that held his phone, knowing his focus should be on the city below, yet tempted beyond what he would’ve expected. He’d been with Clark for most of the day, texted with him barely an hour after they split up, then spoken to him in person again when he dropped off Dick.

So why did Bruce want to text him so badly?

No. It was well past midnight, Clark would be asleep. Or else doing whatever Superman did to keep watch over his own city.

Then again… if he was out patrolling, maybe he was bored too?

Bruce gave in, pulling his phone out and sliding open the chat with Clark. He was suddenly thankful for the touchscreen compatible fingertips Dick has insisted upon installing in his gloves. He took several minutes to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound absolutely absurd in the middle of the night.

He started and then deleted three messages, and finally settled on: Dick wanted to say thanks for giving him a ride earlier.

Bruce slid his phone back into his belt, not expecting a reply until morning, if at all. He then almost immediately drew it back out as it vibrated at his hip.

It was no big deal, it obviously meant a lot to Connor.

Another buzz, and Bruce read a second message: Also, what are you doing up? It’s almost 1

That made Bruce smile. I could ask you the same question… but to answer, I couldn’t sleep so I’m answering some emails.

Fun stuff, Clark responded. Pretty much the same for me, just going over some edits.

Well aren’t we a pair of party animals, Bruce sent back.

Clark’s next text was just a laughing emoji, and Bruce sent one back. Then he had to take a minute and wonder what had gotten into him. He never used emojis, Tim was constantly bugging him about it. Was he really acting differently just to mess with Clark?

He didn’t feel like he was purposely pretending to be someone he wasn’t - aside from the secret vigilantism. He felt like he was being himself… so then why was he acting differently than normal? What was it about Clark that made him feel like using emojis and flirting and texting at all hours of the night?

Sure, he was having fun with this. Wasn’t that why he’d started the whole debacle in the first place? To mess with Superman? That had to be it. He didn’t have a lot going on socially, at least outside of fundraisers and dinner parties that he had to attend to keep up the Bruce Wayne image. He didn’t have many friends. And he hadn’t expected Superman of all people to be the kind of guy he’d enjoy hanging out with, but here they were.

Yes, that was it. Bruce was just bored. Keeping secrets from Mr. Boyscout was a good time, and he didn’t need to read any more into it. They were friends, which Bruce hadn’t allowed himself before, but perhaps he’d been too stiff with his personal rules. Besides, Clark was too busy with his own superhero stuff to notice if Bruce was flaky on occasion, which was the main obstacle that kept him from getting close to people in the first place.

The police scanner at his side crackled to life and Bruce came abruptly out of his thoughts, but it was just someone reporting a found stray.

Bruce’s attention was drawn away from the scanner as his phone buzzed again. He was surprised to see not Clark’s name on the screen, but his best friend Harvey’s.

Hey man, I know you won’t see this til morning but I’m just getting on my plane home. I land at 9, want to meet up for breakfast?

Harvey had been traveling for business for the last two weeks, and Bruce thought he would be gone for at least one more. Not that he was complaining. He hadn’t seen his best friend in far too long. Bruce typed up a response and scheduled it to send at seven the next morning.

It would be good to catch up with Harvey. Good to talk with a friend - a friend that wasn’t Clark. He couldn’t be the only person Bruce spoke to, after all. That probably wouldn’t be healthy.

But really, Bruce thought as another text from Clark popped up, it surely couldn’t hurt to talk to him some more tonight….

Notes:

Per my last chapter note:
This is what I’m imagining when I write Bruce. Except that I think Chan is 26 or 27, and Bruce is more like 36 in this fic.
Link

Chapter 15: Each Other’s People, Part 1

Clark ran the comb through his hair one last time, letting out a resigned sigh when his curls refused to lay flat. He set the useless instrument aside to tug a sweater over his head, then opened the mirror cabinet and pulled out a bottle of mouthwash. As he swished the stinging liquid around his gums, Clark skimmed through his messages with Lois to make sure he’d gotten the time right.

Yup, still 9:00.

Lois had asked Clark if they could meet for coffee to go over her latest article for the business column, claiming that the work environment was stunting her creative mind.

“I just need to get out of the office for a bit,” she’d said. “I need someone to bounce ideas off of.”

Clark had agreed, of course, which was why he was now getting ready for work despite his shift not starting until eleven. Originally he’d suggested they meet at his favorite coffee shop on Main Street in Metropolis. To his surprise, Lois had shot that idea down, saying she’d rather check out the new breakfast boutique in Gotham City.

Clark’s stomach flipped over, just as it did whenever something made him think of Bruce Wayne. Gotham was his hometown. They might run into each other -

Clark squashed that train of thought immediately. He was just getting his hopes up for no reason, because surely the wealthy CEO of Wayne Enterprises had his own personal chef to make him nice breakfasts. No way would Clark run into him at a regular person restaurant.

He couldn’t live his life getting butterflies whenever someone mentioned Gotham. They were neighboring cities for God’s sake; people mentioned it all the time. He and Lois would have a nice breakfast, and then Clark would go to work, and that would be that.

He finished getting ready and grabbed his messenger bag and keys off the counter before slipping on a pair of loafers. He double checked that Connor had left for school already, locked the front door behind him, and got into the car. Five minutes later Clark was tapping the steering wheel to the rhythm of Life Is A Highway and pretending he wasn’t fantasizing about bumping into Bruce in a coffee shop.

Lois was already seated with a steaming mug of coffee when Clark walked into the restaurant. A hostess led him to her booth and left to get another coffee.

“Oh thank God, I was afraid you weren’t coming,” Lois sighed as he sat down across from her.

Clark checked his watch. “I’m two minutes early.”

“Well I’ve been here for almost an hour-“

“Lois,” Clark cut in, “you’re going to break the mug.”

Lois looked down at her hands and slowly eased her grip with what seemed like a concerted effort. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m just… God, Clark. I just know there’s something fishy going on at LexCorp. I have to keep digging; it’s driving me crazy.”

“Oh,” Clark said, having to mentally push down the knowledge of exactly what fishy things went on at LexCorp. He could tell her, of course, but then he’d have to explain how he knew. And that was a slippery slope.

“If I could just get inside, maybe schedule an interview with Luthor -“

“No!” Clark burst out, getting to his feet in alarm. Then the shocked expression on his best friend’s face registered, and he swallowed and sat again. “Please, Lois. Luthor is dangerous. If he thinks you’re snooping around… I don’t even want to think about what he might do to you.”

Lois’s brow furrowed as she searched his face, but finally she nodded. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I’ll take your word for it. But if you hear anything shady, I want to know.”

Clark agreed, hating the lying almost as much as he hated not telling her everything. He’d wanted Lois to know who he was for almost their entire relationship, but it just wasn’t smart. The more people who knew, the more likely they were to be hurt.

“Are we ready to order?” A waitress in a pressed pink collared shirt and white slacks had materialized from nowhere, and as always, Clark was surprised. With his super hearing one might think he’d know when someone was coming, but busy public places like this restaurant acted as perfect sound camouflage. Unless he was focusing on one particular set of footsteps, he usually felt like a normal person. He had to tune the rest of the building out to keep up his conversation with Lois, and that meant getting surprised when someone walked up to their table.

Lois covered Clark’s pause with a bright smile. “I’ll have the Eggs Benedict and an almond latte please.”

The waitress jotted down her order and turned to Clark. “And for you, sir?”

Clark hadn’t even glanced at his menu yet. He opened it and pointed to the first thing his finger landed on, which was thankfully something filling.

“The everything platter?” the waitress asked, looking to him for confirmation.

“Yes, that would be great. Thanks.”

The waitress nodded, braids falling across her face in a curtain as she looked down at her notepad and added Clark’s order. “Would you like anything to drink with that?”

“I think the hostess is bringing my coffee, that should be fine.”

The waitress gave one more nod, Lois and Clark both thanked her, and she left to put their orders in.

Once she was out of sight, Lois retrieved her computer bag from the floor and extracted a folder that was way overstuffed with loose papers. She rifled through them for several minutes and finally emerged with a sheet full of notes jotted in minuscule script.

“This is what I have so far. I’ve got all the pieces, I think. I just need your help sorting them into something coherent.” Lois glanced up at Clark with imploring eyes, and he laughed.

“You don’t have to look at me like that, I came here to help didn’t I?” Clark pulled out a clean sheet of paper from his own bag and began to make his own - much neater - notes.

They worked, chatting back and forth, until their food arrived twenty minutes later. Clark’s stomach had been rumbling since he sat down, and he tucked into his plate with enthusiasm while Lois did the same across the table. He was mid-bite when something tickled at the edge of his consciousness, and Clark looked up and at the door instinctively.

Just in time to see Bruce Wayne enter the restaurant.

On his heels was man who looked vaguely familiar to Clark, but he couldn’t muster a name for the face. Although that could’ve had less to do with his memory and more to do with his pounding heart.

Lois took a long drink of her latte and, noticing Clark’s expression, turned to follow his gaze. “Oh hey,” she said, “Is that Bruce Wayne? You interviewed him at that fundraiser the other week, didn’t you?”

Clark nodded, mouth too dry for words. He wanted to get up and wave Bruce down, say a nonchalant hello the way he would if he’d casually run into literally any other acquaintance or friend. But his legs felt wobbly, and he wasn’t sure he could manage “nonchalant” just then.

Maybe it wasn’t just a crush, because no one had ever made Clark feel like this. His pulse was racing, his muscles felt weak, and his scalp was tingling. Not even his lingering feelings for Batman had this effect, stubborn though they were in sticking around. What was happening to him?

The same hostess from before finished greeting Bruce and his friend - surely he was a friend, right? This wasn’t a date? - and turned to lead them to a booth. As they drew closer, it became apparent that the three of them were going to walk right past Clark and Lois’s table. A panicky sort of urgency surged up in Clark, making his palms sweat. And barely an instant later, Bruce’s eyes landed on him.

Chapter 16: Each Other’s People, Part 2

Notes:

I meant to post this chapter on Bruce Wayne's birthday but we were visiting my parents and didn't have wifi until literally just now 😭

Bruce felt an electric shock straight to his core as his gaze settled on wide blue eyes that seemed to look straight through him. His step faltered, causing Harvey to bump into his back and jarring Bruce back to reality. He fixed on a practiced smile.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Bruce said, pausing at Clark’s table. He was seated across from a slim, dark haired woman Bruce thought he recognized from the fundraiser - his coworker, perhaps? He wondered for a moment if they were on a date, before noticing the papers scattered over every open space on the table.

The woman saw him looking and hastily began scooping pages into a computer bag. “Sorry,” she said, flashing him an easy grin. “Confidential.” Then she looked at Clark, who was still staring at Bruce. “You alright?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course.” Clark smiled, seeming to come out of his thoughts with a great deal of effort. “Hey Bruce.”

Bruce’s own smile widened; he decided he liked the way Clark said his name. It rolled off his tongue so naturally. “Hey. Who’s the lovely lady?”

“Lois Lane,” the woman cut in, sticking her hand across the table to shake before Clark could introduce her. “And who are you with?”

Bruce turned, holding out an arm as Harvey stepped forward with a nod and a two-fingered wave. “My friend, Harvey Dent.”

“Oh!” Lane’s eyes got almost as wide as Clark’s, and she leaned forward excitedly to shake Harvey’s hand as well. “I think I have an interview with you next week. Youngest district attorney in the city, and most successful to boot.”

Bruce glanced sideways at his best friend. Harvey’s face was carefully polite, but Bruce knew him well enough to tell he was pleased.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. Then he glanced from Bruce to Clark. “And how do you two know each other?”

“I wrote a piece recently on Wayne Manor,” Clark said, politely shaking hands with Harvey too. Before he could say more, the hostess - whom Bruce had completely forgotten was there - cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry sirs, but I have more guests to seat. Shall I find you a table? Or would you be more comfortable here?”

Bruce glanced around at the other three. Clark gave an odd jerky nod, Harvey shrugged, and Lois said “Sure.”

So Lois moved over on her bench to make room for Harvey, and Bruce slid into the seat next to Clark. The hostess promised to be back with coffees once she’d sat her other customers and walked away, leaving Bruce to notice how very stiffly the man beside him was sitting.

Lois immediately engaged Harvey in conversation, asking so many questions that he laughed.

“At this rate,” Harvey said, grinning widely, “you won’t even need that interview.”

Lois raised an eyebrow. “Trust me, I always have more questions.”

While they chatted, Bruce nudged Clark with his elbow. “It’s nice to see you.”

Clark’s chest hitched. He ducked his head quickly before looking sideways at Bruce. His smile was unsteady but genuine, and his eyes flickered around Bruce’s face, not settling anywhere long.

“It’s nice to see you too,” he said softly.

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek against a much wider grin. It was truly remarkable, how much of an effect he had on Clark by simply sitting beside him. Almost super human.

“I didn’t know you were friends with Harvey Dent,” Clark said after a short pause.

Bruce nodded, twisting his watch under the table out of habit. “My best friend. We’ve known each other for years.”

Clark gestured at Lois with his chin. “She’s my best friend.” His lips twisted in amusement. “Didn’t realize we were at the ‘meeting each other’s people’ phase of things.”

Bruce snorted, completely surprised by Clark’s boldness. Well, it wouldn’t be bold from anyone else. But this was the man who could barely look him in the eye, much less make loaded jokes.

Lois and Harvey paused in their conversation to glance at the two of them, and Bruce tried and failed to hide his smile. Lois’s eyes darted between him and Clark, realization dawning. She shot Clark a significant look, and his entire face flushed a deep pink. Bruce had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing again.

The four of them chatted while waiting for Bruce and Harvey's food to arrive. Lois was, as she had said, an inexhaustible fount of questions. Every so often her hand would shoot out and jot an incomprehensible note down onto a crumpled piece of paper she'd retrieved from her bag that was already full of cramped writing.

The waitress brought two steaming plates of pancakes and a carafe of coffee, and Harvey struggled get bites in when Lois took breaths - which she didn't seem to need to do often. After a while, Bruce lowered his fork and leaned closer to Clark. "Do I need to point out Harvey's engagement ring?" he asked as Lois gave a clear, bell-like laugh.

Clark shook his head. "Lois isn't interested in Harvey, trust me."

Bruce eyed her skeptically. People smiled a lot when they flirted, right? "How do you know?"

"Because he's not a woman."

Oh. Well, that would certainly do it. Bruce supposed he didn't need to call Pam and warn her about Lois after all.

Bruce was suddenly aware of a cold spot on the side of his knee, and it took him a moment to figure out that it was because Clark's knee had been pressed against his own. Another moment, and he realized he warmth of his body was gone because Clark had just sat bolt upright on the seat. He stared at his phone with panicked eyes, and kicked Lois under the table.

"What?" she asked, annoyance disappearing from her face when Clark turned the phone so she could see it. "Shit," she said, and began shoving her notes and pen into her bag. She nearly shoved the half-full coffee mug in there too, but Clark snatched it and handed her her phone just in time.

"I'm sorry," Clark said finally, scooping his messenger bag onto his shoulder. "We're going to be late for work."

Bruce stood, sliding out of the booth hastily. Harvey followed suit. Lois was up and out the door almost too fast for Bruce to keep track of, but Clark, ever the gentleman, turned to shake both of their hands quickly. Then he made to follow Lois out the door, but stopped in his tracks and turned back to the table.

"Wait, we didn't pay-"

Bruce waved a hand. "Don't worry about it."

Clark's face flushed. "I can't let you-"

Bruce clapped a hand on each of Clark's shoulders, spun him back to the door, and gave him a shove. "Yes, you can. It's our fault you're late anyway."

Clark did not look happy about it.

"The longer you stand here arguing with me, the later you'll be," Bruce said. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Your choice."

The muscles in Clark's jaw flexed twice - very distractingly - but he finally sighed in frustration. "Fine, but you'd better keep that receipt. I'm paying you back."

"I will not."

Clark had no choice but to leave, tossing a glare over his shoulder as he left, and Bruce smirked. He had a feeling this would drive Mr. Manners crazy for quite some time.

Harvey settled himself back into the booth. When Bruce resumed his seat, Harvey raised a brow at him over his mug. "Care to explain?"

"Explain what?"

Harvey rolled his eyes. "Don't pretend. Miss Lane may have been keeping most of my focus, but I'm not blind."

Bruce felt heat rising in his neck, and he wondered if this was how Clark felt all the time. "There's nothing to explain."

Harvey pursed his lips. "Mm-hm. Sure."

Chapter 17: Pain and Injury, Part 1

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lois hissed in Clark’s ear, leaning close so their coworkers around the table wouldn’t hear.

The two of them hadn’t even gotten lectured for being late, because Perry had whisked them into an emergency meeting before they even had the chance to deposit their things at their desks. Lois’s main concern, however, seemed to be that she hadn’t gotten the opportunity to interrogate Clark about breakfast.

“Because there wasn’t anything to tell yet,” Clark whispered back, keeping his eyes focused on the projector screen at the head of the table.

“Yet?” Lois asked, loudly enough that several people turned her way. Unashamed, she prodded Clark’s arm when he didn’t respond.

“What do you mean yet?” she said.

“Can we please talk about this later?” Clark begged, and Lois finally flopped back into her chair.

“Fine,” she whispered. “But I’m getting those answers. Whether you like it or not.”

Clark very nearly made it through the whole meeting - so of course his pager had to go off just as Perry was asking for questions. He sighed and raised his hand.

“Yes, Clark?”

“I have a family emergency sir.”

Perry White’s face fell; Clark always asked good questions. “Alright,” he said. “Get out of here.”

Clark gave a grateful nod. He flung a little wave at Lois as he slipped out the door, not missing her suspicious stare. Sure enough, he hadn’t even made it to the elevator before his phone dinged and a text popped up.

Lois: This had better not be your way out of answering my questions…

Clark rolled his eyes. It’s not, he typed as the elevator descended. I swear. I’ll explain everything tonight.

Well, he would if whatever this was didn’t take all day. Hopefully he’d be able to take care of it quickly.

He did not, in fact, take care of it quickly. On the contrary, Clark was very late for dinner with Connor and Lois. Of course Luthor couldn't just let his recent defeat stand. Of course he had to send his goons to terrorize several cities between Metropolis and New York. It wouldn't have been so bad, Clark thought, if only he'd had backup. But Diana, Flash, and Batman were all dealing with insurrections in their respective areas of influence.

It was late afternoon when Clark arrived at the Watchtower for a post-battle debrief with the others and found Diana tending to a very battered Batman and - Clark did a double take - a maskless Flash. The redheaded man was passed out in an infirmary bed with a four-inch long gash running from his left eyebrow to the middle of his scalp. It looked... really bad.

"Get Batman the stitch kit," Diana told Clark as soon as she spotted him.

Batman huffed. "I can get it myself-"

"You will sit right there or so help me I will kill you myself." Diana's voice, normally calm in all situations, was clipped with tension. Clark wondered just how bad the two men's injuries had been.

Dutifully, he retrieved the plastic case full of sutures and scissors and needles. He brought it to where Batman was sitting on another bed, feet on the floor as if he would get up and return to work at any minute. "Where is it?" Clark asked, x-ray vision finding several likely places on the vigilante's body that appeared to need tending.

Batman jerked his head to where he held his left hand over his right bicep. He removed his hand, and blood immediately began seeping out of a long, and probably deep, slice. That explained the odd limp way his right arm hung against his side. A quick scan confirmed Clark's suspicions: his muscle and ligament had been cut very nearly clean through. He raised his eyes to the glowing holes in Batman's cowl.

"I need to cauterize that before we stitch it closed," Clark said. "And don't argue. I know you think you can handle everything on your own, but it'll be your own damn fault if you lose your arm." Batman was glaring at him, but he softened his voice anyway. "Just let me help you. Please?"

Batman sighed heavily. "Fine," he said, teeth gritted against what was almost certainly an unbearable amount of pain - or it would've been for anyone else. Clark was continually impressed with Batman. People thought Superman was tough, but it was easy to be tough when almost nothing could touch you. He came away from every fight virtually unscathed; Batman felt every punch and still got up and came to work with the rest of the supers, even without any special enhanced abilities. He was very likely the strongest of them all.

Clark put a hand on Batman's shoulder, hooked his fingers through a tear in the reenforced fabric, and tore his sleeve off.

Batman gasped as his wound was jostled. "Was that really necessary?" he asked, eyes shut tight against the pain.

"I'm sorry. But I can't do anything if I can't see."

Clark set to work, finding the places inside Batman's arm that were torn. He worked systematically, using both hands on either side of the muscle to push each lacerated section together before using his heat vision to connect them again. He kept up a steady stream of apologies as Batman swore and kicked at his legs. Clark wasn't sure whether it was involuntary or not, but it didn't hurt either way, so he said nothing. When he was finally finished, Batman was panting hard, his voice hoarse and shaky. The exposed skin of his arm was covered in a sheen of sweat, and though everywhere else was still not visible under his suit, Clark was sure the rest of his body was in a similar state.

Clark finally convinced Batman to actually lay down on the bed, so he could stitch up the wound without Batman's trembling muscles making it worse.

"You need to sleep," Clark told him once the gash in his arm was fully closed and wrapped in gauze.

"I'm. Fine." Batman said, through gritted teeth.

Diana appeared at Clark's side then. "You're obviously not. Drink this," she said, and handed him a large glass full of bright orange liquid.

Batman turned his glare on her too, but he was outnumbered. He finally threw his head back and chugged the whole concoction, re-situating himself on the bed after. Clark watched him, just to be sure he hadn't somehow faked it, but he needn't have worried. The medicine began to work almost immediately, and Batman's body soon went limp as it eased his pain and put him to sleep.

When Diana was sure the two injured men couldn't hear her, she sighed deeply and turned to Clark.

"It was really bad. I mean really bad. They both almost died." Her voice hitched as if she was actually on the verge of tears, and Clark suddenly hated himself for not being there to help. "I-" Diana cut herself off, took a deep breath, and started again. "I thought I was going to lose them on the way up here. Batman couldn't drive the jet with his arm like that, so I left him to take care of Flash. But when we finally made it to the landing area I went back to carry Flash to the infirmary and I found them... they were both passed out. I thought they were dead."

Her voice finally broke, and Clark wrapped her in a hug without thinking. To his surprise, Diana clutched him back, arms tight around his ribs.

"I'm so sorry, Diana. I should have been there."

But she shook her head. "I know you were busy too. I think... I think that was on purpose. I don't think it was a coincidence that we all had to fight separate battles apart from each other at the exact same time." She stepped out of Clark's arms, forcefully wiping her eyes as if angry at the tears. "I don't think you or I were meant to intervene. I got lucky - I should have been fighting for a long time after I was. And then I went to help those two-" she hooked her thumb at the occupied beds - "and I got there just barely in time. I think whoever orchestrated the attacks today meant to take them both out. We weren't supposed to get there in time to help."

Clark felt a cold blanket of fear fall over his heart. He was remembering, suddenly, how annoyed he was all throughout the battles he'd fought today. Because the stupid goons kept running away from him, instead of staying to fight. Almost as if... they'd been intentionally stalling for time. Intentionally keeping him busy.

Clark clenched his fists at his sides, anger rising up inside of him so suddenly it shocked him. He had very nearly lost two people he cared about today, all because he'd been too blind to see a diversion when it was dancing - literally - in front of his face. He took a deep breath. Slowly released it. Relaxed his hands at his sides.

"How bad is Flash?" he asked.

Diana led him over to where she'd put the speedster into one of their few stasis healing pods. He floated in the bluish goop, face twisted in pain even in his comatose state. "I wasn't sure for a while, but I think he's going to make it. He-" she swallowed hard. "He might not have if we'd been even a few minutes longer. He lost so much blood, and the muscleman that brained him actually broke his skull. I don't know what Batman did to keep him alive back there while I was flying the jet, but he saved his life."

Clark allowed himself a small, tired smile. "He won't accept the credit for that, I bet."

Diana mirrored his expression. "Of course not. That would require acknowledging that he cares."

Clark shook his head. "We should tend to the rest of his wounds before he wakes up."

Diana nodded. "I'll get more gauze."

Notes:

I’d like to take a minute and address something I’ve noticed recently that I really hope none of my lovely readers are involved in, but just in case:

Selling bound fanfiction is ILLEGAL. Do not make it to sell, do not buy it from others. The ONLY reason ao3 and other platforms like it are allowed to operate is because there is NO profit involved.

Manacled has recently gotten crazy popular with reader communities who have not been a part of fanfiction spaces and are breaking the rules because they don’t understand them. Please for the love of god do what you can to shut this down where you see it. The people participating in the sale of bound fanfiction are going to get this entire website taken down.

If you want physical copies of your favorite works, you can print them off and keep them in two dollar binders from walmart or staples. If you want the pretty hardcover aesthetic ones for your bookshelves, learn bookbinding yourself.

Do not sell bound fanfiction. Do not buy it. Please.

Chapter 18: Pain and Injury, Part 2

Bruce glanced down at his phone as it vibrated on the desk, drawing his attention away from his monitor. A text lit up the screen, and though Bruce couldn’t see the whole thing, even seeing the contact name in the preview made his lips twist in a private grin. He swiped to open the app, and read the message from Clark.

Who knew the easygoing playboy could be so freaking stubborn.

It was followed by the glaring emoji, and that made Bruce actually snort a laugh. They’d been arguing since last night over whether Clark would get to pay for his breakfast at the diner, and Bruce was roundly refusing to let him. Mostly because he thoroughly enjoyed how irritated it made the ever-gentlemanly Superman.

His gut twisted as he thought that name. Bruce was, and had been ever since the disastrous attacks early that week, trying very hard to think of Clark Kent and Superman as two different people. It was easier to pretend that the man he was talking to now had nothing whatsoever to do with his healing arm.

Clark was all he’d been able to think about as Superman worked on his injuries. Even over the frustration and humiliation of needing to be saved by Diana, even through the horrific pain, Bruce had been fixated on those stupid curls of his. And now that he was healing and it hurt so much less, his mind kept showing him images of those curls before him, knelt between his knees, in an entirely different context.

He really needed to get laid. It had been a while - clearly far too long. There was absolutely no rational reason why he should be horny over Superman inflicting massive amounts of pain on him in the name of saving his arm.

Bruce took a deep breath and counted to five. He pushed the images - both the real memories and the fictional fantasies - out of his mind, and began to type a response.

What are you, twelve? What adult uses the word “freaking”?

Bruce sent the text and then returned his gaze to the large monitor screen before him. It was currently displaying all the information he’d gathered about the attacks from earlier that week.

There was frustratingly little.

Bruce had been staring at the two documents for hours, trying to put together connections. He needed to know who was behind it. He needed to know who was responsible for him nearly losing his life. He needed to know who to blame for Flash’s continued incapacitation.

Flash still hadn’t woken up.

He wasn’t in the stasis pod anymore, which was good because Alfred had insisted upon transporting it to the mansion. The butler had also insisted that Bruce spend every night in it, to accelerate his healing. Dick was now on Wake Bruce Duty every morning before school; Alfred had wanted to do that, too, but they all knew that given his way, he’d leave Bruce in there until he was completely healed. Sleeping in the pod instead of his bed each night was the only compromise they’d managed to settle on that didn’t nearly induce heart failure in the elderly man.

Bruce knew that Alfred cared, knew it was the only reason he pushed so hard for Bruce to take care of himself. But god was it frustrating when all he wanted to do was get back out there and beat whoever had done this to a pulp.

Bruce sat back heavily in his chair and sighed, running his hands through his hair hard enough that it almost hurt. Even he knew he needed to let his body rest and recover before he started working on revenge, but he hated it. He felt useless, worthless, like a baby bird that flung itself out of the nest only to be left behind when it was the only one that couldn’t fly. He felt grounded.

His phone vibrated again, and Bruce allowed himself a moment to stop agonizing. Talking to Clark helped. Talking to Clark almost made him feel normal, like a regular man and not a wounded soldier with a secret night life.

Even if he knew Clark also had a secret life.

In a way, that made this all easier. With anyone else, Bruce would have worried about what lie to tell that would keep them away and un-suspicious until he was healed enough to be around civilians again. This had been an even bigger problem, knowing that Clark would recognize the wound immediately. But a perk of befriending another super was that Clark was remarkably cool with lengthy disappearances.

Bruce was pretty sure Clark didn’t even know he was doing it. But as soon as Bruce had said that he would be out of town on business for at least a week, Clark told him not to worry, to take his time, that they could talk whenever he got back.

Of course then Bruce had to backpedal and say that his meetings were terribly boring, just so that he’d have a reason to keep speaking to Clark.

Bruce knew it was irrational, but for whatever reason he found himself unable to muster the energy for anyone else - outside of Alfred and the boys of course. He’d even struggled to respond to Harvey when his best friend asked about getting lunch with Pam sometime that week. It was probably the knowing, he had finally decided. Even if he couldn’t actually tell Clark what he was going through, just knowing that he was speaking to someone who understood was like a weight off his shoulders.

He picked up his phone. There were two texts this time, one right after the other.

I’ll have you know that I am a very adulty adult. Probably the most adult to ever adult.

God, sorry, I’m just rambling now.

Bruce laughed out loud, and it felt good. Before he could think of anything to say in response, a third message popped up on his screen:

It’s only because I’m mad at you, you know. You really ought to let me just pay for my food.

Bruce shook his head to himself, still smiling. Not going to happen.

Chapter 19: Just Friends, Part 1

Clark chewed at his lip. He had never been one to freeze under pressure, but suddenly his closet full of potential outfits seemed like an unassailable enemy. And that wasn't even accounting for the dresser.

His phone rang, and Clark snatched at it in relief; for once he welcomed any distraction. He answered it so fast he didn't even see the caller ID.

"Hello?"

"If you say you're busy I'm driving over there and strangling you," Lois's voice replied in leu of a greeting.

Clark winced. He had yet to explain the situation with Bruce to her. Things had kept cropping up - mostly things involving Flash and hunting down the mastermind behind last week's attacks. Clark had kept busy, hellbent on investigating. He and Batman had been spending a lot of late nights at the Watchtower. He really hadn't meant to blow Lois off, but she had no idea how serious this was. To her, Clark was sure it seemed as if he was merely dodging her questions. It didn't help that he couldn't tell her what he was busy with.

"No, this is perfect timing. I mean, I'm getting ready to go, but I've got time to talk." Clark hit the button to send the call to speakerphone, and then set his cell on top of the dresser.

"So?" Lois nudged.

"So, what?"

Clark could practically hear Lois roll her eyes. "So, start talking. Tell me everything."

And Clark did. He explained about the invitation to tour Wayne Manor and the return trip with Jimmy for photos. He told her about Bruce, how he wasn't at all what Clark had expected, and how their friendship had seemingly bloomed out of nothing during those two days in his home. Clark told her about finding out Connor knew Dick and about how the two would probably start dating soon if they weren't already in secret.

"I hope Connor knows he can tell me about stuff like that."

Lois hmm'd thoughtfully. "He might be worried about how you'll react, since Dick isn't a girl. He hasn't come out to you yet, has he?"

Clark snorted. "I'm gay, Lois. Why would I have a problem with my brother dating a boy?"

"Does Connor know you're gay? You've never had a boyfriend, Clark. If you haven't explicitly told him, how would he know that?"

Clark paused in his halfhearted browsing of shirts. Had he ever told Connor? Thinking back on it now, Clark realized they had never discussed anything remotely related to sexuality or dating. And Connor would have more reason than most teenagers to be confused about his feelings and how they affected his place in the world. He hadn't had a childhood. He'd merely been dropped into the body of a teenager two years ago, and had to figure everything out from there. Connor also went to a public school; he had no doubt witnessed homophobia from his classmates at some point or another. If he had no reason to suspect Clark would be any different, what might Connor be afraid to tell him? Any number of things.

Like his feelings for another boy.

"I think I'll talk to him about it when he gets home from school," Clark said finally, resuming his search for something suitable to wear. "Hopefully there'll be enough time before I have to leave."

"Where are you going anyway?" Lois asked, voice fading a bit as she got farther away from her phone.

Clark felt his face flush and was glad that Lois couldn't see him. "Oh, um, I'm actually going to see Bruce tonight."

"What?" Lois shrieked through the speaker. Clark rubbed at his ear, very thankful she hadn't been any closer to her phone.

"Yeah. He invited me over for a movie. The mansion has this giant theater room-"

"Oh my god, Clark! Lead with that next time! What are you wearing? Not one of those dinky old granny sweaters, I hope."

Clark scowled at his phone. "I like those sweaters. They're from my mom."

Lois snorted. "Whatever. Just please wear something nice for once."

"They are nice," Clark argued.

Lois sighed. "Clark, honey, you know I love you."

"Yeah..." Clark said, sensing a 'but'.

"But you have no sense of style."

Clark rolled his eyes. "What would you suggest?"

"Hm. Well, you're going to a movie, but it's a home theater, right? So maybe something less 'going out' and more 'lounging in'. Casual, but flattering. Do you have anything like that?"

Clark blinked at his closet. "Um, what would that look like, exactly?"

Lois sighed again. "Just put me on video call."

Clark obliged. He held up the phone so that Lois could see what he was working with, and she helped him choose a pair of grey sweatpants that he almost never wore, a fitted blue workout tank, and a black flannel.

"It would be better if you had a zip up hoodie," Lois told him as he turned off the video to get changed. "But this works too."

"I have hoodies," Clark responded.

"Yes, but they're all pullovers. You want it open in the front to show off your abs."

Clark blushed. "Then why wear anything over top? Couldn't I just go in the shirt?"

"Nah, that looks like you're trying to show off. The over shirt says 'yeah, I just happen to have spectacular muscles, but I don't really care'. It looks effortless."

"That's a lot of effort to look effortless," Clark mumbled to himself. But he put the flannel on anyway.

The front door opened and closed, and Clark heard Connor's footsteps approaching up the stairs.

"Connor's home," he told Lois. "I should go."

"Good luck. Be gentle with him, okay?"

"I will be."

Lois waved, then leaned forward and ended the call. Clark stuck his phone in his pocket and went looking for Connor.

"Was that Lois?" the younger boy asked as Clark entered his bedroom.

"Yeah, she was just helping me work through something quick."

Connor pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Something for work?"

"Not exactly." Clark sat on the edge of his bed. "I have to leave in a few minutes, but I wanted to talk to you about something first."

Connor looked up from his backpack, which he had been emptying onto his desk. "Yeah?" he said warily, as if Clark's tone had tipped him off that this wasn't just a casual conversation.

"Yeah," Clark said. "It's about Dick."

Connor's shoulders stiffened. "What about him?"

Here goes nothing. "I know he's special to you. The way you two look at each other isn't the way friends do."

A flash of panic crossed Connor's features, and he straightened up quickly. "It's not what you think-"

Clark cut him off with raised hands. "You don't have to lie, okay? Whatever's going on with you two, I hope he makes you happy. And I hope you know you can tell me what he is to you, whatever that might mean."

Connor stared at him, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. He still looked anxious, and Clark decided he needed to show a little trust before he could get some.

"I was about your age the first time I realized I liked boys, you know." Clark tilted his head. "Well, I know your age is a debatable subject, but you know what I mean. I was about to graduate highschool, and there was this guy I was friends with that I just couldn't stop thinking about. But when I tried to tell him how I felt, he was disgusted by me. He didn't want to be friends anymore. I just hope Dick isn't like that. I don't want to see you get hurt."

Connor’s shoulders lowered an inch as some of the tension went out of his muscles. His hands came out of their fists at his sides. "I'm sorry that happened to you. But Dick isn't like that. He's..." Connor paused searching for the right word.

"Special?" Clark supplied.

Connor's face reddened, but he nodded. “Yeah. He’s special.”

Clark heard the silent to me at the end of Connor’s sentence, and it made his heart feel lighter. He was happy for Connor. And he wondered how much his brother’s feelings for Dick mirrored his own feelings for Bruce.

Surely it wasn’t that serious. This was barely even a date, they couldn’t be in love. Not the way Connor and Dick seemed to be. They were… just friends. Surely.

Chapter 20: Just Friends, Part 2

Bruce answered the door himself for the first time in years. He had imagined letting Alfred escort Clark back to the theater room, and the image made him feel impossibly stuck up. He didn't want to come off as some rich douchebag to whom Clark was a lesser being. They were equals, and Bruce wanted to show him that. So he answered the door himself.

He was surprised to find Clark on his front steps, wearing not his usual uniform of clean pressed pants and a sweater, but casual clothes. He looked like he could've come from the gym, or from playing football in someone's back yard. He looked good.

"Hey," Bruce said breezily, decidedly not noticing the way Clark's blue shirt fitted him exactly the same as his supersuit did - really well.

Clark's shy smile lit up his eyes and warmed Bruce's core unexpectedly. "Hi," he replied. Clark’s eyes traveled very swiftly over Bruce’s body, before he flushed and fixed them firmly on Bruce’s face.

Bruce swept an arm inwards down the hall, gesturing grandly with a bow. "Do come in, sir." Then he glanced up at Clark through his bangs. "Did I do it right? It's been a while since I watched Alfred answer the door."

Clark grinned, stepping past him into the hall. "You'd make a great butler."

"Why, thank you," Bruce said imperiously, and Clark coughed to cover a laugh. Then Bruce began walking, and Clark fell into step beside him, hands in his pockets.

"How did your meetings go?" Clark asked after a moment.

Bruce shrugged. "Fine, I guess. It's real boring stuff. Honestly, I'm just glad to be getting back to normal."

The small talk continued until they reached the theater, when Clark noticed the snack buffet. It had been empty when he’d first toured the mansion, but Bruce had made sure it was fully stocked for tonight. Popcorn and sodas, as well as a selection of every candy Clark had so far mentioned enjoying.

They’d talked about it once, when Bruce was bored out of his mind on patrol at 3 am. He’d asked if perfect proper Clark Kent even deigned to eat sugar, and Clark had very indignantly replied with all of his favorites.

Bruce hoped it wasn’t too much. But he wanted Clark to have a good time. Besides, Bruce was kind of hoping to see him blush and stammer some more, and what better way to do that than with sweet gestures and attention? Well, and with clothing choices. Bruce had that base well covered, too.

“Wow,” Clark said, striding over to the snack bar. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much candy in one place outside of a store.” He turned his gaze back on Bruce, an almost childlike wonder in his eyes.

Bruce gestured casually at the stack of popcorn buckets off to one side. “Take your pick.” He came to stand by Clark’s side, filling his own bucket and feeling rather pleased with himself.

Snacks acquired, Bruce led the way to two seats right in the center of the front row. He watched Clark out of the corner of his eye as they seated themselves, admiring those damned curls that had plagued his dreams all week. He tried to think objectively - there was nothing particularly special about Clark’s hair, right? Surely now he could stop thinking about it. About him.

Oh, fuck - Clark was looking at him.

Bruce made a split second decision to roll with it, because trying to pretend he hadn’t been staring would only make him look stupid. So instead of caving to the embarrassment, he turned up the brightness on his smile, tilting his head slightly.

“You look good,” he said, trying to make it sound casual even while holding eye contact.

Clark’s eyes darted to his hands immediately, and his shoulders hunched slightly farther forward. “Thanks,” he said softly.

Bingo. Bruce allowed himself a single moment to gloat at his own brilliance while Clark wasn’t looking.

Clark cleared his throat, reaching up to run one hand through his hair. “So, um, what are we watching?”

Bruce sat back in his chair. “Well, you said you like mysteries. There’s that new sequel out. I forgot to ask if you’ve seen the first one, but I don’t think they need to be watched in order anyway.” He paused, cutting Clark a sideways glance. “We could always catch you up on the original, another night of course.”

Clark opened his mouth but didn’t seem able to speak. He closed it, swallowed, and tried again. “Are we making plans for a second date before this one has even started?”

Bruce felt his eyebrows shoot up, and Clark very hastily added, “Not that this is a date! I mean, I was just… you know what I mean, right?” He sounded so desperate that Bruce almost laughed.

“Yeah,” he said instead, “I know what you mean. And yes, I’m trying to make plans. But we can work out the details later.”

The sheer relief on Clark’s face was just as amusing as his panic. Really, he needn’t have worried. Bruce found, as they settled into silence and the movie began to play, that he didn’t mind the idea of this being a date. Hadn’t he just been thinking the other day that he’d been single for too long? Yes, he’d been trying to distract himself from thinking about Superman at the time. At face value, pursuing anything tangible with Clark was precisely the opposite of that goal. But if he thought of Clark as just Clark, not as the alter-ego of Superman, then that was basically the same thing as going after some stranger for a mindless distraction.

That’s what this was anyway, right? They were friends, sure, but Clark was also mostly a distraction. From his work-oholic ways, from his guilt about Flash, from his own thoughts. Could Bruce let Clark be that? Could he set aside what he knew and pretend that both he and Clark were just regular people spending time together because they enjoyed it?

Bruce cast another sideways glance at the man beside him, strong features lit with multicolored light from the screen as he popped a peanut M&M in his mouth.

He could pretend. Just for now. This wouldn’t last - good things never did for Bruce - but he could have fun with Clark while he was here.

Chapter 21: Panic, Part 1

Clark snuck a peek at his phone when Bruce wasn't looking and found a text from Lois.

How's it going? Have you seen his bedroom yet?

He glanced over at Bruce - still looking at the screen - and typed a response. I'm not here to hook up with him.

Lois replied almost immediately, two texts popping up one right after the other.

Shame. He's cute.

Incidentally, are you still wearing that flannel?

Clark's brow furrowed. Of course I'm still wearing it, why wouldn't I be?

The bubbles that indicated Lois was typing lingered for so long he began to wonder if she'd dropped her phone behind the couch or something. A message finally appeared, accompanied by a gif of some celebrity he didn't recognize winking at the camera.

You should try to find a way to casually take it off for a minute, or like let it slide down your arms. You want to show off your biceps. People go crazy for that.

Clark blushed and looked around guiltily. Thank God the theater was dark and Bruce was focused on the movie. I'm not trying to seduce him, Lois. It's just a movie.

Just try it, she sent. Promise me you'll try it.

Sighing to himself, Clark agreed. He knew Lois wouldn't drop it until he did. He put the phone away and returned his attention to the projector screen, where the handsome detective was in the process of revealing who the killer was. Clark told himself not to keep looking sideways at his companion, the way he had been ever since the movie started. But Bruce just looked... so good. It was hard not to stare, much less keep from looking at him at all.

Bruce always looked good, in Clark's opinion, but there was something about seeing him not done up or carefully presented. Tonight he was wearing regular plaid pajama pants and an actual crop top, which Clark wouldn't have expected to work as well as it did. It was just a cut off tank, but the smooth skin it revealed was... it was torture. He'd been practically drooling since he got here. It was embarrassing, actually.

It wasn't just the shirt, either. Bruce was wearing a diamond stud in his pierced ear, his hair was messy, and for once he'd taken off the watch he always wore. He must have repainted his nails recently, because they were now a dark red color instead of black. Clark imagined this was how Bruce dressed when he was relaxing by himself with no paparazzi or news crews to see. He looked... at ease. And it was intoxicating.

Clark decided he needed to get his promise to Lois out of the way quickly. He had no idea how to be smooth, and she would probably cringe herself into oblivion when he was inevitably forced to recount the attempt to her later, but there was nothing to be done about it. She hadn't given any direction on how to accomplish the task, and really, that was on her.

Clark stretched slowly, arching his back and putting his arms up over his head. Then, stomach a mess of twisting nerves, he put them down again on the armrests, allowing the flannel to fall to his forearm on the side closer to Bruce. He realized a nanosecond later, as their skin brushed together, that Bruce was also using his armrest. Their fingers and bare shoulders were less than a centimeter apart.

His face burned.

Bruce glanced over at the touch, eyes skipping from Clark's bicep to his face, then back down to where their hands lay side by side on the armrests. He didn't say anything, just wet his lips and turned slowly back to the screen. As Clark watched his side profile, Bruce bit his lip, seeming to fight back a smirk.

What did that mean? Was he laughing at Clark's clumsy attempt to be suave? Was he... impressed? No, that was way too much to hope for.

The ending of the movie passed with Clark keeping his eyes faced firmly forward, refusing to check if Bruce was taking the opportunity to look at him. He had to stop torturing himself. After all, Bruce had all but said he didn't see this as a date. They were just friends. It was okay that Clark had a crush on him, but that didn't mean anything was going to happen. Clark could accept that. He could keep his feelings to himself and just enjoy Bruce's company platonically. It wasn't the end of the world for a crush to be unreciprocated. That happened all the time. He would not keep looking for signs that Bruce wanted something more. He would not keep agonizing over whether he was embarrassing himself. He would enjoy this new friendship and not make it weird.

As the credits began to roll, Bruce sat forward and stretched. He set his popcorn bowl on the floor and turned to Clark. "What did you think? Is it worth seeing the other one?"

Clark nodded. "I'd like that."

Bruce grinned. "Good. Do you need to go home? Or we could do something else. It's only-" he glanced at his wrist, remembered the watch wasn't there, and pulled out his phone instead. "It's only eight thirty."

"I don't need to be home for anything. Do you have something in mind?"

Bruce pursed his lips - which were really, really unfairly perfect - and then his face lit up with an idea. "I haven't shown you the hot tub yet, have I?"

"You have a hot tub?"

Bruce laughed. "I'll take that as a no." He stood. "Come on, you'll love it."

Clark stood, setting his popcorn bucket in the chair as he did. "Oh, but I don't have a swimsuit or anything to change into."

Bruce was already on his way out of the theater, and he waved a hand dismissively over his shoulder. "I'm sure I have something you can borrow."

Clark followed his host through the house, up a flight of stairs, down several hallways, and into a room that could only have been Bruce's bedroom. Lois's text from before - Have you seen his bedroom yet? - flashed through his thoughts, and the memory of his response made his face feel warm. The room was neat and more simply furnished than Clark would have expected, the writing desk and bedside table the only fixtures of note besides the bed, which looked luxuriously comfortable. Perfect for cuddling...

Bruce disappeared into a door that must have been a walk-in closet, for when he returned he was holding a pair of swimming trunks in each hand. He held the blue pair out, and Clark reached for it - just as he realized what the pattern on the fabric was, and his heart stopped.

These were Superman trunks. The blue fabric was covered in equally spaced little red shield shapes, each one bearing the - bearing his - S.

Clark looked from the trunks to Bruce's face, searching for any sign of recognition. He'd known wearing this shirt was a bad idea. It was a shade of blue too similar to his super suit. Bruce must have seen him in it and known it was familiar.

Except... Bruce didn't look as if he was announcing that he knew who Clark was. He looked slightly amused, yes, but that was probably because Clark was just standing there, not taking the shorts that still dangled in his outstretched hand.

Bruce gave an apologetic smile. "I know they're ridiculous. Tim got them last year as a gag gift for Father's Day. You can keep them, if you want. They don't really suit me."

Clark swallowed, trying to brush off his hesitation with a laugh. "Thanks," he said, finally taking the swimsuit.

Bruce vanished into the closet to change, and Clark stripped and put on the shorts as quickly as he could. He didn't want to be butt-naked when Bruce came out. How absolutely mortifying would that be? He folded his clothes neatly and placed them at the foot of the bed, deciding on the spot that was a better place than the desk. Then he looked down at himself, sighing. He was wearing his own merch. Flash would laugh himself stupid if he ever found out.

Bruce reemerged in his own trunks, this pair a plain white, and Clark swallowed hard and looked away. How in the world was he supposed to pretend everything between them was completely platonic with that much bare skin on display? Perhaps he simply needed to resign himself to the reality that he was doomed to make a fool of himself in Bruce Wayne's presence.

They left the bedroom. Clark had expected they would descend the stairs they had come up, but Bruce led him deeper into the second floor instead. They took just enough turns for Clark to completely lose his bearing, before emerging onto a large covered porch that appeared to look out over the back lawn. One entire half was occupied by the hot tub, sunk into the floorboards. Bruce strode over to it, sitting down on the side and dangling his legs into the steaming water.

He looked up at Clark. "You coming?"

Chapter 22: Panic, Part 2

Tonight was going so much better than Bruce had imagined. Okay, so torturing Clark hadn’t been the plan, exactly. But then he’d walked into his closet to get them both trunks, and he’d seen the pair Tim got him as a joke, and it was just too good of an opportunity to pass up.

And Clark’s face when he’d seen the swim trunks. Perfection.

Bruce pulled himself out of his thoughts when they arrived at the hot tub, sitting down at the edge and turning back to look at his companion. “You coming?” he asked, lowering himself into the tub. He scooted over to make space for Clark, but only the smallest bit.

Clark paused at the edge of the tub, and Bruce swallowed around a sudden tightness in his throat. Standing there, his full height positively towering over Bruce, Clark looked like a giant. It was so easy to forget with the way he always carried himself, folded inward and speaking softly. But this was Superman. And he was massive.

Clark stepped down into the water and took a seat, and it almost seemed to Bruce as if he would just keep going. Feet, calves, thighs, hips, abs - god, his abs - chest, shoulders. There was just… so much of him.

But finally, Clark was fully seated. They sat side by side, steam rising off the ripples between them as the water settled around Clark’s movements.

Bruce wondered suddenly about the fact that he never really noticed Clark’s size when they were together as civilians. He was so quiet, almost demure. It certainly didn’t seem anything but genuine. But then, Superman’s confidence didn’t seem fake either. Were both an act? Neither? But how could that be? He analyzed Clark’s face carefully as the Kryptonian removed his glasses, which were fogging in the steam, and set them carefully beside the tub.

This couldn’t possibly all be an act, could it? Clark seemed much too authentic for that to be possible. No, there was simply no way he was pretending. At least, not completely. Some part of Clark must truly feel like the farm boy from Kansas, even if parts of his secret identity were faked. Even if Superman’s cool confidence was real.

“You were right,” Clark said. “I do like this.”

Bruce smiled, more pleased than he cared to think about that Clark was enjoying himself. “I love it out here,” he said. “Especially at night, when things are as quiet as they get in the city. You can’t usually see many stars, but the moon is nice too.”

Clark looked up through the glass ceiling of the porch, and Bruce watched his jawline sharpen. He wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers along that jaw.

“It is nice out here,” Clark said quietly.

The night was having a dampening effect on them both, making it seem wrong to speak at normal volume. The whole world felt shrunk down to just this porch, the two of them, and the night sky. It was like someone had thrown a weighted blanket over Bruce’s consciousness.

He swirled his hands around in the water for a moment, watching the bubbles rise from his fingers. Bubbles. He should turn on the jets.

It was a good time to flash some wet skin, too.

Bruce stood, striding through the middle of the tub to the jet controls in the corner. He felt Clark’s eyes on him the entire way. It was a sensation not unlike the hot water sizzling over his skin.

The jets turned on, and Bruce returned to his seat. When they’d first gotten in, he had intentionally made it so that Clark had to sit close to him. If he wanted to pass that off as a coincidence, he would have to take a seat farther away. A more appropriate distance away. But Bruce didn’t feel like doing that at all. He sat down right back where he’d been - possibly even a bit closer.

In the warm water, Bruce couldn’t feel the warmth from Clark’s skin. But that didn’t change the fact that there was barely two inches between their shoulders now. He wouldn’t have to move much to press them together, if he wanted to.

Clark turned his head ever so slightly towards Bruce, shy gaze flicking from his face to his bare chest and back again. If they hadn’t both already been pinking in the heat, Bruce suspected Clark would have blushed.

Bruce lowered his lids just enough that he could meet Clark’s gaze from under his lashes. “So, Mr. Kent, are you glad you took this job?”

“Yeah.” His eyes fell to Bruce’s mouth. “This might be the best outcome of any job I’ve ever done.” His tongue flicked out over his bottom lip for just an instant, barely long enough to be noticed.

But Bruce did notice.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked quietly.

Clark swallowed, hard. “Just… I bet a lot of people want the chance to befriend the richest, most famous man in Gotham. And, you know, the hot tub is a good perk.”

Bruce put on an exaggerated pout, thoroughly enjoying the way it made Clark’s next breath tremble. “You only want me for my money?”

“I- I don’t want-“ he cut himself off, stammered for a second, and coughed. Even that sound seemed muffled in the odd atmosphere. “That’s not what I meant,” Clark finally managed.

“What did you mean?” Bruce tilted his chin up, leaning almost imperceptibly closer.

He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to goad Clark into doing, but pushing him was so much fun anyway. The panic in his eyes, the way his hands were fidgeting, how absurdly hot he looked shirtless - it all gave Bruce a heady rush of something like adrenaline. No one else reacted to him like this, not even the guests at galas and dinners that wanted Bruce to know they were interested. He felt good. On top of the world. Powerful.

“What are you doing?” Clark whispered, and it made Bruce grin wickedly.

“Me? I’m not doing anything,” he said, fluttering his lashes innocently. He knew it wouldn’t convince Clark at all after the smile he’d just given, but that made it even better.

Clark blinked rapidly, opened his mouth -

And was interrupted by Dick toppling through the porch door and crying, “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Chapter 23: Get It Together, Part 1

Clark waited while Dick spoke, allowing his heartrate to slow. He wasn't sure how he felt just then - saved by the bell, or like he wanted very much for Dick to leave and let whatever had just been happening play out to the end.

Perhaps both?

Dick was saying something about a family emergency, and for some reason was holding Bruce's watch out to him. Bruce took it, eyes widening. The two shared a significant look. They seemed to have a silent conversation, at the end of which Dick gave a nod and left the porch, closing the door behind him.

Bruce sighed. He finished strapping on his watch, planted both hands on the ledge outside the hot tub, and lifted himself out of the water. His bare back shined under the low light. In the dimness, the shadows in the dips between each muscle were deepened. Clark found himself just sitting there, unable to move as he stared at the broad expanse of exposed skin. Bruce turned around, and that actually made it worse. Each little droplet glistening on his chest marked a place Clark wanted desperately to touch.

"I'm really sorry about this," Bruce said, and he looked it. "There's something important I need to take care of. It might have to be time for you to go home now." He extended a hand to help Clark out of the hot tub with an apologetic half-smile.

Clark took his hand, heart racing, and pulled himself out of the water. He didn't really need the help, but he couldn't pass up the chance to touch Bruce. His hand felt good.

"Is there any way I can help?" Clark asked, pulse pounding in his throat. Bruce hadn't let go of his hand yet.

The other man shook his head, dark bangs swishing around his brows in an almost hypnotizing way. "It's a family thing. We'll be alright. But thank you for the offer."

Clark nodded self consciously. He felt hyper-aware of everything; from his own body, to Bruce's presence, to the steam in the air and the sounds of night animals all around them. His tongue was thick and heavy in his mouth, and he couldn't think of a single other thing to say. And then, so suddenly it nearly knocked the breath out of Clark's lungs, he was seized with an utterly overpowering desire to kiss the man in front of him.

Bruce's lips parted, just the tiniest bit, and Clark realized he was staring at Bruce's mouth.

And then Bruce let go of his hand.

"I'll show you back to your clothes," he said, twisting the door handle and leading Clark back into the mansion.

Clark dressed quickly, and when Bruce emerged from the closet in his pajamas again, the two walked together down to the door. They didn't speak, and Clark was grateful for it. He needed the time to get himself under control.

Once, when she'd just come off a particularly demanding assignment, during which she hadn't slept for three days straight, Lois had explained to Clark what it felt like to be completely hopped up on caffeine. That was how he felt now. Every nerve was hyper-sensitive, primed to electrocute him at the faintest touch. His muscles felt trembly and strange, and his heart was still going way too fast to be comfortable. Twice Bruce's fingers brushed the back of Clark's hand as they walked, and both times he nearly lost his footing. What was wrong with him? Clark had never in his life felt like this. Maybe he needed to go to a doctor. Maybe J'onn could find the place inside him that had burst open and was now spilling boiling lava into his stomach.

The pair paused in the entry hall. Bruce laid a hand on the doorknob as if to open it for Clark, but he hesitated.

"I really am sorry to cut the night short," he said. "I was having a good time."

"I was, too." Clark didn't have to fake the earnestness in his voice, and as soon as he heard himself speak, he blushed. He sounded pathetic, like a lovesick puppy.

Bruce didn't laugh. He did smile, but it was genuine and tinged with regret, not mocking or teasing. He pulled the door open, sticking out his hand to shake once Clark was standing outside on the front step. They shook, and then Bruce pulled his hand in closer, bent over it, and dropped the faintest brush of a kiss on Clark's knuckles.

"Goodnight," he said softly, rising just enough to meet Clark's gaze from below long lashes. His eyes were dark with some unknown, simmering thing that made Clark's stomach clench sharply.

And then he was gone, the door closing in his wake.

 

Clark didn't go straight home. He envisioned trying to fend off Connor's questions - was he okay? why was he shaking? - and decided to find an abandoned parking lot where he could sit and breathe and calm down.

Clark drove most of the way home, then made a detour into the lot of a supermarket that was closed for the day. He sat in the dark with his hands clenched around the steering wheel, practicing every breathing exercise he knew until he felt almost normal. It took nearly fifteen minutes. He had just turned the key in the ignition to go home when his pager vibrated on the seat next to him.

It wasn't time for a watch switch, which meant it was probably important. He dug the pager out of his bag.

From: Batman
We found them.

Three little words. Just that, but Clark didn't need any more information. He had made Batman promise that if and when he discovered who was responsible for trying - and nearly succeeding - to kill him and Flash, that he would let Superman know. Clark needed to be there. Not only because he wanted justice too, wanted to assuage his own guilt, but because he was a little afraid of what Batman might do if he confronted the villains alone. Clark knew that his personal moral code did not extend to all his fellow supers, but he also knew that Batman almost never killed if he could help it. But last week, when they'd met with Diana to compare intel, he had looked angry enough to kill.

Clark just wanted to make sure Batman wouldn't end up doing anything he regretted.

He took a steadying breath and replied to the message: Where do I need to go?

Chapter 24: Get It Together, Part 2

Bruce was losing it.

He was perched atop one of the many S.T.A.R. labs high rises in the district, waiting for the signal. He was angry, positively vibrating with rage thinking about what these people had done to him and his team. Flash was still recovering, and was experiencing issues with his super abilities, which they hadn’t even known was possible. So yes, Bruce was seething. He was so far past ready for revenge.

And yet.

As he lurked in the darkness, poised for his part in their hasty plan, Clark’s face insisted upon forcing its way into his thoughts. Those luscious curls, that square jaw, those expressive eyes. And his muscles. Fucking hell, those muscles. No one should be allowed to look like that. It was too much.

Bruce shook his head, refocusing his gaze at the sixth floor windows of the building across from him. Nightwing hadn’t set off the signal yet, which meant he had to stay still and stay silent.

He shouldn’t have kissed him. It was stupid and reckless and he’d been caught up in the moment. He should never have put his lips on Clark’s skin. It wasn’t a real kiss, but that didn’t matter when it was so, so much less than what he’d really wanted.

Bruce clenched his jaw - he’d zoned out again. Bruce hastily fixed his eyes where they were supposed to be. He had to focus. He needed this to work.

He really, really needed to get laid.

A flash, blue light, barely there and gone again so fast he almost missed it. The signal.

Bruce swung himself into position, using his grappling hook like a vine. He landed against the glass silently and began scaling the building, walking up the wall and using the line he’d thrown to pull himself up. When he arrived at the right window, the one Nightwing had removed, he slipped into the office without a sound.

Diana, Wonder Girl, Superboy, and Nightwing were gathered in a loose huddle around a computer, watching the information download as Nightwing transferred as many files as he could quickly get access to. From behind Bruce came the soft sound that he recognized as Superman touching down.

He would not turn around. He would not - could not - look at Clark right now.

Superman, Bruce reminded himself forcefully. He’s not Clark to Batman.

Besides, if he looked now, he wouldn’t see what he had seen just an hour ago in his hot tub. Superman didn’t look at Batman the way Clark Kent looked at Bruce Wayne. Bruce knew that was his own fault. It was because of his rules: no friendships with fellow supers. That would only lead to painful attachments. Superman risked his life constantly on their missions and on his own, and he wouldn’t be able to do his job properly if Batman was holding him back for fear of losing him. So Bruce had pushed him away. Every time Superman tried to make friends, to get to know him, he had been purposely cold.

It had worked; Superman gave up on being friends. And that had been a good thing. Batman didn’t know him then, didn’t know what it would feel like to have those blue eyes look at him with awe and admiration and even deeper emotions. It didn’t feel like a punch in the gut to have Superman look at him with cool detachment then.

Like he suspected it would now.

“Got it,” Nightwing whispered, leaning away from the computer and holding up the flash drive. Bruce took it and tucked it away into his utility belt, and then they were off.

S.T.A.R. Labs were like mazes, every building had a different layout and each made even less sense than the last. As they walked, Superboy looked around at Superman.

“I still don’t get why we couldn’t just ask them for information,” he said. “I thought they were like, the good guys.”

“They mostly are,” Superman responded, his voice low in the dark hallway. “But Grodd is good at getting allies where he shouldn’t have them.”

Gorilla Grodd. That was who orchestrated the attacks on Flash, Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman earlier that month. He’d wanted to take out Batman and Flash, but the attacks also served as a distraction. While his lackeys were trashing the other side of Gotham, Grodd had been here, seducing S.T.A.R. scientists into giving him the information he needed.

The problem was that they didn’t yet know what that information had been. And Bruce knew from experience that the higher-ups wouldn’t even admit any such breach of privacy had occurred, much less hand over the files they’d given to the genius gorilla. And so here they were, stealing classified files and sneaking around, looking for clues.

Batman was walking at the back of the group, so he saw the exact moment that Superman and Superboy both tensed. Their heads whipped around in unison, and the next instant, the hallway was full of rubble as an entire wall exploded outward.

“It’s an ambush!” Wonder Woman shouted, but it was too late.

Thorny red-tinted vines whirled out of the gaping hole, wrapping around anything they could reach - which happened to be Nightwing and Wonder Girl. Superboy was already slicing through the vines with his heat vision, but Superman was nowhere to be seen. He had vanished into the dust cloud.

And then he was back, trading blows with the very fiend they’d followed here. Grodd was even more massive than Bruce remembered, and he threw Superman through a wall with ease.

Another figure stepped through the hole, and Bruce found himself looking at Poison Ivy. Her vines were still holding all three of the younger supers at bay, even as she advanced toward Bruce.

“Hello, Batman.” Her sultry voice was paired with a perfectly lipsticked smile, and Bruce sighed.

“Hello… Ivy.” He put a not-so-subtle emphasis on the false name, and she stuck out her tongue at him.

Last year, in a battle that nearly killed them both, Batman and Poison Ivy had accidentally revealed their secret identities to each other. Which really sucked, considering that meant Bruce got to find out the woman his best friend had been dating was a supervillain, and Ivy found out that her boyfriend’s best friend was the vigilante he lobbied so hard against and that she hated so much.

Bruce hadn’t wanted Harvey to propose to Pam, but in the end he couldn’t say why without revealing her secret and his own. And so, the two had struck an unlikely and very tentative accord. Ivy didn’t do serious damage in Gotham anymore, and Batman stopped trying to put her back in Arkham.

So what the hell was she doing here now?

They eyed each other warily, but with the battle swirling around them, they couldn’t just stand there forever.

“Later?” Bruce asked, lowering into a crouch.

“Later,” Ivy agreed with a wink. She launched herself forward, and Bruce met her in the middle, batarangs out.

 

It was pure pandemonium. Somehow there were more enemies - Bruce wasn’t sure how many more - and no matter how the supers tried to stick together they kept getting drawn away into separate skirmishes. Diana was fending off four armed men that had appeared from seemingly nowhere. Nightwing and Superboy were too far away to see through the rubble, but their voices rang out as they grunted and shouted. Wonder girl had taken over battling Poison Ivy at some point, and Bruce now found himself fighting side by side with Superman against the mastermind behind the ambush.

Every time it seemed they had the upper hand, they would lose it almost immediately. The loose plan was for Superman to get Grodd in a headlock so Bruce could use his electrocution prongs on his skull, which had worked last time to incapacitate the gorilla. But Grodd had learned from that experience, and every time Superman tried to grab him, he simply backhanded Bruce across the room.

The third time he did it, Bruce stood with hands on his knees to catch his breath. The chaos was lessening, the fog of concrete dust in the air thinning. He looked around and caught a flash of red hair as Ivy fled; to his other side Superboy was helping Diana wrap metal supports from the walls around their unconscious opponents. Wonder Girl had Nightwing’s arm over her shoulder as she helped him limp towards Diana.

They were winning. Maybe had won already. All that was left was…

Bruce looked back to where Superman still brawled with Grodd, and time seemed to slow as the gorilla brought out a long hooked dagger, the wicked blade pulsing with a sickly green light.

Superman didn’t see it. He thought it was just going to be a punch. He could handle a punch, he wasn’t going to dodge.

But it wasn’t a punch. It wasn’t a punch.

“Kal!”

Bruce’s voice ripped from his throat, and then he was there between them, and the kryptonite dagger was between his ribs, and he was falling into a searing hot oblivion.

Chapter 25: Revelations, Part 1

Notes:

I apologize in advance for these next two.

I’m off to watch Justice League now 🫡

Clark would never have guessed it was possible to be feeling and thinking so many things at the same time. And yet here he was, mind a storm of emotions and fears and puzzle pieces clicking into place, as he stared down at Batman on the medbay bed.

Batman. Bruce Wayne.

It wasn’t possible.

He could take off the cowl. He could just look at the face beneath, and he would know for sure. But Clark was afraid. Afraid to see those long lashes and know who had really taken that dagger for him.

Kal. That was what Batman had called him, as he dove in front of Grodd’s knife. Not Clark. And yet, it had sounded the same.

Batman spoke in a lower register than Bruce did, but hadn’t Clark always suspected his low voice was intentional? It wasn’t fake, his voice could go that low without the help of a modulator, but it sounded like it took some effort. Yet when he had shouted Superman’s kryptonian name, it hadn’t been in that same low voice. It had been in Bruce’s natural one.

But maybe it hadn’t been? Maybe Clark only thought that because Bruce was so heavily on his mind.

He tried to convince himself of it, but it was like trying to shore up sand in a river bed while the current carried it all away with ease. Because so much made sense, little things that Clark hadn’t even thought about until now.

The very first time he had met Bruce Wayne, at that fundraiser. He had been searching the crowd for the face he knew only from photographs, but hadn’t found him until he heard Bruce’s voice. Except that wasn’t right, because he had never heard Bruce Wayne speak. He didn’t know Bruce’s voice. So then why, why had he turned toward it? Something had made him focus on that voice. Had it been familiarity? Had he turned because, subconsciously, he had known that voice, even without the deep gravel it usually carried?

And then at the diner, when he had twisted in his seat to look at the door, just before Bruce and his friend had entered. He had recognized those footsteps. But why? He had never noticed the way Bruce walked before. Except that day, he’d been wearing heavy-bottomed boots. Boots that made his steps fall more similarly to Batman’s combat boots than the dress shoes and tennis shoes Bruce had always worn when he and Clark were together.

Clark stared at the bandages wrapping Batman’s torso, rising and falling with his hitching breaths.

He could just take off the cowl.

No. No, he would not do that. It would be a terrible betrayal of trust. If Batman had wanted Superman to know his secret identity, he would have revealed himself long before now.

But wait…

A moment in the hot tub flashed into Clark’s mind. Bruce, shirtless and breathtaking. His arms were bare, and neither had born a long scar from Batman’s most recent injury. Surely that meant…?

Clark swallowed. This, at least, would be easy enough to check. He would use his X-ray vision, and he would see that scar on Batman’s arm, and he would know he was being ridiculous.

He turned his gaze to that bicep, the one he had helped mend with his heat vision.

There was no scar.

Clark’s throat closed up, so suddenly and thoroughly he nearly choked. How was it possible? How could he not have a scar? The injury had been so recent, there should have been a long pink line down the front of the muscle.

But there wasn’t.

His head spun, and he sat heavily in the chair beside the bed. Clark clutched at his head, guilt making his stomach churn. He had let Batman take a stab wound for him. He had nearly gotten Bruce killed.

Grodd had aimed true, and if Batman weren’t there to take the knife, it would have plunged right into Clark’s heart. The force of his leap carried Batman higher, so his wound had been low enough not to kill him.

Barely.

He saved Clark’s life. It should be Superman lying in this bed. But instead, Batman was at the edge of death yet again.

Nightwing limped into the room, apparently having just finished getting his own wounds bandaged up. He took the chair on the other side of Batman’s bed without a word to Clark.

Nightwing.

If Batman was Bruce Wayne…

Oh, god. Nightwing. Robin. Dick and Tim.

And Connor. Connor must know. He’d said that Dick knew he had powers, but not who he was. And yet, he had lied about how he knew Dick in the first place. Clark had thought that was strange, out of character. But if he’d been protecting Dick’s secret identity, that would explain exactly why he was willing to lie.

Which meant that Nightwing knew who Superboy was. He was smart, and there was no way he wouldn’t have put together who Clark was after meeting Connor’s “older brother”. And if Nightwing knew…

Did Bruce know?

This whole time, Clark had been thinking of it as a coincidence, a bizarre twist of fate that had brought him and Bruce together as civilians, both of them unaware. But what if it wasn’t? What if he knew.

Clark took a deep, shaking breath.

Bruce couldn’t have orchestrated the whole thing. He’d had no part in Clark being there the night of the fundraiser. But… that strange look on his face when Clark had introduced himself. And - Clark’s stomach twisted - the smirk he’d worn as he “introduced” Clark Kent to Diana Prince.

He had recognized Clark. Was that why he’d invited Clark to tour the mansion, reached out over text, flirted with him? Because it was all a big joke? Great fun, to trick Superman into thinking he cared, thinking he was interested in Clark. All while he laughed at the big stupid oaf who was too blinded by his crush to see what was right in front of him.

His hands shook, and Clark realized he was angry. Angry at Bruce for playing him, angry at himself for not realizing, and angry at Batman for taking that damned knife so Clark couldn’t even yell at him about it.

Clark couldn’t be here anymore. He couldn’t breathe. He needed space, needed to think, needed to figure what he was going to do.

He stood abruptly, and Nightwing’s head shot up in surprise. His dark eyes followed Superman all the way out the door, but Clark didn’t look back once.

Chapter 26: Revelations, Part 2

Bruce was disappointed to find only Nightwing by his side when he woke from the medication-induced coma. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, but still. He had hoped Superman might be there. Bruce thought maybe he would come once he realized Batman was awake. But he didn't. And the longer Superman stayed away, the more time Bruce had to think, and the more he realized that he had made a huge mistake.

Bruce had thought, foolishly, that he could befriend Clark and not have it affect their working relationship. He had thought he could keep Clark and Superman separated in his mind. How stupid he'd been. He realized now that he had let Clark become too important, too close. He had broken his cardinal rule.

It was better that Superman stayed away. And Batman would have to make sure he stayed away from Bruce Wayne, too.

He sent the text two nights later, when he was strong enough to be transferred back home. It was short and blunt, telling Clark he didn't want to see him anymore. Bruce debated putting an explanation, but that would only make it seem like he cared what Clark thought of him. Best to be as cold as possible.

And to his surprise, it worked. Bruce had expected a response, a request for clarification, some indication that Clark was hurt and blindsided by this. Instead, there was radio silence. Clark didn't respond to the message.

Well, good. It stung, but it was better this way.

 

When Alfred finally allowed Bruce to get out of bed, he began spending all his days holed up in the Batcave. The files they'd retrieved from S.T.A.R. Labs were encrypted, and it was going to take time and effort to extract the information they held without corrupting the files. More time still to decipher what, exactly, Grodd and Ivy had gotten out of them. Bruce threw himself into the task, refusing to think about Clark and the follow-up movie date they were supposed to have had. Refusing to dwell on the fact that Clark still hadn't texted back. The fact that he never would again.

It was hard. Every time Bruce hit a wall, his first instinct was to reach for his phone. He'd gotten into a bad habit of texting Clark whenever he was working on a difficult project, letting his brain relax and work in the background while they traded jokes and jabs. It was almost painful having to force himself to put the phone down and turn back to his monitor.

He started leaving his phone upstairs.

In those solitary hours while he hacked away at the safeguards on the files, Bruce allowed himself to acknowledge just how far he'd let himself fall. He had cared too much, wanted too much. There was a reason - a good reason - why Bruce only ever had brief, casual flings. He didn't get attached. He didn't do relationships. Because they were only ever another loaded gun for his enemies to point at his head. And sometimes, they blew up in his face before the villain even had time to pull the trigger. Hadn't he known it couldn't last? Hadn't he known Clark would leave eventually? Oh, but he'd been careless. So very, very stupid. He had let himself think he didn't care, lulled into a false sense of security with the delusion that it was all a game and nothing more. That he wouldn't be crushed when it was over.

 

Two weeks after Bruce was pronounced "Well enough" by Alfred and J'onn, he went to visit Harvey in the new apartment he would be moving into with Pam after the wedding.

"Where is Pam, by the way?" Bruce asked as he helped unpack a box of books in Harvey's office-to-be.

"She's seeing her girlfriend today," Harvey responded, taking a book from Bruce's pile and shelving it carefully behind his new desk.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. "Ha-ha?"

Harvey paused in his shelving to give Bruce a confused look. "What?"

"Harv, are you telling me your fiancee has a girlfriend?"

Harvey's brows knit together. "Surely I told you that."

"Um, no, you definitely did not."

"Oh," Harvey said, turning back to the bookshelf. "Well, now I have."

Bruce stared at his best friend's back, utterly shocked. "How are you so calm about this? Is the wedding still on?"

"What? Why wouldn't it be?" Harvey looked just as baffled as Bruce felt, and he couldn't fathom why.

"Because your fiancee is cheating on you?" Bruce said incredulously.

Harvey froze, and then he began to laugh. He laughed and laughed and Bruce started to wonder if Joker had gassed the room without him noticing, because what the hell was going on?

"God, Bruce," Harvey gasped finally. "I always forget what I've told my brother and what I've told you." He wiped his streaming eyes and explained, "Pam and I aren't exclusive. We never have been. I had a girlfriend when we met, remember? It was Holly's idea, actually. The three of us dated for a while, and when it didn't work out between me and Holly, Pam saw us both separately. The two of them broke up a few months ago, but Pam's been seeing someone new recently."

Bruce shook his head; how absolutely fucking oblivious was he? Sure, he'd noticed Pam hanging out with Harvey and Holly a lot back in the day, but he'd just thought she got along well with them both. He'd thought they were friends, and that it was only natural for them to start dating after Holly left.

"Wow," Bruce said. "But she still wants to marry you?"

Harvey shrugged. "Of course. We love each other. How we feel about other people doesn't change that I want to be with her for the rest of our lives."

They worked quietly for a while, before Bruce cleared his throat and asked, "So, have you met her girlfriend?"

Harvey shook his head without looking back. "Not yet, but Pam told me about her. Harleen Quinzel. I think she's a doctor or something. Maybe a psychiatrist?"

"Psychologist," Bruce corrected automatically, and Harvey turned to face him.

"You know her?"

"Yeah, uh..." Bruce swallowed. "She's a psychologist at Arkham Asylum. We've... met."

"Cool," Harvey said, beaming unsuspectingly. "Maybe you can come to dinner when I meet her eventually."

Bruce nodded, but his thoughts were already miles away. Pam's girlfriend was Harley Quinn?

 

When Bruce returned home that night, he dropped his phone on a random chair in the foyer and let his feet carry him where they would.

Dick had Connor. Harvey had Pam, and apparently whoever else he wanted. Even the god damned super villains had lovers, apparently. Everyone had someone.

Everyone but him.

Bruce slumped down into a seat, noticing distantly that he was in the theater room. He rubbed his thumb in a slow circle over the armrest Clark had used, remembering the closeness of their fingers after Clark had stretched and put his hand down beside Bruce's. He remembered exactly how Clark's skin had looked when his shirt slipped. Exactly how badly he had wanted to take the hand next to his, to wrap his fingers around that bicep.

"Bruce?"

His head shot up. Dick was standing before him, arms crossed. He sounded as if he'd said Bruce's name at least twice already. How had Bruce not noticed him coming in?

"Oh," he said, blinking away the memories. "Did you need something?"

Dick let his arms fall to his sides, searching Bruce's face intently. Slowly, he shook his head. "Nevermind. I was going to ask if I could go see Connor tomorrow, but maybe I should stay home and take your patrol. You look... you look awful. You should rest." The concern on his son's face made Bruce's heart hurt.

But no, that wasn't right. He shouldn't be looking out for Bruce, that was the wrong way around.

Bruce stood, shaking his head. "No, you should go. I'm perfectly capable of handling my own patrols."

Dick watched him carefully, looking entirely unconvinced. "You don't have to do everything alone, you know."

God, was he that much of a mess? Bruce squared his shoulders, looking his son in the eyes so Dick would know he was serious. "I said you should go. I'm fine."

He couldn't go on like this. Dick and Tim needed him to be strong; the Justice League needed him to be strong. Bruce had to pull himself together. For his city, for his team, and for his sons.

Chapter 27: Dick and Tim (and Alfred), Part 1

Weeks. It had been weeks since he'd seen or spoken to Bruce. At least, since he'd spoken to Bruce as Bruce. He had been forced to speak to Batman at a Justice League meeting only yesterday morning, when he had informed everyone that he had a lead on the info they'd retrieved from S.T.A.R. Labs. Clark had been as stiff and cold as he could manage, and then he had come home and collapsed in bed.

It was now over twelve hours later, and he still hadn't moved.

Clark felt... hollow. He had been clinging to the hope that by the time he had to face Batman again, he would have gotten over him. But even after pushing that dreaded encounter back as long as he possibly could, Clark was still gutted by the utter disinterest Bruce had shown.

The message Bruce sent after Clark realized who he was had been proof enough that Clark had only ever been a stupid joke to him. If Bruce could truly toss him aside that easily, Clark intended to respond in kind. He would not pine after the one who rejected him like some pathetic lovesick loser. But it didn't matter that he hadn't responded to Bruce's text, had blocked his number and deleted all their messages. It didn't matter that he'd forced himself to go through the motions of work and spending time with Lois and helping Connor with his senior project. None of it mattered, because Clark just couldn't force himself to care. He was completely numb.

Still, even empty husks of people needed to eat if they didn't want to wither away entirely.

Clark roused himself from bed with what felt like even more effort than it had taken that time he'd been tortured with kryptonite exposure for days in a Klingon prison. He stood in the bathroom doorway for a long time, trying and failing to muster the willpower for a shower, and finally drifted down the staircase for a bowl of cereal. He hadn't bothered walking anywhere, instead levitating through his tasks. Moving his legs took too much mental energy.

He was seated at the kitchen island, trying to decide whether it was worth it to get seconds, when the doorbell rang. Clark ignored it, but whoever was outside rang twice more and finally began pounding on the door. Clark sighed, stood, and opened the door to find -

"Dick?"

"Can I come in?" The young man was without his backpack for once, so Clark guessed tonight was meant to be a regular date instead of a study date. But why was he here at two in the afternoon?

Clark cleared his throat. "Connor isn't home from school yet."

"I'm not here for him," Dick said. Then he smiled sheepishly. "Well, I mean, of course I want to see him. But I came early on purpose to talk to you."

Clark's eyebrows shot up. "Me?"

Dick nodded. Bemused, Clark stepped back and allowed the boy inside before closing the door again. Dick walked right into the living room and plunked himself down in the armchair, quite at ease. Clark wondered when that had happened, when Dick had begun to feel at home here. He took a seat on the couch across from the younger boy, shifting uncomfortably.

"Please tell me you're not here to ask for my blessing," was all Clark could think to say.

Dick burst out laughing. "I'm not proposing to Connor, if that's what you mean. I don't know as though we're quite there yet."

"Well, then what did you want to talk to me about?"

Dick sobered, worrying at his lip with his middle finger. It was a habit Clark had noticed he favored often. At last, he said, "I wanted to talk to you about Bruce."

That was so far from what Clark had expected that his mouth actually dropped open. "What? Why?"

Dick sighed. "Look, I don't know what happened between you two, but I'm guessing he tried to push you away, right?" He took Clark's stunned silence as confirmation, and pressed on. "I'm sure whatever he said hurt you, and I don't blame you for staying away. But..." Dick sighed again, and then he met Clark's eyes very intentionally. "Clark, he cares about you. He has this stupid habit of forcing everyone he loves out, because he thinks no one can hurt him if he's all alone. He thinks he has to do everything by himself, be the strongest with no help and no guidance. He thinks he can do it all, keep everyone safe.

"Bruce has been miserable these last few weeks. And he was so happy before, when you were coming around all the time. He was better with you." Dick held up his hands, silencing Clark's protests. "I'm sure he made you think you meant nothing. That's what he always does. He thinks he ruins good things. Or, I don't know, that he doesn't deserve them or some bullshit. But I know him probably better than anyone. And I can promise you, he cares."

Dick let the silence fall then, watching Clark for his response. Clark tried to think of one, but came up empty. Finally, he managed, "You know who I am, don't you?"

"I do." Dick looked as if he suspected Clark had known that. "And you know who I am."

Clark nodded. "Bruce knew too, didn't he? He lied to me. He never once said... never told me..." Clark cursed the tears he felt suddenly welling up, and tried to force them back down. "Can you honestly tell me that I was anything more than a joke to him? That the only reason he kept me around wasn't just because it was funny for him to taunt me with the truth and laugh when I didn't figure it out?" Clark hated how he sounded. Weak and childish, like a little boy begging for scraps.

Dick's eyes softened. "I think I can. He took that knife for you." And then he leaned forward and placed his hand on top of Clark's. "Bruce only pushes people away when he realizes that he cares too much. He's not the best at feelings, so I'm guessing it took him realizing he'd rather die than watch you die to figure out that you meant something to him."

Clark considered that. He considered how Dick, who knew and loved Bruce, had felt so strongly about this that he had made the trip to visit Clark and convince him to give Bruce another chance. That had to be worth something, didn't it? Or did Clark only think so because this was exactly what he'd been desperate to hear?

Dick seemed to sense that Clark was wavering. He withdrew his hand and ran it through his hair with a crooked smile. "If it makes you feel any better, Bruce looks even worse than you do right now."

Chapter 28: Dick and Tim (and Alfred), Part 2

Bruce wasn't sure how long he'd been in the hot tub before Tim showed up. He had spent a lot of time there lately, soaking in his misery as much as the hot water. Bruce knew it was petty and he should probably get up and act like an adult, but he just couldn't make himself care about what an adult would do in this situation.

I'll have you know that I'm a very adulty adult. Probably the most adult to ever adult.

Bruce rubbed his hand forcefully over his face. That didn't work to distract his thoughts, so he dunked his head under the water and stayed there until his lungs were screaming for air. When he resurfaced, Tim was standing at the edge of the tub.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked.

Bruce did mind, actually. He would much rather have been alone. But... he also knew Tim had been having a rough time recently, and even if he had seemed somewhat happier in the last week, Bruce shouldn't push him away when he needed someone.

"Sure," he said, sliding around the bench to make space.

They sat in complete silence for long enough that Bruce started to wonder if Tim had actually needed anything, or whether he just happened to want the hot tub while Bruce had already been using it. But then Tim pushed his hair back off his forehead and cleared his throat.

"So... I have some news."

"Oh?"

Tim nodded. "I... might have a date tomorrow."

Bruce blinked in surprise. "Might have a date? With who?"

Tim ducked, but Bruce caught the edge of his smile anyway. "Kid Flash."

Since when did Tim like Kid Flash? As far as Bruce could remember, he'd only ever complained about the annoying speedster, who seemed very much to take after his mentor in that department. "Wow, Tim, that's..."

"A surprise?" Tim sounded amused.

Bruce grinned ruefully. "I'm happy for you, really. It's just that... well, to be completely honest, I thought you couldn't stand him."

Tim shrugged, swirling his hands around in the water. "He... he wasn't what I thought."

"What does that mean?"

Tim sucked at his teeth thoughtfully for a moment. Then, still not looking at Bruce, he said "I thought he didn't like me, and that's why he always pestered me so much."

Oh. "That was for a different reason?"

Tim nodded. "We were alone at the cave while Dick and Superboy were helping you guys with your mission at the Labs, and we got talking, and it turns out I've... kind of been an idiot." Bruce waited, and after a moment Tim continued. "All that time that I spent, well, basically pining after Superboy, Kid was doing the same thing, but with me. I was so busy moping and being bitter with everything that I never noticed all the times he tried to comfort me or get close to me. I completely blew him off, and I didn't even realize."

"Wow. And, you have feelings for him too?" Bruce was impressed with how mature Tim was being about all of this.

"Yeah. It took a little bit, because I was still hung up on Superboy. But I like him a lot when he's not driving me crazy."

Bruce found himself smiling. "That's wonderful, Tim. I'm glad he makes you happy."

Tim finally lifted his head, smiling back. "Me too. I guess sometimes we have to stop feeling sorry for ourselves and look at the good things we have. And, you know, quit being emo and actually enjoy those good things."

Bruce squinted at him - that last bit had felt oddly targeted. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Tim shrugged innocently. "I'm not looking at you any particular way. If you're feeling... say, convicted? Maybe that's a you problem."

Bruce spluttered at him incredulously. "Dick put you up to this, didn't he?" When Tim didn't answer, Bruce glared. "Didn't he?"

Tim was wearing a mischievous smile. "He may have asked me to talk to you. You know, since you've been a total baby lately." He raised his voice over Bruce's indignant blustering. "Moping around feeling sorry for yourself when you could literally just ask him out and save us all the trouble. You know what you are? You're pathetic."

Bruce froze, not sure whether he was more angry or shocked. Tim never spoke to him this way, but the boy was meeting his gaze defiantly, a challenge in his eyes.

Bruce stood abruptly. "I... You..." He wasn't even sure what to say. Should he discipline him? Scold him at least? Or, a small voice asked, do you congratulate him for being more of a man in his love life than you are? For being right?

Bruce made to sweep out of the porch with as much dignity as he could muster, but instead ran smack into Alfred, who had been just on the other side of the door.

"Master Wayne-" Alfred began, holding out a placating hand as Bruce glared at him.

"Is everyone in charge of my life now?" he demanded angrily, pushing past the butler into the hall. "Am I going to find Green Lantern around this corner, ready to lecture me too?"

"Master Wayne," Alfred insisted. "Young Master Drake could have been more... prudent with his word choice. But he is nevertheless correct. You have been positively wallowing these past weeks, and I have well and truly had enough of it." Alfred lifted his chin, meeting Bruce's eyes. "I believe it is time, as they say, for you to suck it up."

Those words from Alfred's mouth were what finally convinced Bruce he was losing it. They had staged an intervention, of all things. What was happening?

Alfred held out his hand. On his palm was Bruce’s phone, which he hadn’t looked at or even touched in two days.

“Take it,” Alfred urged, more gently. “Reach out to him. Let him know you care.”

Bruce hesitated, but Alfred grabbed his wrist and forced the device into his hand.

“I will not allow you to sabotage your own happiness, Master Wayne. You have saved everyone else. Allow yourself to be saved for once.”

Chapter 29: Second Chances, Part 1

Clark had been staring at his phone so long the screen's light was starting to make his eyes itch, and still he couldn't decide whether or not to unblock the number that would hereafter be burned into his retinas. On his way out the night before, Dick told Clark he had a feeling Bruce would come to his senses soon. Which left Clark two options: leave the number blocked and wash his hands of this mess forever, or unblock it and wait for an apology text.

Whenever Clark tried to imagine what Bruce might say, his ribs began to feel constricted under the weight of his warring feelings. Excitement, apprehension, and still the anger. He didn't want to be hurt again. He hadn't dated in years - well, technically he'd never truly dated anyone - and for it to go so terribly wrong before they actually had a real date did not inspire confidence. A large part of Clark's brain told him Bruce couldn't say anything that would make it better, while his more forgiving nature willed him to at least hear Bruce out.

He wasn't sure he wanted to hear Bruce out. But he wasn't sure that he didn't want to either.

Plus, what if he unblocked Bruce's number only for no message to come at all? That would be even worse than an inadequate apology. Clark chewed at his lip, wondering when in the last few months he'd become so indecisive.

Finally, Clark pulled out his wallet and extracted a quarter. "Heads I do it," he mumbled to himself, feeling more than a little foolish, and very grateful Connor was at school and couldn't hear him. He flipped the coin, watched it spin, and....

Heads.

Clark let out a sigh, expelling all the air from his lungs in one big whoosh. He hit the little red button at the bottom of Bruce's contact and waited. As it turned out, Clark did not have to wait long. Except it wasn't his phone that rang; it was the doorbell.

He just had time to wonder if it was Dick back again before opening the door to find Bruce Wayne on his front step, hands clasped neatly behind his back.

Clark tried to speak but only managed to choke on his tongue, but it didn’t matter because Bruce launched into a speech without even waiting for a ‘hello’.

“I know you probably don’t want to see me, and that’s completely fair. But I wanted to at least explain. I tried to text you but I couldn’t think what to say, so I tried to call you but it wouldn’t go through. And then I decided that you deserve a better apology than that anyway, so I’m here.” Bruce paused, coughed awkwardly and shifted his weight. “Well, I mean, obviously you know I’m here. I was just… hoping you’d give me the chance to explain.” And then he brought his hands around from behind his back and held out a bouquet of carnations.

He gave a tentative, sheepish smile. “I wasn’t sure what you liked. Hopefully you’re not allergic or anything.”

Clark finally got his mouth working. "You lied to me."

Bruce swallowed, his smile dimming. "I... yes, I did. I can assure you it wasn't malicious, not that that excuses anything."

"You're right," Clark said. "It doesn't."

They looked at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment.

"Well," Clark said, "are you actually going to explain?"

Bruce nodded. "May I come in?"

For just an instant, Clark entertained the idea of saying no. He considered turning Bruce away then and there. But no; it might feel satisfying in the moment, but Clark suspected he would end up regretting it. So he took the flowers that Bruce was still holding out and stepped aside to allow the other man past.

Bruce stepped inside, looking around curiously, and Clark had to squash the impulse to worry about what he thought. Clark's house would simply never be on par with the Wayne family estate; there was no way around that. He didn't need to feel ashamed about having a completely average, normal person home. If Bruce thought less of him for it, well, that would say more about him than about Clark.

To avoid Bruce noticing how his hands were trembling, Clark strode to the kitchen and took down a vase for the flowers. Bruce followed, situating himself at the kitchen island. As Clark trimmed the flowers' stems and filled the vase with water, Bruce cleared his throat.

"So," he began, sounding just as uncomfortable as Clark felt. "So, I suppose I should start at the beginning."

"Diana?" Clark prompted, back still turned.

"Yes," Bruce agreed. "Diana. That was unfair. I don't think she recognized you, but I shouldn't have taken that risk anyway. It wasn't fair to jeopardize your secret identity without consulting you first."

Clark placed the flowers in the vase and began shuffling them around, making the bouquet appear fuller and rounder. Bruce seemed to be waiting for a response, but Clark didn't have one. He remained silent. After a moment, Bruce cleared his throat again.

"I should have told you I recognized you once I decided to keep contact. Or else I should not have invited you to do that article, if I didn't feel like revealing myself."

Clark was surprised he admitted to that. Keeping in contact was perhaps the least of his transgressions. Clearly, Bruce had really thought about his actions.

"I... I kept talking to you because I was enjoying it. I convinced myself it wasn't serious, that I was just having some fun with you. And even if I recognize now that was never what was going on, I should not have done it anyway. You should never have been a game for me to entertain myself with."

Clark's shoulders stiffened - this was getting into painful territory. To keep himself busy, he turned to the coffee maker and set about brewing a large pot. "Go on," he said, proud of the steadiness to his voice.

The stool creaked as Bruce shifted on it. "I suppose I probably should not have allowed the boys upstairs while you were there. I should have known they would recognize you too. That was two more people I revealed your secret identity to."

"To be fair," Clark said softly, "Dick already knew, I think. He and Connor had known each other's secret identities for quite a while before we ran into each other."

"Still," Bruce said. "I didn't have that information. It doesn't excuse how careless I was."

"No, I suppose it doesn't."

Clark settled himself across from Bruce, finally meeting the other man's eyes. They were just as striking as ever, blue-tinted gray shining out from below lowered lashes. Bruce did truly look sorry, for what that was worth. Too bad that remorse couldn't make all of this go away. Clark's heart was still hurting, and he still wasn't sure how he felt about forgiveness. He was glad Bruce wasn't a horrible callous person that went around breaking hearts without a care for the consequences. But that didn't mean he hadn't done what he did.

Notes:

I should have the Part 2 of this chapter up sometime tomorrow <3

Chapter 30: Second Chances, Part 2

Bruce watched in silence while Clark poured two mugs of coffee. He was expecting Clark to either hand him one of the mugs or to ask what he normally added to his coffee, and was surprised to find that instead, he began adding sugar and milk.

Six scoops. Enough milk to make the coffee nearly white.

Had he truly paid that close attention the one time they’d made coffee together? Bruce hadn’t realized Clark was so observant. Or that he would have cared enough to remember how Bruce liked his coffee.

A lump rose in his throat. How could he ever have treated this man with anything less than the utmost care and devotion? He didn’t deserve Clark. He doubted anyone did.

Clark took his seat across the island, placing one mug in front of him and pushing the other towards Bruce. They sipped at their coffees for a moment in silence, steam curling between them the way it had that night in the hot tub.

One date, Bruce thought. We got one date before I messed this up, and it wasn’t even a real date.

He shut down that train of thought immediately. He was not going to sit here and feel sorry for himself; this wasn’t about him right now. This was about making things right with Clark. For Clark. Even if Bruce couldn’t be forgiven, even if they never spoke again after today. Clark deserved that much, at the very least.

“I truly am sorry,” Bruce said into the quiet. “I know that doesn’t fix anything, but I want you to know anyway. I really never meant to hurt you.” He winced internally. That may not have been the right thing to say. It sounded like he was making excuses now.

Clark stared into his coffee, tracing his thumb up and down the handle of his mug. “I believe you,” he said softly.

“Can you… do you think you can ever forgive me?”

Clark pursed his lips, and then he sighed. “Honestly, Bruce, I’m not sure what I can and can’t do. I suspect that I will forgive you, and probably soon. But I don’t know if that means we can keep seeing each other. You… you really broke my trust. I don’t know how we can rebuild that.”

The fluttering in Bruce’s chest at hearing Clark say his name faded as he realized what Clark was saying. He lowered his coffee. “I understand if you don’t want to keep in touch.”

Clark cracked the smallest of half-smiles. “I expected you to be more argumentative.”

“I can be, if that would be better. I guess I assumed it was best to simply agree with whatever you said.”

Clark snorted. “I want you to take accountability, not become a bobble head.”

Bruce smiled tentatively back. “If you must know, I really would like to keep seeing you. I enjoyed having you in my life. It was nice talking to someone who understands what it’s like, leading a double life.”

Clark ducked away from Bruce’s gaze. “If I agree to stay friends, I need you to know that’s all we’ll be.”

“Of course,” Bruce said, even though his mouth had gone dry. “I understand.” He ought to be grateful that Clark was even considering this, had even let him into the house. He had no right to feel disappointed right now.

“How’s the knife wound healing?” Clark asked, taking Bruce by surprise. It was going to take some getting used to, speaking about their missions without his mask between them.

“Oh, it’s pretty much completely better.”

“Pretty much completely?” Clark asked, raising an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound very completely.”

Bruce shrugged. “Alfred still worries if I do more than drive around in the Batmobile, but really, I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt at all anymore.”

Clark nodded slowly. “I never did thank you, by the way. For saving my life.”

“You would have done it for me, wouldn’t you?”

“Well yes, but I’m bulletproof. It doesn’t mean much for me to step in front of a knife.”

“Touché,” Bruce conceded. “Well you’re welcome. But really, it’s what we do. I don’t need special thanks.”

“I know, but it makes me feel less guilty that I left you in that med bay and didn’t check to see if you were healing. I mean, I was pretty angry with you, but still. You’re my teammate, I should have checked on you regardless of personal feelings.”

“You were angry?” Bruce said, brows shooting up. “Now that I would have liked to see.”

Clark shook his head, looking amused. “I’m not sure you would. I probably would’ve yelled quite a bit if you’d been conscious.”

“I’m sorry but I really can’t picture that,” Bruce said, raising his mug and finishing the last of his coffee. He marveled at how easy it was to talk to Clark, even with how precarious things were between them right now. Everything with Clark felt easier, more genuine.

Bruce vowed then that he would never hurt Clark again. He might not deserve this man, but Bruce would not take him for granted anymore. He would strive to be the kind of man Clark deserved, even if things didn’t pan out for them. He owed that much.

Chapter 31: Just Friends... Again, Part 1

A few days after his conversation with Bruce, Clark found himself on Watch duty, which he hadn't done in weeks. It was sort of nice, lounging at the control center by himself, watching the stars go by as the Watchtower drifted through its orbit. The gentle hum of machinery was, for once, the only sound he could hear besides himself. A blue light blinked into existence on the screen, and Clark selected it and read a memo from Superboy's team about their recent mission involving a rogue android. Clark fired off a text to Connor, just to make sure he was okay.

The rest of the night went like that: watching the scanners and reading messages in the quiet. Just as the sun was coming up behind the Earth, a red light appeared the dash, alerting Clark that someone was requesting admittance to the landing bay. He checked the camera feed and found Wonder Woman's jet and the Batmobile (also in jet form) waiting for him to open the doors. He did, and the two ships vanished from the camera feed, reappearing on the screen that showed the landing bay.

Minutes later, three sets of footsteps approached the control room. Batman and Wonder Woman he recognized, but Clark wasn't sure who the third person was until they rounded the doorway and showed themself to be Diana's sidekick. Wonder Girl gave him a little wave and a smile when she saw Clark looking, and he returned the gesture.

Batman immediately veered right towards the filing cabinets, retrieved a stack of blank mission report forms, and whisked away again.

Wonder Woman approached the control center, and Clark ceded the chair to her, signing over his shift. "I brought Wonder Girl to let her get a feel for what watch shifts are like," Diana said to Clark, logging the shift change as she spoke. "She's considering applying to be a full member of the League soon, so I thought it would be a good idea to show her the ropes."

"That's a good idea," Clark said, smiling encouragingly at the blonde girl. "I think I'll need to do the same for Superboy soon."

Wonder Girl's face lit up. "Oh, maybe we could apply together! I bet it would all be easier if I had another newbie to do it all with." Her expression turned thoughtful. "I wonder if I could talk some of the older sidekicks into joining with us. M'gann, maybe? I bet I could convince Nightwing too."

Diana laughed. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Come over here and I'll show you what all the alerts mean."

Clark left them to it, following his ears to the conference room, where he found Batman filling out his report forms at the long table. Clark drifted silently until he was right next to the other super, and Bruce's head shot up in surprise when Clark leaned on the table next to his chair.

"Oh," he said, "It's just you."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "Just me?"

Batman paused. "That's... not what I meant. You surprised me."

Clark had forgotten in the last week just how unfathomable Bruce's eyes were behind the glowing sockets of his mask. He shook his head. "You know, when I said we could only be friends, I did think that might carry over into work. I didn't realize you were going to pretend nothing happened."

Batman was still for a long, quiet moment. Then he reached up and peeled his cowl back, revealing his face. That wasn't what Clark had expected, and he blinked in surprise.

"I'm sorry," Bruce said in his normal voice. "I confess I'm not exactly sure how to navigate a dynamic like this."

Clark laughed. "Just be yourself?" he suggested, making it seem like a question.

But Bruce shook his head. "I have many selves. The ones you know aren't particularly cohesive. I don't know how to be Batman and Bruce at the same time."

Clark's brow furrowed. "Really?"

Bruce nodded stiffly. "Really. Is that... not an issue for you?"

"No," Clark said. "I'm just me. I mean, of course I have to hide what I can do, that I'm not human. But in all other ways, Clark Kent is Kal-El."

Bruce stared at him as if this made no sense. "But you... you're... different. As Clark, I mean. You seem..." he trailed off. Then, looking almost embarrassed, he said, "You seem shy without the suit."

Clark shrugged. "I have to be careful not to reveal my strength, and I always have to watch what I say in case people realize that I can hear pretty much everything. I used to give myself away a lot in school, and the only way I could really avoid it was by being small and quiet, and not drawing attention to myself. I suppose that could come off as shy."

Clark almost couldn't believe he was having an actual conversation with Batman about something real. He'd talked to Bruce like this before, of course, but it was so different than the freezing out he'd always gotten from Batman in the past. He suddenly understood what Bruce meant about his identities not being cohesive. It was very difficult to merge the ideas of Bruce, his Bruce, with the way Batman had always behaved with the League. And perhaps the others would think it odd if their resident grouch was suddenly friendly and chatty with Superman out of seemingly nowhere. Maybe it would be best to keep their working relationship as it had always been, at least in front of the others.

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. "I'm sorry," he said again, but Clark cut him off.

"It's okay. I understand." He gave a small smile. "I understand that you need to keep being Batman for the League. Just try not to make it seem like you're avoiding me, okay?"

Bruce nodded. He pulled his cowl back up. "Can I get back to my reports? I'm so far behind it's frankly embarrassing."

Clark grinned. "Sure. I'll leave you to it."

Chapter 32: Just Friends... Again, Part 2

Bruce wasn't sure what had possessed him to be so candid with Clark. He wasn't sure he'd ever been that straightforward with anyone, now he thought on it. But he simply hadn't known what else to say, and besides, wasn't the best way to earn trust by being honest? Even if that honesty made his insides feel squirmy and unsettled. Clearly, his intestines were as unused to this as he was.

It took much longer than it should have to get through all the reports Bruce had to log, and by the time he was ready to return to Gotham, he was starving. Bruce entered his kitchen ready to scrounge for whatever snacks he could get his hands on, only to find Tim and a redheaded boy - assumedly Kid Flash - kissing by the sink. He immediately backtracked out the door, hoping desperately the boys hadn't seen him.

"They still at it?" a voice asked, and Bruce turned to find Dick tapping his foot impatiently with his arms crossed.

"If you mean Tim and his... friend, then yes. How long have they been in there?"

"For fucking ever," Dick said, rolling his eyes. "I'm starving. I don't know why he feels the need to do that - it's not like he doesn't have a bedroom."

"Me too," Bruce said, ignoring the second half of Dick's answer. "How do you feel about takeout?"

Dick's eyes lit up, annoyance vanishing. "That Thai place?"

"Of course."

The food was delicious. Bruce was glad he'd ordered extra, because Tim found them after it arrived. He introduced Wally as his boyfriend - apparently they'd made it official only the day before - and together the pair ate enough for all four of them. They had a nice, normal evening, and Bruce was very pleased with how this first meeting with Wally had gone.

Well, their first meeting as civilians and as Tim's family. They had of course worked together as supers, but Bruce didn't feel that really counted. Not when it came to his boys and their partners. He wanted to get to know them, wanted them to feel comfortable with him.

"Do you need a ride home?" Bruce asked once they had cleaned up the dinner things together (Alfred was taking a long overdue vacation and wouldn't be back for a week).

Wally smirked. "I'm a speedster, Bats."

Right. Bruce kind of liked how snarky this kid was. He could definitely see it getting on his nerves in the future, but for now it was merely endearing. Especially because every time Wally said something that could be interpreted as rude, Tim would elbow him hard in the ribs. Bruce grinned as Tim did exactly that.

"I thought it might be uncourteous of us not to at least offer, but I suppose the perk of dating super-powered teenagers is that cars become obsolete." Bruce shot a look at Dick. If one boyfriend could fly and the other could run at the speed of sound, he supposed he didn't have to worry about getting them home safe like he would with civilian kids.

Still... he wasn't the kind of man that didn't worry at least a little bit about everything.

After Wally went home and the boys left for patrol duty, Bruce retired to the Batcave to stare at his monitor screen and pretend he was working. He'd been stuck on a particularly well-protected file, and he was so convinced it would have the information he needed that he hadn't even bothered to read through the ones he'd already decrypted. The problem was that he was making no progress, and Flash deserved answers.

He was currently enrolled in a super-power rehabilitation program that the League had frankly never needed to use before and weren't even sure would work. If Flash's powers were permanently damaged, the very least he was owed was the takedown of the villains that had hurt him. Bruce knew that if he could only find out what Grodd and Ivy had been looking for at S.T.A.R. Labs, he would be able to discover - and ruin - their undoubtedly devious plans. And hopefully put Grodd in a more secure prison than he'd been in before. Bruce wasn't entirely sure what he should do with Ivy, considering he didn't want to put her back in Arkham again and break Harvey's heart. But still... Pam was conspiring with seriously evil entities. He wasn't entirely sure she was even safe to leave out.

Then again, there was always the possibility that if he tried to return Pam to incarceration, she would simply reveal his identity to the world. Ugh.

Bruce rubbed his hands over his face, realizing he'd been lost in thought for over an hour and hadn't made an ounce of progress with the file decryptions. Then his eyes landed on his phone, and he paused. He hadn't texted Clark at night in over a month, and he wasn't sure whether that kind of thing was allowed in their new relationship. But talking to Clark would definitely help him think, and if the Kryptonian wasn't comfortable with night texting anymore, he simply wouldn't answer. Of course, there was always the possibility he might not answer anyway because he was sleeping or busy.

Bruce decided that he would give it a shot, and if Clark didn't answer then he didn't answer. He picked up his phone, contemplated typing You up?, decided the sarcasm wouldn't come across well over text, and instead said I have a very serious problem.

Not even two minutes later his screen lit up with a reply: Oh?

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek against a smile. Apparently friends were allowed to text at all hours of the night after all.

Chapter 33: All Domestic, Part 1

Notes:

This chapter title is actually up for debate currently so don’t be too surprised if I change it by the time the next one is up lol

Clark drifted lazily on his back above the cloud cover so as not to draw attention to himself, ears perked for any villainous sounds. Metropolis was fairly peaceful, and Clark hadn't done much besides fly around and listen for trouble. Which was why, when Bruce had texted, he'd felt the distraction probably wouldn't do any harm. He had been worried when Bruce mentioned a "very serious problem", only to feel like smacking him once Bruce explained that the problem in question was his being forced to attend an art auction. Apparently his manager decided it had been too long since Bruce was seen in public and was demanding he go.

I'm sure you'll live, Clark sent, smiling despite himself when his phone showed that Bruce was typing a response the moment he read the message.

I'm sure I won't. I can't think of a more boring way to spend an evening.

Clark rolled his eyes. Not even sitting through one of GL's lectures?

Okay, maybe not that bad, Bruce conceded. But seriously, I was hoping to do something fun this weekend.

There was a pause in the rapid fire texts, but before Clark could think of a reply, another popped up.

To be honest, I was hoping we might do something fun this weekend.

Clark's stomach flipped. He knew it was ridiculous, because the ache of betrayal still stung his chest when he allowed himself to think about it. But for better or worse, he did still have feelings for Bruce. They had remained strictly friendly, which he thought was best. And yet he still felt those familiar flutters of emotion when Bruce said something sweet, or something that could be interpreted as more than just friendly if Clark let himself read into it. He also knew that Bruce still had feelings for him - or at least, he said he did - but he had been respectful of the limit Clark had placed on their relationship the day he had apologized.

Clark knew that, logically, this was merely Bruce admitting he had hoped to spend time together. As friends, of course. But the words still made him feel that rush of giddiness at being considered good enough to spend time with. He had a feeling Bruce would be happy to call it a date if Clark allowed that.

Clark put those thoughts out of his mind. He wasn't sure how long he'd been lost in thought and didn't want Bruce to think he wasn't going to respond.

I hope you're not implying I should go with you, he typed, and almost immediately regretted it when Bruce replied with three exclamation points.

!!!

YOU'RE A GENIUS

Clark groaned, flipping so that he was facing down at the clouds below him. I was kidding, he said, wishing there was a way to emphasize words over text besides using all caps. He didn't want to seem like he was yelling.

No, now you have to come, Bruce replied instantly. You'll have to wear a suit by the way.

Well that settles it, Clark said. I don't have any suits. Guess I can't make it.

Clark watched the typing bubbles pop up, disappear, and reappear. And then his phone rang.

"Yes?" Clark answered.

"How do you not own a single suit?" Bruce sounded positively incredulous, as if he'd never heard of a less believable thing. It almost made Clark want to laugh.

"I used to wear them, but they kept getting ripped when I had to do quick changes. That's why I like the sweaters I wear, they're loose and come off easy. And the ones with the buttons undo themselves when I pull, instead of just popping all the buttons off like dress shirts do."

Bruce sighed in exasperation. "Fine, I'll get you one. Just don't shred it, that way you can wear it next time I need you for one of these events."

"I'm not-"

"Come over tomorrow and Alfred can take your measurements." With that, Bruce hung up.

Clark snorted - not even a goodbye. That, at least, was something Bruce and Batman had in common.

When Clark arrived at Wayne Manor the next day, Bruce wasn't even home. Instead Tim welcomed him, and explained that the Scarecrow was making mischief and Bruce had gone to deal with him.

"It doesn't usually take long," Tim said. "He should be back soon."

Tim led Clark to a room that appeared to be meant for clothes fittings, with a platform in the center, floor length mirrors around the walls, and a big rack of sewing supplies by the door. Clark stepped up onto the platform and held his arms out obediently for Alfred to measure, but they quickly realized that he wasn't tall enough to reach Clark's shoulders the way he was, and Clark had to step back down. The measuring took much longer than he had expected; every time he thought they were finished, Alfred would instruct him to change positions and wrap the tape around a different part of his body.

"I thought you already got my arm?" Clark said, trying not to sound impatient as Alfred looped the tape measure over his left bicep.

"No," the aged man said, "I got that arm. A quality suit is tailored to your exact measurements, and not every limb is exactly the same."

Clark restrained a sigh.

They hadn't even finished when Bruce strode into the room, an ice pack held to his temple. "It's nothing," he said before Clark could even ask. "Just got knocked on the head, nothing serious. Probably don't even have a concussion."

"Probably?" Alfred said sharply, eyes narrowed at Bruce.

Bruce just waved his hand. "Seriously, I'm fine. Don't let me interrupt." He took a seat on the floor and readjusted the ice pack.

Chapter 34: All Domestic, Part 2

“What do you think?” Clark asked, fidgeting with his cuffs. The suit had been finished in record time, only three days after the tailor received his measurements.

“Stop fiddling with it and turn around,” Bruce said, rolling his eyes. Clark was facing the mirror, his bulk completely blocking his reflection from Bruce’s view.

Clark did as he was told, and…. Wow.

“Looks good,” Bruce said, clearing his throat around a sudden dryness.

Good didn’t even begin to cover it.

“Are you sure? I feel so… pretentious.”

Bruce snorted an involuntary laugh. “It’s well made, that’s all.”

Clark’s brow furrowed, and he turned back to the mirror. “I don’t know. I’ve never looked like this in a suit.”

“That’s probably because it didn’t fit you properly.” Bruce clapped a hand on Clark’s shoulder. “Seriously, stop worrying. You look great.”

Clark swallowed. “Thank you,” he said, stepping sideways just enough that Bruce’s hand fell from his shoulder. “Can I take it off now? I feel like I’m going to tear it before I even use it.”

Bruce nodded and turned to leave, allowing Clark his privacy to change.

When Clark joined Bruce in the sitting room off the entryway, he looked uncomfortable. Bruce could’ve kicked himself; he shouldn’t have touched him. Now he’d gone and made things awkward.

“Do you have a garment bag or something to transport the suit in? It’s so nice, I’m just afraid I’m going to ruin it. It would be one thing if I’d paid for it, but…” Clark trailed off, not bothering to finish his sentence because they both knew that Bruce had insisted upon buying it. Partly because he knew Clark couldn’t afford it, and partly because it had been his idea anyway.

“You don’t have to take it home if you don’t want to,” Bruce offered, trying to make up for the discomfort he’d caused. “It can stay here, and you can get dressed here before the auction. We can ride over together.”

Clark seemed to mull this over for a moment. Then he nodded. “That’s probably for the best.” He paused before asking, somewhat sheepishly, “Do you have a limo or something? Or do you drive like a normal person?”

Bruce threw one leg over the arm of his chair with an indignant huff. “I am a normal person, thank you very much.”

Clark raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Fine, yes, I have a limo. But we can take a normal person car if it matters so much to you.”

Clark blushed. “I mean, I want to take the limo. I’ve just never been in one before,” he added in explanation. He lowered himself carefully into a cushioned chair near the one Bruce was lounging in. “When do I need to be here?”

“The venue opens at seven, although I’m never there right away at the beginning. We’ll probably arrive by eight thirty, which means we’ll need to be ready to leave by eight-ish.”

“So if I get here at seven forty-five, would that be cutting it too close?”

“Do you have other plans?”

Clark’s knee started bouncing. “It’s just that I promised to have dinner with Lois. I don’t think I should leave any later than seven thirty. Although if I leave the car and just fly here, I’d save a lot of time.”

Bruce gave a single nod. “Do that then, and we’ll make it work. You do have black dress shoes, right?”

“Of course I do.” Clark sounded genuinely insulted, and it made Bruce bite his cheek against a smile that would only have made things worse.

“Just checking,” he said, careful not to let any of the laugh into his voice.

Clark poked at the foot Bruce had thrown over the side of his chair. “You certainly don’t sit like a gentleman.”

“When have I ever claimed to be a gentleman?”

Clark shrugged. “I thought rich men were supposed to be.”

Bruce shook his head. “You’re mistaken. We’re all rogues and miscreants. And some of us are downright assholes.”

“Some of us, meaning you?” Clark asked, raising his eyebrows innocently. Then he laughed as Bruce spluttered indignantly.

“Bruuuuuce,” Tim yelled from somewhere out of sight, dragging out his name in the singsong way that told Bruce he’d been calling for a while.

Bruce cupped his hands around his mouth. “We’re in here!” he yelled back.

“We?” Tim appeared at the top of the stairs. “Oh, hi Clark. Did you know Connor’s here?”

“What?” The look on Clark’s face showed quite clearly that he had not known.

“Yeah,” Tim said, making his way down the stairs and stopping in front of Bruce. “And I thought since Dick is having his boyfriend over I should get to have mine.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize you were asking permission for that now,” Bruce said, raising an eyebrow at Tim. “I seem to recall finding out Wally had been here yesterday only after he left.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Yeah so can I invite him or not?”

Bruce heaved a sigh. “I suppose.”

Tim’s whole face lit up. “Thanks!” Then he seemed to remember something and turned back to Clark. “Should I tell Connor you’re here? I don’t think he knows.”

“Oh, um, sure. Let him know I can give him a ride home - unless he’s planning to stay late?”

Tim shrugged. “I can ask if you’d like.”

“That’s alright, Connor can text me whatever he decides.”

Tim disappeared back up the stairs with a cheery wave, leaving Bruce shaking his head.

“Well,” he said, sitting up and putting his feet back on the floor, “I suppose we need to decide how we feel about sleepovers.”

Clark’s brows knit together in confusion. “Sleepovers?”

Immediately, Bruce realized his mistake. “For the boys,” he clarified hastily. “Like, if Connor wants to stay the night here, should I say yes or send him home?”

“Oh,” Clark said, his expression clearing. “I guess I haven’t really thought about it… technically Connor is an adult. I don’t know as though I have the right to tell him no. So it’s up to you, I suppose.”

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. “We can cross that bridge when we get to it. But I think I wouldn’t mind him staying over. Or if Dick asked to stay at yours.”

Clark’s mouth stretched into a grin. “Look at us, being all domestic. Who knew our families would get along so well?”

Bruce smiled back. He was glad things weren’t awkward between them… or at least, not very awkward.

Chapter 35: Green, Part 1

Clark stepped out of the limo and into a whirlwind of camera flashes and reporters jockeying for the closest position to the front. He was so disoriented it took him a moment to realize all the clamoring paparazzi were corralled behind red streamers lining the path up the stairs and into the museum. Bruce was already several steps ahead, smiling and waving as casually as if he did this every day.

Bruce turned, finally realizing Clark wasn't at his side. "You okay?" he asked, quietly enough that no one without super-hearing would have heard.

Clark nodded, straightened out his suit jacket, and hastily joined Bruce on the steps.

It was noticeably quieter inside the entrance hall. Clark allowed himself a deep breath. He wasn't used to being the focus of so much professional attention, and he'd never before considered how overwhelming it must be. And this was just him being a guest of someone famous. How much worse was it for Bruce?

"You need a minute?" Bruce asked, pausing in the middle of the blessedly quiet entrance hall. Clark could still hear the people outside the doors and inside the gathering space, but he tuned them out.

"How do you stand this?"

Bruce shrugged, running one hand through his hair, slightly mussing the careful job Alfred had done with the comb. "You get used to it."

"I doubt that." Clark took another deep breath. "I'm good, we can go in now."

They walked together to the inner doors, which two men in white uniforms opened for them. Bruce strode confidently into the crowd, leaving Clark to follow at his heels. The large room was aglow with golden light from twinkling chandeliers, making Clark feel as if he was on the inside of a champagne glass. Even the floor to ceiling windows were trimmed in gold, and gauzy amber curtains were draped across several large niches around the room. Clark knew from his visits to the museum as a teenager that they typically held pieces of ancient art, but he assumed that the museum curators wouldn't want such fragile relics on display during a large gathering like this. Instead, the selection of art for the auction was displayed on two very long tables near one wall. Another table, perpendicular to these and much smaller, held hors d'oeuvres and a selection of wines.

They made their way through several smaller groups of people, Bruce introducing Clark as a friend through work to each, and eventually even ran into Diana. Clark saw her raise an eyebrow at Bruce and nod toward his watch, but Clark had no idea what that was about. She shook his hand with a smile, saying she remembered him from that fundraiser that started this whole mess, and Clark blushed.

He remembered how flustered he'd been that night, tripping over his tongue at the sight of Bruce in his suit. God, if only he'd known.

At least one thing hadn't changed - Bruce still looked sinfully good in a tux. Tonight his theme was red: red dress shirt, red nails, ruby earring, and red shoes. It suited him to an almost indecent degree, bringing out the gray in his eyes and the white of his teeth. Bruce threw his head back and laughed as Clark watched, enthralled. He didn't notice he'd been staring until Diana, whom he'd completely forgotten he was speaking to, nudged his arm.

"So, are you here as his date? Or just as his guest?"

"Oh, um, we're friends,' Clark stammered.

Diana tilted her head and gave him an almost pitying smile. "That's not what I asked."

"Clark!" Bruce said, turning from the man he'd been speaking to. He tossed an arm over Clark's shoulders, pointedly ignoring the look Diana gave him. "Come on, I want to get drinks and look at the auction items."

Clark waved to the group as he was steered away.

They had only looked at two paintings and a giant porcelain vase when Bruce was accosted by two women he seemed to know well. He was drawn immediately into their animated conversation about a party Clark had not attended - one that seemed to have little in common with this one, from what he overheard. He stepped back, not wanting to intrude on the conversation. "I think I'll go grab our drinks," he said, not sure if Bruce would hear him and not particularly caring whether he did, but Bruce turned.

His brow furrowed as he looked at Clark's face. "Are you-"

"I'm sure," Clark said, cutting him off. "Be back soon."

Not that you'd notice if I wasn't, he thought as Bruce turned back to the two women, dazzling smile in place once more.

Clark wove between clusters of people, noticing how much more quickly he made progress across the room without Bruce by his side. Of course, no one was stopping him to talk. Bruce was the famous one. Famous Wayne, the heartthrob and heartbreaker of Gotham, ultimate party guest and the man everyone who's anyone wants to talk to. Well, he could talk to whomever he liked. It wasn't as if they were a couple, Clark reminded himself.

When he arrived at the refreshments table, a beautiful redheaded woman was perusing the glasses of wine, examining the little placards in front of each row that named the different kinds of wine to be had. She looked up as Clark stepped in next to her, smiling a wide, lipsticked smile.

"You're Bruce's friend, aren't you?" she asked, her voice low and sweet. "You came in with him?"

"Yeah," Clark said, not sure why his mood had gone so sharply downhill since they'd arrived. He didn't feel like talking to another of Bruce's admirers right now.

The woman smiled wider, as if to make up for his lack of enthusiasm. "I'm Pam, Harvey's fiancee? If you've been hanging out with Bruce I'm sure he's mentioned Harv."

"Oh," Clark said, feeling suddenly less annoyed with this woman - Pam. "I didn't realize Harvey was here. We've met."

"He's just over there." Pam gestured vaguely in the opposite direction Clark had come from. "I was going to grab a drink for him and Bruce, but I just can't decide what I want for myself."

"I was coming for drinks too," Clark confessed. He picked up two glasses at random, but Pam shook her head, sending her red curls cascading over each other in a mesmerizing way.

"This is Bruce's favorite," she said, taking one of the glasses from his hand and replacing it with a merlot. "I'll grab Harv and catch up with you in a moment if you'll take it to him."

"Sure," Clark said, taking a step back towards Bruce. "It was nice to meet you."

"Nice meeting you too." Pam turned to the table again, a look of concentration bringing her manicured brows together as Clark retreated.

Chapter 36: Green, Part 2

Notes:

Warning for this chapter: there is a brief SA scene at the end. It isn't graphic, but I've been reminded it could be upsetting if you weren't expecting it. This will be the only instance of SA in this fic, so all other chapters will be safe in that regard.

Bruce was trying to catch sight of Clark, having only moments before finally extricated himself from the Harrelson twins. He'd had brief flings with each of them last year, but while Bruce had been happy to keep it brief, the twins seemed to think he was their collective soulmate who just didn't know it yet. Unfortunately, their mother was one of the largest shareholders of Wayne Industries, and he couldn't afford not to be nice to them. He'd shaken them off with some excuse about the bathroom, but now he'd lost Clark.

How in the world did a man so tall just disappear?

"Hey," a voice said at his back, and Bruce jumped and spun around.

"Fuck, you scared me." Bruce frowned at Clark's smug expression. "Don't do that."

"Vigilante reflexes a little high-strung tonight?" Clark asked, an odd look in his eyes.

Bruce felt his own eyes go wide - Clark wasn't normally so careless with his words. "Shh," he said, stepping in closer. "Anyone could hear you."

Clark just rolled his eyes. The move was utterly shocking; what in the world had Bruce done to annoy him so much? And... why was seeing Clark annoyed kind of turning him on?

Catching sight of the drinks in Clark's hands at last, Bruce scowled and grabbed one, throwing back a large gulp. Clark sipped from his glass as well. Neither of them spoke. Bruce looked down at his watch, remembering the message from Diana that he hadn't read yet. He tapped the notification to expand it.

Does S know that you know yet? You should stop messing around with him. I didn't think you were that much of an asshole.

Bruce nearly choked. So Diana did recognize Clark? Why hadn't she said anything? And how did she know Bruce had guessed his identity?

He was distracted from his swirling thoughts as Clark raised an arm and waved at someone over Bruce's shoulder.

"What-" Bruce turned and caught a flash of red hair.

"I met Pam a few minutes ago. She's coming over now," Clark said casually.

Panic welled up in Bruce's chest. Pam? Now?

"Shit," Bruce said, looking around frantically. He couldn't talk to Pam right now - especially not with Clark right here. He still hadn't figured out how to talk to her about her involvement with Grodd.

Clark shot him a confused look. "Aren't you friends with-" His sentence broke off in surprise as Bruce grabbed his arm and dragged him swiftly into one of the curtained recesses in the wall. The space was large for an art display, but small for two adult men, and they were standing much closer than they'd been in a long time. Since that night in the hot tub, in fact.

"What are you-" Clark tried again, but Bruce shushed him urgently. He watched through a miniscule space between the curtain and the wall as Pam slowed, looking around in confusion.

He sighed in relief. Pam hadn't seen them come in here. He was safe.

Bruce watched until Pam turned and ventured farther towards the opposite side of the room. When he could barely see her anymore, he finally relaxed against the wall, allowing the curtain to fall shut the rest of the way.

"Are you going to explain what just happened, or are you just going to keep shushing me?" Clark asked irritably, arms crossed over his chest. He'd set his wine glass on the floor. How was it already empty?

"I..." Bruce swallowed as the low light glinted off Clark's green eyes, something about him setting Bruce on edge.

Wait, green? No. Clark's eyes were blue.

Bruce looked again, but there was no green. A trick of the light, then.

"Well?" Clark's voice was taking on a darker edge the longer they stood there.

"I can't talk to Pam right now. It's... complicated."

Clark took a step closer, arms falling to his sides. "Complicated," he repeated, but not really like it was a question. Bruce was suddenly struck with the urge to back away, but his shoulders were already up against a wall. There was nowhere to go in the small space, and he wasn't ready to risk leaving it yet. Why was Clark so angry? What had Bruce done?

He raised his free hand as Clark continued to close the space between them. "We can talk about this-"

"Talk about what?" Clark practically growled, eyes flashing again. This time, Bruce was sure he saw the greenish glint. But it was gone as fast as it came.

"I-I don't know, whatever you're upset about. I'm sorry if I -"

"If you what?" Clark asked flatly, an undercurrent of something shadowy in his presence. He took the glass from Bruce's hand, threw back the entire remaining contents, and set it on the floor. When he straightened, he seemed to tower over Bruce, who was beginning to feel like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a lynx. All his instincts were screaming at him to run.

He'd never even seen Clark drink before tonight.

Bruce swallowed, but his throat was too dry to work properly. His head was a whirl of too-quick thoughts. This was escalating too fast; this was why meta-humans weren't safe; he wasn't even sure why Clark was mad; what the hell was going on?

"I'm sorry if I offended you," he finally managed.

"You think I'm offended?" They were almost nose-to-nose now, and a confusing rush of inexplicable terror and thrilling heat swept over Bruce's skin, prickling at his scalp.

"You seem, um, really upset - or angry - about something so I just thought..." Bruce trailed off, realizing how his voice shook embarrassingly. Was he actually scared right now? This was Clark. Sweet, shy, quiet Clark.

Clark who could bend cars in half with his bare hands and weld metal with his eyes.

Bruce swallowed again.

Clark scoffed, his breath coasting warm across Bruce's cheek. "Why would I be offended? It's not as if you made me think you cared only to practically throw yourself at every person who smiled in your direction. It's not as if I thought you might speak to me at all tonight. Certainly not. Tell me, did you dress me up just to parade me around and show everyone what a nice lapdog you have? Someone who comes scampering after you like a trained monkey no matter how little you acknowledge them? Did you actually mean any of what you said that day in my kitchen, or was it all a convoluted scheme to boost your own ego?"

Bruce was speechless. Clark was jealous. And he was furious.

It was so hot.

"You have it all wrong," Bruce said, his voice hoarse with fear and something else he didn't want to think about - although another part of him certainly did. "I have to network at these events, I should've warned you. I'm really sorry. I promise-"

"Shut. Up." Clark growled, slamming his hands into the wall at either side of Bruce's shoulders.

Fuck, he's hot. Bruce blinked the thought away as quickly as it came - now was absolutely not the time. He had to de-escalate the situation before he got hurt.

Before he got hurt? What was he thinking? They had taken bullets for each other, worked together and saved each other's lives more times than Bruce could count. Clark would never hurt him... would he?

But the burning rage on Clark's face said differently. He was practically luminous with fury, a ring of green burning around his irises. Was that a kryptonian thing? He'd never seen it before. Then again, Bruce had never been on this side of Clark's anger before. Nor had he seen Clark this angry. Not with anyone, not ever.

Bruce raised a hand between their chests in what he meant to be a calming gesture, but Clark snatched it, pinning his wrist to the wall above his head.

"What-" he gasped, eyes going wide as Clark pinned his other wrist with his free hand.

"I told you to shut your mouth," Clark snarled, and Bruce truly began to panic.

Clark had never, ever used his strength against his fellow supers. Bruce had never really considered what it would be like to be utterly powerless against someone. He couldn't even wriggle in Clark's grasp. He tried bringing his knees up to push with his feet and create space to maneuver, but Clark shifted so fast he was almost a blur. He switched both of Bruce's wrists to one hand, twisted his hips between Bruce's knees, and pulled Bruce's leg with his newly empty hand. In an instant, Clark had him completely flush against the wall, their hips pressing together and his even breaths - so at odds with Bruce's panicked panting - ruffling his hair.

Clark struck, his mouth at Bruce's neck so fast he couldn't have stopped it even if he had been able to move. Sharp canines pricked at his carotid artery, and Bruce wondered distantly if he was about to die. It would be a poetic way to go, he thought. Sucked dry as if by a vampire, all because he'd enraged an alien.

He jolted at the warm, wet contact of Clark's tongue against his skin. And then lips, pressing to the curve of his throat.

What?

Fingertips dug into the muscle of his thigh and Bruce gasped. Clark let go of his leg to clap a hand over his mouth. "Keep your mouth shut," he murmured into Bruce's neck, and Bruce's vision swam.

This was... oh, god.

Clark sucked at the sensitive skin above his clavicle, and Bruce lurched. The motion only served to grind their hips together in an entirely unhelpful - and extremely arousing - way. Clark responded by mirroring the movement, sending a shiver flashing hot and cold down Bruce's spine. He moaned into the palm pressed over his mouth, unable to stop his body from responding. He felt the hard length of Clark's answering erection against the inside of his thigh and melted.

Very dimly, as Bruce surrendered himself to the heat of Clark's mouth at his throat, Bruce wondered when the shift had happened. He'd been really, truly convinced he was going to die. He'd been scared - still was scared, despite the tension tightening in his gut and the decadent wetness of Clark's tongue making him want to fall into oblivion. Yet he found himself suddenly not wanting to fight back - not that there was any point trying. Clark was as immovable as a literal mountain against him.

A long moment passed, Bruce’s involuntary sounds of pleasure muffled against Clark’s palm as their hips ground together. Bruce wanted his hands free so he could hold onto Clark, or run his fingers through the dark curly hair he’d so often fantasized about.

The moment shattered under the voice on the loudspeaker announcing that the auction was to begin in five minutes. Clark drew back, and Bruce saw the green ring around his eyes beginning to fade. As the announcer asked everyone to please take their seats, Clark set him on the floor, backing up as much as possible in the small space. He turned his head, apparently listening for something.

When Clark turned back to face Bruce, his eyes were a clear blue once more.

Chapter 37: Rastenie Khaosa, Part 1

Clark drifted through the rest of the night, feeling completely disconnected from reality. He was barely aware of the auction caller making his way through the items, hardly noticed Bruce raising his hand to bid with the other guests. He arrived home without knowing how and fell into bed with an odd sense of creeping dread, but even that couldn't keep him awake. Clark couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so tired.

He woke to a pounding headache and a pit of nausea in his gut. How much had he had to drink? Clark remembered drinking his glass... had he also finished Bruce's? Was that why he felt like this? A hangover? But he'd had much more than two glasses before, and never been hungover or even drunk. Why couldn't he remember...

Groaning, Clark rolled to look at his clock and sat up straight in alarm - it was almost four in the afternoon. How the hell had he slept that long? Surely Bruce would be awake by now; he would be able to fill the gaps in Clark's memory of the night. He reached for his phone, but paused at a flash of memory, so quick he couldn't decipher it. It sent a stab of pain through his skull, and Clark gripped his head in both hands, palms pressed into his eyes.

Bruce, eyes wide, heart racing, breaths coming fast.

Bruce, cowering against a wall, hands held up in defense.

Clark gasped as the images rushed his mind, so fast the nausea rose in his throat. He... remembered. He remembered what he'd done, how he'd overpowered Bruce. He remembered all of it.

Clark turned and retched into his trash can.

No, no, no, no, no-

He couldn't have. He would never do something like that. But the memories were there now, clear as day aside from an odd green haze. He had done it, it didn't matter if he didn't think he would have. The proof was all there in his head.

Clark barely made it into the bathroom before he was heaving again. Nothing came up; his stomach was completely empty.

Bruce, he thought. I need to talk to Bruce.

When he finally stopped retching, Clark stumbled back to his room and grabbed his phone. He started typing a text, realized it was utterly inadequate for the situation, and dialed his number instead. It rang and rang, then went to voicemail.

What was he thinking? Of course Bruce wouldn't want to talk to him.

"Clark?" Connor appeared in his doorway, brows knit in concern. "Are... are you okay?"

He knew he must look a mess. Clark hadn't even changed out of his suit before tumbling into bed last night. He licked his dry lips. "I'm... I need to go out for a bit."

Connor did not look like he thought that was a good idea. "Okay," he said reluctantly. "Can I get you anything?"

"No," Clark said, shaking his head. He needed to make this right - no, not that. He could never make this right. But he had to do something.

Connor left, and Clark changed into sweats and a t-shirt, ignoring how his head swam with each step. Then he took off from the back yard, shooting up above the cloud cover and turning towards Gotham. He knew he shouldn't risk being seen without his super suit, but these were desperate times and it was a cloudy day. He touched down behind Wayne Manor and made his way around to the front on foot. When Clark knocked, it was several moments before Alfred answered.

"Master Kent," he said, "I wasn't aware we were expecting you today."

"You weren't," Clark answered, surprised how steady his voice sounded. "Expecting me, I mean. I... I need to talk to Bruce."

Alfred lowered his head in a gesture that was half-bow-half-nod and stood aside so Clark could enter. "Master Bruce has been busy in the Cave all day. I'll walk you down, shall I?"

Clark was about to say no, but realized he didn't actually know where the entrance to the Bat Cave was. He hadn't been sure until just now that it was even in the manor. "Yes, alright. Thank you, Alfred."

The butler inclined his head again. "My pleasure," he said.

They set off together through the house, soon leaving the part of the mansion Clark was familiar with. He usually had a good sense of direction, but with the way his head still swam, Clark wasn't surprised that he lost his bearing almost immediately. It was a good thing Alfred had offered to guide him, rather than just giving instructions. Clark wouldn't have been able to find the Cave if his life depended on it.

At long last, Alfred opened a door that appeared to lead into a closet. Instead, it revealed a door that would have suited a World War II bunker. Clark suddenly understood why he'd never heard anything that would've given the Cave's location away; he'd bet his life Bruce had the whole thing lined in lead. Alfred reached out and turned the large wheel in the center of the door, stepping back as the thick piece of metal swung outward. They entered into a much cooler atmosphere than the main house as the door swung shut behind them on its own, and began descending the metal staircase on the other side.

They had made it to a second door - this one much more like a regular door - when the very person Clark was looking for appeared. Bruce barreled up the stairs at break-neck speed, skidding to a stop when he caught sight of them.

"How did you-" Bruce cut himself off, shaking his head. He grabbed Clark's arm and began dragging him back the way he'd come, deeper into the Cave. "Never mind, you're here now and I need to show you something."

"But-"

"Clark. This is serious. Hurry up already."

Clark was stunned by the utter unpredictability of what was happening right now, but Bruce did indeed sound serious, if also a little excited. Clark shook his head, trying to clear it, and began running after Bruce. Whatever this was, he'd get it over with and then apologize. If Bruce wanted to hear it, at least....

Chapter 38: Rastenie Khaosa, Part 2

Bruce woke early the morning after the auction, having struggled to fall asleep. He didn't know what he felt. On the one hand, if the circumstances had been different he would have loved what Clark had done. But on the other hand, it had been absolutely terrifying. And Clark hadn't seemed like... well, like Clark. At all. Bruce could understand jealousy, he could understand Clark feeling left out or neglected. But that fury in his eyes? That, Bruce had no explanation for.

He hadn't texted Clark goodnight.

After giving up on sleep, Bruce left his phone in his room and decided he might as well work on jailbreaking the last of the files, which he’d been neglecting the last couple of days.

He didn’t want to think about Clark. Didn’t want to see what messages he might send when he woke up. Didn’t want to see the lack of messages that might mean Clark had no qualms about what he’d done.

Bruce didn’t want to deal with any of it until he understood how he felt, so he threw himself into his work, leaving no space for thoughts.

That was how he finally broke through the encryption on the one file he’d been most sure would have what they needed - and he was right.

His eyes grew round with horror as he skimmed the pages and pages of findings, diagrams, and experiment reports.

Green…

He needed to talk to Clark now.

Bruce shot up from the desk, intending to run upstairs for his cell phone, and instead ran smack into - Clark? How could he possibly have known Bruce would be coming for him?

That didn’t matter right now. Clark needed to see the files.

Now Bruce was seated in his desk chair again, watching Clark’s face move through several complicated expressions as he read. Finally, his brows knit together and he looked back at Bruce.

“I don’t understand. This isn’t what they used on Flash, what does it have to do with anything?”

Right. Clark didn’t have all the information to connect the dots. Bruce ran his hands roughly through his hair before he began.

“Flash was injured mostly as a distraction, remember? He wasn’t the main target - this plant was. They broke in while we were all busy and stole it.”

“Yes, but why? This report- “ Clark broke off, using the mouse to scroll back to the page he was referencing - “says they can’t get it to work.”

“The scientists didn’t have Poison Ivy.”

Clark’s eyes went wide, finally understanding. “You think she could get it to work?”

“No, Clark, I think she already did.”

He looked confused again. “But… wouldn’t we know? If Ivy and Grodd were drugging people with this…”

“Rastenie Khaosa. It’s Russian for ‘chaos plant’.”

“Right. So if they were using some kind of chaos drug, wouldn’t we have heard? There would be reports, wouldn’t there?”

Bruce shook his head. “Not necessarily. Not if they’re still in the testing phase.” He hesitated, but Clark needed to know. “There’s something else. I know who Poison Ivy is.”

“So we could get to her before she starts testing it on people?”

“That’s not what I mean. Ivy’s secret identity is Pam, Harvey’s fiancée.”

Clark blinked. “What?”

“I think she already started testing it… on you.”

Clark just stared, and Bruce hurried to explain.

“You weren’t yourself last night. I think we both know that. And you wouldn’t know, but I saw… your eyes turned green, Clark. She must have added something to your wine while you were talking.”

“Oh my god.” Clark looked horror-stricken. “But how did she know - how many people know my secret identity?”

Bruce hadn’t even considered that. How had Ivy known? It couldn’t possibly have been that big of a coincidence, could it? Surely she hadn’t picked a guest at random and just happened to choose the most powerful man on earth?

“Walk me through your interaction with her,” Bruce said finally. “We have to be missing something.”

Clark rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. “Okay, well… she was already at the table when I walked up. She couldn’t have drugged all the glasses, could she?”

Bruce shook his head. “No way. That’s too risky, even for her. Besides, someone would have seen.”

“Right. So I walk up, and she’s standing there looking at all the kinds of wine really close. She said she couldn’t decide what to get. So I said I was grabbing drinks for us, and she took one of the glasses I picked up and handed me one for you, because it was your favorite.”

Bruce looked up, distracted. “Chardonnay isn’t my favorite.”

It was Clark’s turn to shake his head. “It wasn’t Chardonnay, it was Merlot. I remember the name card thing she picked it up from.”

“No, the glass you gave me was definitely Chardonnay…” he trailed off, realization stealing his breath. When he spoke again, his voice came out in a whisper. “We swapped the glasses by accident.”

Clark’s eyes went wide. “The drug was meant for you.”

Chapter 39: Negotiations, Part 1

Clark was trying very hard not to hyperventilate.

He skimmed through the list of symptoms on screen, phrases jumping out at him.

Violent rage

Destructive urges

Likely to lash out at small slights

Bloodlust

He shuddered, the nausea rising again. This drug looked incredibly dangerous, and these were the effects it would supposedly have on a human if the scientists could have found a way to isolate the specific protein. According to the file, it killed their test rats after only a few hours of uncontrollable raging.

He could have killed every person in that museum. Every person in Gotham city.

Clark’s stomach heaved. He didn’t make it to the trash can this time, but it didn’t matter. There was nothing to come up.

Bruce jumped up and offered him the waste paper bin, but Clark waved him off. “I’m fine,” he said shakily, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth.

“You’re not fine.” Bruce rounded a corner and returned a few moments later with a glass of water and a sleeve of crackers. “You need to eat, get your metabolism going so you can get this stuff out of your system.”

Clark took the crackers, but he didn’t open them. “Why are you helping me?”

Bruce looked at him as if he’d grown another head. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I hurt-"

Bruce scoffed. “You didn’t hurt me. I don’t even have marks .” He held out his wrists, pulling up his sleeves. “Besides, that wasn’t you. And I liked it anyway.”

Clark’s face went dead serious. “Don’t do that.”

“What? I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are. Don’t pretend you wanted that. It’s not true, and we both know it.”

Bruce looked shocked. “But I-“

“No. I heard your heart, your breathing. I felt how you struggled. You were terrified of me, Bruce.” Clark shook his head. “Maybe on some level, if it had been consensual, you would have liked something like that. But don’t you dare try to make me feel better by blowing this off.”

“Listen, it’s fine,” Bruce began placatingly, but Clark cut him off again.

“No, it’s not!”

Bruce slammed the cup down on his desk. “Why not? Why can’t it be okay if I say it is?”

“Because I assaulted you!” Clark shouted, and he didn’t miss the way Bruce flinched. That had never happened before. And it broke his heart.

“That’s what it was, Bruce. Assault. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t leave any bruises or marks. I scared you, and I hurt you, and you didn’t have the option to say no - which you tried to do, so don’t lie and say you wouldn’t have. I could have done anything and you wouldn’t have been able to stop me.”

“But you didn’t, that’s the point. You didn't do anything. It was just a few kisses. A little rough play, that’s all. Nothing I wouldn’t do again if you asked.” Bruce tried for a smile, but Clark clenched his jaw.

“Please don’t try to convince me this is okay. It isn’t.”

Bruce sighed. “Let’s just… we need to bring these files to the rest of the League. Call an emergency meeting. Everyone needs to know this drug is out there, and what it could do. They could have whole cities at each other’s throats in a matter of moments.”

Clark swallowed, the memory of what he’d done rising back to the surface. Bruce seemed to realize what he’d said a split second later, and he coughed uncomfortably.

Bruce slid into his desk chair, swiveling around to face the screens that still displayed images of little rat bodies twisted up in agony as a violent drug tore their systems apart from the inside out. Clark shuddered again. Even though he hadn't gone on a rampage through Gotham last night, he was surprised to only feel a little hungover. Even if Ivy had done some plant magic, he should have had worse side effects, right? Although, if it was true the spiked glass had been meant for Bruce, maybe it was Clark's alien biology that had saved him.

Bruce seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "So," he said, "The real question is, did you not destroy my city because this chaosa thing doesn't work as well on species that aren't from earth, or was it just because you're actually that much of a goody-two-shoes?"

Clark appreciated the attempt to return to their normal dynamic, even if he wasn't feeling it. He tried for a smile that ended up looking less than half-hearted in his reflection on the screen. Bruce's face in his own reflection softened anyway.

"I'm not sure," Clark responded, opening the sleeve of crackers and taking one out. "There's so much about this we don't know, even in the context of what it would do to a human. Does it affect me the same? Are the effects lessened for me, or did I just get through it faster because of my accelerated metabolism? I have no idea." He popped the cracker into his mouth, and was surprised to find that he actually did feel a bit steadier. He ate a few more.

Bruce sighed. "You're right. We don't know anything, and have no way to find out. But we need to tell the others regardless."

Clark nodded in agreement, his mouth full of crackers, and Bruce hit the button on his dash labeled: URGENT.

In their suits, Clark and Bruce arrived at the Watchtower to find that only J'on had beaten them there, as he had been on watch duty when the alert went out. The others soon arrived, however, all looking vaguely bewildered. Usually when someone called an urgent meeting, the reason was obvious - an alien invasion or city in rubble or something equally as noticeable. They all took their seats around the conference table until only Batman was left standing.

Clark tried to squash his nerves. The League needed to know. No, it wouldn't be pleasant to sit through their stares, but he hadn't been himself, as Bruce said. It wasn't as if he lost his temper and abused his power for the fun of it. Maybe they would still judge him - hell, he was judging himself - but Clark knew this was necessary.

Batman cleared his throat. "Thank you all for coming on short notice. There was a development in the ongoing case with Gorilla Grodd that could pose a national or even global security risk, and as such we felt this debrief could not wait."

The other supers around the table shared questioning glances, wondering at Batman's use of the word we. Clark felt his face redden and kept his eyes fixed firmly on Batman, studiously avoiding Diana's gaze as she tried to catch his eye.

Batman glared until the whispers fell silent, then cleared his throat. He shuffled his notes - when did he have time to make notes? - and began.

"Last night, there was an incident at a fundraising event in Gotham. Poison Ivy, in disguise, managed to plant a dangerous component which when ingested induces uncontrollable rage and destructive behavior in the subject. Superman and I were able to neutralize the subject before any real damage was done, and have been able to unearth more information since last night, from the files we recovered from S.T.A.R. Labs last month." Here Batman paused to pass around a stack of paper, and when it reached Clark he saw that the important details from the files they'd read that morning were printed clearly in blue ink.

Clark didn't read his paper. Not only because he knew already what it said and didn't need to see it again, but also because he was reeling that Batman hadn't told the team he was the subject in question.

Chapter 40: Negotiations, Part 2

Bruce made it through the entirety of the meeting without looking directly at Clark, except for once when he made eye contact with each member of the league in turn. He thought he’d done pretty well, all things considered, especially because he could feel that super-gaze boring into him from the moment he let the rest of the team assume the target of Ivy’s test had been some random civilian.

He hadn’t consulted with Clark about that decision. Partly because he was sure Mr. Upright and Noble would insist upon telling the whole truth; partly because he’d only realized it was even a possibility in the jet on the way to the Watchtower.

The way he saw it, the full knowledge of what Clark had done while drugged could potentially sew distrust among the League for Superman. They needed to be able to work together the way they always had, not have everyone skirting him like a volcano that could erupt at any minute and kill everyone.

His decision to keep the truth from his team certainly had nothing to do with protecting Clark. It was merely practicality.

After the meeting disbanded with assignments, Bruce strode swiftly to where Black Canary was rising from her seat and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I need to speak to you,” he said. “In private.”

Canary raised her head and gave his mask a searching stare. He wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but whether she found it or not, she gave a short nod.

Together they commandeered one of the smaller conference rooms, Bruce closing the door behind them.

“Well?” Canary asked, arms folded. “What is it now?”

Bruce squinted at her. “I apologize if this is a great imposition on your time,” he said, not entirely sincerely.

Canary rolled her eyes. “Last time you pulled me aside like this, it was to show me a video of myself making out with a teenager that I don’t remember doing, because it was actually another teenager who could shape-shift. Forgive me if I’m a bit apprehensive.”

Bruce had actually forgotten about that incident. Apparently, it was a common game on Mars for shapeshifting teens to impersonate adults. Cameras at the sidekicks’ headquarters had captured M’gann (looking like Black Canary) kissing Artemis, and Green Arrow nearly had a fit when he found the tape.

Bruce grimaced. “It’s nothing like that, thank god. I need your help with something.”

Canary visibly relaxed. Arms falling to her sides, she asked, “Help with what?”

Bruce took a deep breath. He knew Canary, of all people, could be trusted with sensitive information of this kind. And so he told her everything, the whole truth of Ivy’s little test run. Canary’s eyes got wider and wider, but she allowed him to finish the story without interrupting.

When finally he was done, Bruce said, “I believe he needs to speak to someone, and it’s not as if a regular therapist can be privy to… well, the goings on of super heroes.”

Black Canary nodded. “I agree.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“If he’ll speak to me? Yes, I’ll do what I can.”

Bruce tried not to let his shoulders slump in relief as he nodded his thanks and went to find Superman.

When the three of them were once more cloistered inside the conference room, Bruce presented his idea. And Clark responded exactly how he’d expected.

“If anyone needs to talk to somebody about what happened, it’s not me,” he said stubbornly. “I’m not the one who was attacked.”

Bruce rolled his eyes, though he knew they couldn’t see it behind his cowl. “It was hardly an attack. And you’re clearly still feeling guilty, despite the fact that it wasn’t your fault, so I don’t see why you won’t just accept the help.”

“Because I don’t need help. What I do need is to find Ivy and Grodd and put them in a high security prison where they can’t poison anyone else.” Clark folded his arms as he spoke, lifting his chin defiantly.

Bruce crossed his own arms, ignoring the bulge of Clark’s muscles in his skin-tight suit. “We’re working on that, but until we actually know where they are, why don’t you work on getting your head on straight so you’ll actually be useful when we need you.”

Black Canary had been watching them argue, head on a swivel as her gaze bounced between the two men. Now she raised both hands, stepping into their space.

“Alright, that’s enough. From what I’ve been told, yes Superman it would be beneficial for you to work through some of the lingering guilt you’re dealing with.”

Bruce gave Clark a smug look, but Canary turned to him. “And you-“

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You also need to move past this. Which will never happen as long as you keep denying that it’s bothering you.”

Bruce frowned. “I’m fine.”

Clark snorted. “Yeah, well, so am I. Now what, tough guy?”

“You stay out of this,” Bruce said irritably.

“Boys.” Canary’s tone of voice shut them up instantly. “I need a little cooperation here, or none of us is going to get anywhere.”

There was silence for a long moment as Bruce and Clark glared at each other. At last, Clark looked away.

“I’ll do it if you do,” he said. “But only if you do.”

Bruce clenched his jaw. Why did this man have to be so impossible? Why couldn’t he just let Bruce help him?

“Fine.”

Chapter 41: Talk Therapy, Part 1

Canary insisted upon having their first session as soon as Batman left the room, to "see what I'm working with". They sat facing each other, Canary looking intently at Clark's face in the silence.

"So..." Clark prompted after a moment.

Canary raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"So, how do we do this?"

"That's up to you. You can share as much or as little with me as you like. Just keep in mind that the longer it takes for us to work through things, the longer you'll have to keep seeing me."

Clark swallowed. "Well... I suppose the, um, guilt is a good place to start?" he offered tentatively.

Canary tilted her head. "You feel this guilt is justified, that you deserve it?"

He nodded. "I know you and Batman have both said that it wasn't my fault, but it was. It was my hands. I did it."

"Yes," Canary said slowly, "but not of your own free will. You were given a mind-altering substance. Can you honestly tell me you would ever do something like that in your right mind? Even as a joke or a prank?"

"I... suppose I see your point."

"Do you? Because it looks to me like you don't believe anything I just said."

Clark heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm trying. I just..." he swallowed, hands clenched tightly in his lap. "You don't know what it was like getting those memories back. I didn't know what I'd done when I woke up the next morning. And then the memories came back, and I didn't feel like I was watching someone else pilot my body like you see in the movies. I was myself. I did it because I was angry with him. I wanted to make him stop."

Clark glanced up, catching a flash of Canary's open, sympathetic expression and looking right back down at his hands. "I was just so mad. And a little bit hurt, I suppose. At the time it felt like physically restraining him was the best way to make him listen."

Canary waited, but when Clark didn't say anything else, she cleared her throat. "Superman, you know what that drug does, correct? It doesn't make you hurt people, it makes you overreact to little things. So while yes, that anger was your own, it wasn't natural. What Ivy gave you amplified your emotions, turning them toxic and reactive."

She reached out and placed a gentle hand over Clark's in his lap. "That's why it felt real - it was real, but it wasn't you. I've seen you angry, I've seen you furious. But I have never seen you act that way. You have self control, and you have morals."

"My morals didn't seem to do much for me at the time," Clark said quietly.

"Yes, because they were tampered with and blocked. That's what the chaos drug does. Tell me you understand that."

Clark took a deep breath, but he couldn't make himself respond.

Canary sighed. "Let me ask you this. Put yourself back in those memories. With the way you were thinking that night, would you have felt guilty for what you did? Don't you think this conviction you're feeling is proof that you're still a good person?"

Clark thought about it, and it actually did make sense. Somehow though, that realization didn't much ease the weight in his chest.

When Clark finally returned home, he walked into the living room to find Connor and Dick snuggled up together on the couch, watching a movie. Dick got up hurriedly when Clark walked in, blushing furiously. Then he realized he was still sitting in Connor's lap and scrambled to the other side of the couch.

Connor just laughed.

Clark gave them a tired smile. "You're not in trouble, Dick. I don't care if you two cuddle."

"Oh," Dick said, clearing his throat. "Right."

"Come back here." Connor reached out both arms like a baby asking to be picked up, and Clark stifled a snort as he climbed the stairs.

He made to flop onto his bed, not bothering with the light, but jumped back up again when he landed on something lumpy that let out a loud yelp.

"Lois?" Clark said, incredulous.

"Oh yeah," Connor called from downstairs, "I forgot to tell you she was here."

Clark flipped the light on and found a somewhat ruffled-looking Lois splayed out on his bed.

"Why were you just sitting her in the dark?"

Lois propped herself up on an elbow, rubbing at her eyes with the other hand. "It wasn't dark when I got here. Connor said he thought you'd be back soon so I came up here to wait. I must have fallen asleep."

Clark sat down beside her. "Sorry. I didn't mean to squash you."

Lois waved a hand dismissively. "It's not the first time."

Clark laughed. It was true, although the last time was in a very different context.

"So, why are you here?'

Lois shrugged, rolling onto her back and shifting to make room for him. "I just feel like I never see you outside work anymore. Sometimes not even there."

Clark settled into the space she'd left, stretched out beside her. "I'm sorry Lois. I've had a lot going on."

"I know. But it's not work stuff, and it doesn't seem to be family stuff. I guess I just can't understand why you won't tell me what's going on. Maybe I'd be able to help?"

"I don't think you can. But I appreciate the offer, really." Clark gave her hand a squeeze.

Lois flipped onto her stomach so she could look down at him. "So you're really not going to tell me?"

The hurt in her eyes twisted his stomach with guilt. Lois was his best friend, and she'd always been there for him. Now he was barely around, and he couldn't even be honest with her about why.

"It's... complicated."

She looked away from him. "I see."

Clark's heart sank. "I'm sorry-"

"I know."

They lay in silence until Clark couldn't take it anymore. "Um," he began tentatively, "do you want to do something fun? I know I haven't been around as much, but I'm all yours tonight."

Lois sighed, but she met his eyes anyway. A half smile lifted the corner of her mouth. "I suppose I should grab you while I have the chance."

They challenged Dick and Connor to a board game marathon, after which Clark was outvoted on supper and they all made sushi together. Afterwards, Lois forced Connor into a chair and insisted she cut his hair because it was "positively unruly", as she put it. Clark and Dick excused themselves to wash the dishes and left the other two to their bickering.

Lois must have won out in the end, because when they re-entered the kitchen Connor was looking much tidier with an undercut .

"How do you feel?" Dick asked.

Connor rubbed at the newly exposed back of his head. "Naked."

"I think you look great," Clark said, and Dick nodded in agreement.

"Really?" He sounded very skeptical.

"Really," said Clark, Lois, and Dick in unison.

"You can actually see your piercings now," Lois added. "And I left it longer on top so you can still style it how you like."

Dick reached up and ran his fingers through Connor's hair. "I like it. And she's right about your piercings. You look... cool."

Connor blushed as Dick stood up on tiptoe to give him a peck on the cheek.

"I should probably get going," Lois said, looking past the boys to Clark. "Walk me home?"

Clark nodded. He grabbed a jacket as they stepped out onto the porch and began the several blocks walk to Lois's house. It was a clear chilly evening, the smell of fallen leaves on the breeze. Lois shifted closer to him as the wind picked up.

"You alright?" Clark asked. "Want my jacket?" He slid it off and offered the garment to her.

"I wouldn't mind it," Lois said, slipping her arms into the too-large sleeves as they walked.

They didn't speak again until they arrived at Lois's driveway, when she sat down on her front step and patted the space next to her. "Want to sit and talk for a minute? You don't want to go walking in on anything back home."

Clark snorted. "I suppose we can give them a little more time."

"So," Lois asked once he'd sat down beside her, "How are things with Bruce Wayne?"

"Oh. We're fine."

Her eyebrows went up. "That wasn't very enthusiastic."

Clark chewed at the inside of his cheek. "It's kind of-"

"Complicated?"

Clark sighed. "Yeah. We're friends for now."

"Are you happy with that?" Lois asked, placing a hand on his knee.

Clark shrugged. "I think so?"

"But you wouldn't be upset if it was more than that?"

Clark leaned over and rested his head on her shoulder. "No. I think I'd like that very much."

Chapter 42: Talk Therapy, Part 2

Notes:

You know, I'm actually really proud of myself. I was really doubting I could force myself to the slow burn that I wanted for these two, and yet here we are over 40 chapters in and they haven't even kissed. To me, that's pretty solid work.

Bruce tapped his foot impatiently. He was waiting to meet with Black Canary, but she was late. Very late. And it was making him second guess his agreement to this arrangement even more than before. He didn't need to talk about his feelings. Just because he wasn't entirely sure how he felt didn't mean Canary would be able to fix that for him. Sure, maybe he had been a little terrified for his life when Clark pinned him to that wall. And sure, maybe it felt a little weird to be around him now. But Bruce trusted Clark. They trusted each other. He just needed to suck it up and get over it.

Yes, that was what he would do. He didn't need Canary picking his brain. He was fine. Bruce stood and reached for the door handle, planning to leave the room and this ridiculous plan behind, only to run smack into Black Canary.

Great.

"Oh good, you're still here," she said cheerfully, closing the door behind her and taking a seat.

Bruce sighed. Okay, so maybe there was no getting out of this. He sat across from her reluctantly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Where would you like to start?" Canary asked after a long stretch of silence.

"Honestly?"

"Of course."

"I wouldn't."

Canary gave him an unimpressed look. "Well, why don't I start then. Tell me how you felt while it was happening."

Bruce clenched his jaw. The memory of Clark's hands on his wrists, of the panic that seized his heart when he realized that he couldn't move-

"Batman." Canary's gentle hand on his arm brought him back. "You're not there anymore. It's okay. You're safe." Her gaze was soft and sympathetic.

Bruce pulled back roughly. "I'm fine." He swallowed around the lump that was suddenly in his throat, ignoring her knowing stare. "It was... unpleasant."

"Unpleasant how?"

"The way pulling teeth is unpleasant," he snapped. He felt raw and exposed, and he hated it. This was why he didn't do vulnerability.

Canary raised her hands placatingly. "I can see this is making you angry. That response is a mechanism your brain uses to protect you from your fear and hurt, and it's okay to let it do it's job while the hurt is still fresh. But eventually, you will need to address those feelings before they get out of hand. You won't be able to fully move on otherwise. We can talk about something else and circle back later, yeah?"

Bruce ground his teeth. If he snapped at her again she would think she was right. "Fine," he said through gritted teeth.

"Alright, let's see. How about your relationship with Superman. How has that been?"

"What relationship?" he asked automatically.

Canary gave him a strange look. "Your work relationship? Your friendship? Any relations you have while on the job?"

"Oh." Of course that was all she'd meant. "Well, he seems to sort of be walking on eggshells around me. Like he's afraid of himself or what he might do to me.

"And how does that make you feel?"

Bruce narrowed his eyes at her; she was really leaning into the whole therapist thing. "Well," he began slowly, "I think it's stupid. I mean, he was drugged. It's not as if he's dangerous when he's himself."

Canary tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. "You seem defensive of him."

"Well, yes. He didn't actually do anything wrong."

"He did, though." Bruce glared at her, but she held up a finger to silence him while she finished. "No, listen. Superman was right. He assaulted you. And whether or not it was by his own choice, it was his hands. He's going to have to live with that now. We all - Superman included - know what he is capable of. But none of us had yet seen him direct those abilities at any of us, and neither had he. It's going to take him a while to work past the guilt of that. Part of accepting it is acknowledging that what he did was bad, but does not make him a bad person. I don't think either of you are there yet."

Bruce was speechless for a moment. "But," he said finally, "it wasn't his fault."

"You're right. But it still happened. You accepting that what he did to you has affected you is not you calling him a bad person or placing any of the blame on his shoulders. All three of us know Superman had no more control in the situation than you did, which makes him a victim too."

Bruce didn't even know what to say to that. A victim? He wasn't a victim just because Clark roughed him up a little. Like Bruce had told him, it wasn't as if he wouldn't do something like that with a partner - wasn't as if he hadn't already done that kind of rough play with partners before. Then again... technically those times had never scared him. That visceral fear had never been a part of it.

But wasn't admitting that he was afraid of Clark basically a huge betrayal? He knew Clark hadn't meant it. How could Bruce hold him accountable for actions he'd had no control over?

Afraid. Had he really thought that? Hadn't he been telling himself this whole time that it wasn't fear, it was just... something else. Could it really even be fear if he'd been aroused at the same time? Didn't that mean he'd enjoyed it, at least on some level? How could those two things coexist?

"What are you thinking?" Canary asked, when he had been silent for a long time.

Very reluctantly, he told her. If he was going to do this, after all, he might as well make some effort. He left out the arousal part though. Canary didn't know they'd been seeing each other.

Canary took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "You're struggling with whether you were afraid enough for it to count?"

"I... guess," he said stiffly.

"Isn't the fact that you were afraid at all evidence enough that it counts? You've never been scared of him before, correct?"

"No," Bruce admitted. "No, I suppose I haven't." And it was true. No matter what displays of strength Clark put on while doing his super-work, that strength had never frightened Bruce before - even before he had known Clark was Superman. Because he knew Superman, and as much as he would've hated to admit it back then. He trusted Superman. But now... now he saw Clark's hands and his heart raced and his palms grew slick with sweat. It was humiliating.

"What can we do about that?"

Bruce furrowed his brow at her. "Do about what?"

Canary crossed one leg over the opposite knee, settling back into her chair. "That fear response. If we can help you not experience that anymore, the rest will be easier to handle." She paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully with a finger. Then - "Have you heard of exposure therapy?"

Bruce just stared at her. "You want me to... expose myself. To Superman."

She rolled her eyes. "That's not what I meant. I mean, what if we got him to do the same things he did before? Having him restrain you and then release when you say so, that could help train your brain not to feel fear in those situations. It might be good for Superman too, remind him that he does have control of his body."

Bruce couldn't do anything but gape in utter bafflement. She wanted him to do what?

Chapter 43: Down Time, Part 1

When Clark arrived home one evening after work, he found four boys, one of which he didn't recognize, sprawled around the living room floor. They looked distinctly like they were up to something.

"Hello Tim, Dick," Clark greeted them, and he got a chorus of "hey"s back.

"Hey Supes," the one Clark didn't know said, smirking at his stunned expression. Tim reached over and flicked him on the ear.

Connor rolled his eyes. "Clark, this is Wally. AKA Kid Flash."

"Oh." Clark cleared his throat, brushing off his surprise. "What are you all up to?"

The boys all looked around at each other, apparently deciding who would do the confessing. After a long and entirely silent battle of looks, Dick sighed. "We're plotting. There's a dance at mine and Tim's school next month and we're deciding how to get revenge."

"What kind of revenge?" Clark asked slowly.

"One of our friends was telling us all about the dress she's planning to wear, and our teacher reported her to the principle. Now they're saying she either can't come in a dress, or she can't come at all. Because-" here, Dick raised his hands to put air quotes around his next words - "boys don't wear dresses."

"Which is stupid," Tim piped up, "because she's not a boy." His brows were drawn down in irritation.

Ah, Clark thought. "So you're planning how to show your support?"

"Yeah," Connor agreed. "All four of us are going to the dance, since Wally and I are their dates, and we thought a united front would be best. But Mr. Wayne has donated a lot of money to the school and we don't want to do anything that makes him look bad-"

"Like trashing the principles office or keying his car," said Wally. "Which is what I suggested."

"And I said no to," Dick finished.

"He would've deserved it," Tim grumbled.

"Well..." Clark began, sitting cross-legged on the carpet between Connor and Tim, "What if you all went in dresses?"

The boys stared at him. Clark bit his cheek against a grin - their faces were very funny in that moment.

"Think about it. There are two issues here: first, your school is transphobic, which I agree they should definitely be taught a lesson about. But the other problem is their insistence that boys can't wear dresses, which isn't true. Clothes are for everyone, right?" Clark paused to gauge the reactions, and it seemed his idea was being received well. The boys were nodding thoughtfully. "So," he continued, "you could address both problems at once. I doubt your friend will get in much trouble if you're all in dresses. And who knows, maybe you could even convince some other boys to go along with it. And I don't see how this would possibly reflect badly on Bruce, he's modeled all kinds of clothing just this year."

"You're a rebel genius," Dick murmured, eyes wide with wonder. "And here I thought you were the goody-two-shoes rule follower."

“How are we going to get four fancy dresses?” Connor asked. “Aren’t they like… pretty expensive?”

Tim waved the question away. “Bruce can get them. Once we tell him what they’re for, he’ll be want to help.”

Clark got to his feet again, leaving the boys to their plans. The kitchen was a disaster aftermath scene of snack wrappers and strewn homework and school uniform pieces.

“Should I be concerned about how much clothing is on the floor in her?” Clark called back into the living room.

“I just emptied my gym bag!” Clark could practically hear Connor’s blush, and he laughed as the other boys poked fun at him for it.

Clark called Lois and talked her through the proposal he was presenting the next day while he made supper and cleaned the kitchen. They’d been working on the project together for a few weeks now, and he wanted to make sure they both had it memorized in case he wasn’t able to present and Lois had to take over.

“Why do you make it sound like you’re expecting to get called away?” Lois asked after he insisted she take thorough notes.

Clark hesitated, drying a stack of freshly washed plates to keep his hands busy. “It’s just.. you know how much trouble Connor is always in. We’re constantly having family emergencies.”

“And non-family emergencies,” Lois added coolly.

Clark winced. She kept bringing up the “something” he’d refused to tell her about, even though he kept reiterating that he couldn’t explain. Clark wondered if this one little thing would be what broke their friendship, chiseling away at the trust Lois has in him until there was none left. Their whole relationship was built on profound trust and knowing each other better than anyone else ever had. If they didn’t have that, what were they?

And what could he do about it?

It wasn’t as if Clark could just tell her he was Superman. Even aside from how dangerous it could be for her, he would be revealing Connor’s secret identity as well. And Lois was smart; how long would it be before she started paying attention to who else Clark associated with? She might identify the entire Justice League. What kind of position would that put her in? Not to mention the rest of the supers?

Clark sighed. “Lois-“

“I know. You can’t say.” Her voice had gone hard. “I gotta go. Don’t worry about me forgetting the proposal, I’m pretty sure it’ll be stuck in my head for at least a year with how much we’ve practiced.” There was a pause, then she said, “Bye Clark. Love you.”

The line went dead, and his heart wrenched. She sounded so… hopeless. Like Lois knew he would never be honest with her, and was just… giving up. And yet, even with her hurt, she still loved him.

Clark didn’t deserve her. Lois was the fiercest, most loyal friend he could’ve asked for. She loved unconditionally and would do anything for her people. But if he’d lost her faith in him, where did that leave them?

Chapter 44: Down Time, Part 2

Bruce set his helmet on the desk and slumped heavily into his chair, closing his eyes and letting out a long sigh. He hadn't had such an eventful patrol on months, and was starting to feel like he ought to have been training harder in the down time. He'd felt distinctly like he was losing his touch all night. Sure, he got Penguin and his henchmen in the end. But it had been a near thing, and Bruce didn't think it should have been.

He allowed himself only a moment to relax before sitting up and beginning to type up his report. He needed to get everything down in writing while it was fresh in his mind.

After filing the report under his Penguin Encounters folder, Bruce stripped off his suit and took a very long, very hot shower. He forced his brain to remain blank, refusing to think about the many near misses he'd had that night, or even worse, Black Canary's suggestion from their session. He was tired. He needed to relax, deserved to relax. And he couldn't do that if he was thinking about Clark's hands pushing him up against the wall-

No, Bruce thought to himself firmly. Relaxing time. Thinking could wait.

Unfortunately, no matter how firmly Bruce told himself to not think, his brain just wouldn't listen. He went to make a snack in the kitchen, and remembered having lunch there with Clark and the boys. How polite he'd been when he thanked Alfred, how his biceps flexed as he did the dishes. Then Bruce tried to watch a movie, but being in the theater made him remember sitting there with Clark, their shoulders brushing when they both used the armrests at the same time. How the colored lights from the screen had reflected off those dark curls. Bruce briefly considered going for a soak in the hot tub, but if the rest of his evening was any indication, that would be a terrible idea.

At last, Bruce decided to go to his room and put a movie on his laptop. But once he'd settled into bed, all he could think about was the single time Clark had been there. How he'd been naked in this room, even if Bruce hadn't seen it.

"Agh," Bruce yelled in frustration, throwing himself back onto his pillows. What was wrong with him? Normally he was excellent at compartmentalizing his thoughts into orderly sections, which he could pick up or put aside for later at will. What was it about... recent events that had wreaked such havoc on his self control? Why couldn't he just have just one moment where he wasn't thinking about Clark?

He needed a distraction, that was it. Something to focus on - something to do - so that there was no room in his head for anything else. Maybe one of the boys needed help with their homework? Some math or chemistry equations could work. Yes, that would be good. Fill his brain with numbers, and there would be no space for men. Mind made up, Bruce threw off the covers and went in search of his sons.

Tim's bedroom was empty, but there were the sounds of several voices coming from behind Dick's door, so Bruce knocked.

"Yes?" Dick called as the other voices quieted.

"May I come in?"

Bruce heard the sound of shuffling papers and bodies, and then Dick was opening the door. "What's up?"

Bruce shrugged, hands in his pockets in way that he hoped looked nonchalant. "Just came to see if either of you needed help with any homework, maybe a project?'

"Oh," Dick said, looking back over his shoulder into the room. "I mean, we're not doing homework. But you can come in if you want." He stepped back, and Bruce saw Tim, Wally, and Connor sprawled on Dick's rug around a laptop.

"If it's not a school project, what are you all working on?" Bruce asked as he settled himself on the end of the bed, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees.

"It kind of is for school," Tim said. "Just not... officially"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "And what does that mean?"

And so the boys explained. All about the school's administration being transphobic, about their original plans involving the principle's car, about how they'd been at Connor's house the night before, which was when Clark helped them decide how exactly they would stage their protest. Bruce had to admit, it was a good plan.

"So now we're spreading the word," Connor finished. "To any guys that are willing to do it with us, and anyone who wanted to go in an outfit they were too afraid to or told they couldn't."

"We've already had one girl ask if she can come in a suit," Wally added. "Apparently she hates dresses, which is why her mother always makes her wear them."

Bruce felt his chest warm with pride. He was so proud of his boys - which he felt had come to include Connor and Wally too now. They were smart, capable, and kind young men. If these were the hands he left the world in whenever his career ended, Bruce thought they might all be better for it.

He clapped a hand on Tim's shoulder. "So, when are we going dress shopping?"

 

When Bruce left the boys later that night, he felt strangely buoyed. He realized it had been a while since he spent time with them outside of patrols and mealtimes. He must've missed it more than he realized.

He had thought that planning with the kids on top of his exhaustion from the day's patrols would have him tired enough to pass out as soon as he settled into bed, but once again Bruce's brain betrayed him. The moment he closed his eyes, he was accosted with images of Clark. Those clear blue eyes flicking down to Bruce's lips, their bodies so close in the water that Bruce could almost feel him. The recurring daydream of Clark's beautiful curls between Bruce's thighs-

Bruce sat bold upright in bed, scrubbing his hands over his face as if they could wash away the images. 

This was ridiculous.

His eyes strayed to the bedside table, where his phone lay. Bruce swallowed. Hesitated. Grabbed his phone. And then he sent a message.

Can you come over?

Chapter 45: Exposure Therapy, Part 1

Notes:

DISCLAIMER: I am not, have never been, and never will be a therapist or otherwise medical or mental health professional. I have exactly no training in this field. The following chapters are thus, very likely NOT AT ALL what true exposure therapy looks like or should look like. Please for the love of whatever you believe in, do not take this as prescriptive or advice in any way. It is literally just for my readers who want to see Superman pin Batman to a wall.

Moving on~

Blood spilling over cracked asphalt. Smoke weighting the air. And the dead eyes of all the people he loved most, staring out at him from broken bodies—

Clark sat bolt upright in bed, coming out of the nightmare in a state of complete disorientation. Dimly he was aware of his heart racing, of the sweat dripping down his temples and the back of his neck. But the panic was too overwhelming, he couldn’t focus.

He whipped around, jumping when his phone dinged loudly beside him. Picking it up, Clark’s pulse spiked as he read the message.

Bruce: Can you come over?

No explanation. No further information. What was happening? Was he okay? He was well enough to type a message, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt—

An image of Batman, neck bent at an unnatural angle, blood splattered all around him, flashed in Clark’s mind.

He tossed the blankets aside, pulled open his window, and shot off into the sky.

 

Clark alighted on the roof of Wayne Manor, found his way to the hot tub balcony, and forced the door open. He was surprised how well he remembered the ways through the twisting halls, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he found Bruce, and right now, both his breathing and heart beat, along with his heat signature, were coming from his room. So that was where Clark went.

Bruce swore when Clark burst through the door, placing a hand over his heart.

“My god Clark, I only texted you like five minutes ago.” But then his shock gave way to worry, and he jumped off his bed. “What’s wrong,” he asked urgently, searching Clark’s face. “What happened?”

“What’s wrong?” Clark repeated. “I thought something here was wrong! Why did you text me like that at three in the morning-“

Bruce’s face twisted with guilt. “You came rushing over here because you though I needed help?” He asked, finally taking in Clark’s mussed hair and shoeless feet.

“I… I thought…” Sense was at last catching up with him, his panic fading. In its place came embarrassment - Clark had let his nightmare completely take him over. It was obvious to him now that Bruce would never have sent a text like that as an SOS. His face warmed, and he looked away.

“I’m so sorry Clark, I didn’t mean to scare you. I couldn’t sleep and I thought you might be awake too…” he moved forward, placing a gentle hand on Clark’s shoulder. “You should sit down.”

Clark shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m fine.”

But Bruce didn’t release his shoulder. His brow creased in concern, those intense eyes boring into Clark as if he might read Clark’s mind if he only stared hard enough. He hand on Clark’s shoulder gave a squeeze before sliding down his arm and gently taking hold of his fingers.

“Are you actually fine?” Bruce asked. “Because you look… well, I don’t want to say terrible. That’s not entirely true.”

Clark caught his eyes flicking over his hair, his lips, his chest - before Bruce blinked and refocused on his eyes. And then he swallowed, and was that… yes, the faintest flush of pink, high on his cheekbones.

Bruce was blushing. Clark couldn’t remember that ever happening in the entire time they’d known each other. Wasn’t that usually his thing?

Clark cleared his throat. “Yes. I’m fine. I didn’t mean to disturb you so late at night-“

“I texted you,” Bruce pointed out.

“I, uh, suppose that’s true. But still…” He trailed off, not sure what he had even been planning to say.

Bruce was still holding his hand.

They were standing in the middle of Bruce’s bedroom, both in their pajamas and socks, looking into each other’s eyes. Clark was still too off-kilter to really process this. He wasn’t sure what exactly was happening, or if their conversation was even going anywhere. It was just words, in one ear and out the other. And despite his slowing pulse and retreating panic, the picture from the nightmare was still fixed in his brain.

Bruce’s lifeless body. Bones pointing out at odd angles. Lois and Connor, fallen like rag dolls around him. Ma and Pa too, and beyond them the members of the Justice League-

Clark’s breath hitched, and to his mortification, tears stung his eyes.

Bruce’s concerned gaze sharpened immediately. “Clark, what’s wrong?” His voice was urgent, and Clark could tell he was scaring him.

“I’m sorry.” He stepped back, out of Bruce’s reach, and pressed both palms into his eyes hard. He would not cry. Not here, not now. It was just a stupid dream.

But the space between them was suddenly full of Bruce again. He followed Clark, taking his wrists and gently prising them away from his face. They both knew Clark wouldn’t even have to try to resist if he wanted to, but he let it happen anyway. The feel of those fingers against his skin was grounding, solid. It told his brain that Bruce was here, he was alive, and there was nothing to worry about.

“Tell me what’s wrong?” Bruce asked. Not a command, an invitation.

And so he did. He let all the horrible images spill out of his mouth, and Bruce listened, face crumpling in grief for Clark. When it was over, he murmured a soft “I’m so sorry,” as he stepped in and wrapped his arms around Clark.

And Clark froze.

This was not how he was used to being hugged by other men. This was not an arm slung over his shoulders - or more often across his back, since Clark was taller than most men he knew - a light, casual touch coded to mean nothing. Most men he knew were so afraid of “looking gay” that they went out of their way to convey a silent “no homo, though” along with every dude-bro hug.

This was not even like the hugs Connor gave him, both arms wrapped roughly around his middle in that aggressive sort of angry teenager affection.

No. This was arms around his neck, in the way only his mother ever did. This was dark hair brushing his cheek, a warm chest solid against his own, the scent of expensive cologne engulfing them both. This was…

Clark realized with a jolt that he wasn’t hugging back, and hastily wrapped his arms around Bruce’s waist. They were fully flush now, and his stomach was swooping the way it had when he’d first learned to fly. He tucked his face into Bruce’s neck, listening as both of their pulses sped up.

And then Bruce lifted one hand to the back of his head, slowly twisting fingers into Clark’s hair, and he wanted to melt. He squeezed, and Bruce squeezed him back, and it was so perfect that Clark was afraid to move and break the spell.

After a long moment, he finally lifted his mouth away from Bruce’s shirt enough to speak clearly. “So, why did you text me?”

Bruce swallowed again, and Clark felt it. “I just… I wanted to see you. Like I said I couldn’t sleep, and I felt like I was going stir crazy, and I just kept thinking about what Canary said-“

“Oh, that.”

Bruce pulled back sharply. “She told you?”

Clark shrugged, resisting the urge to pull Bruce back into his chest. “She said I ought to know because you probably wouldn’t say anything.”

Bruce scowled, and it made Clark want to laugh. “Well fuck her, I’m saying something right now.”

Clark let out an involuntary snort.

“I’m trying to comfort you and you’re laughing at me?” Bruce demanded indignantly.

“Sorry, sorry. You can go back to comforting me now.” He tugged gently, and then they were wrapped up together again, and Clark couldn’t feel the anxiety he had originally felt about Canary’s idea, because this was so perfect and surely nothing bad could happen to them like this.

Chapter 46: Exposure Therapy, Part 2

Bruce was, frankly, getting a bit tired of being in his own brain.

He had thought that touching Clark's hair would finally drive home for him that it was in fact just hair, and yet here he was, heart racing at the feel of soft curls twisted around his fingers. What was it about this man that made focusing and self control so much harder? It would be one thing if Clark wanted nothing to do with him; he would never force any kind of affection on someone who didn't want it. But no, Clark was leaning into him, nuzzling his neck, sighing as Bruce stroked the back of his head. All of which made it very difficult to resist pulling him backwards and falling into bed.

They didn't even have to do anything, Bruce told himself. He would be over the moon to just sleep beside Clark, able to wake up and touch his broad chest or his square jaw or his luscious curls. He'd be okay with however little Clark was okay with. He'd take anything at this point.

"Are we... really doing this?" Clark mumbled against his shoulder. It took a moment for Bruce to identify what he was talking about - the "exposure" thing.

"We don't have to," he responded. "Not if it's too much for you."

"What about you?"

Well. Bruce had been hoping to avoid his feelings on the subject. He would do it for Clark. There didn't need to be anything else.

"I'll be fine."

Clark released Bruce and took half a step back, and Bruce immediately missed the feel of him. "How do we even start?'

Bruce shrugged, aiming for carelessness. "Probably how it actually happened, right?"

"Right." Clark clenched his fists, shoulders tense, but stayed where he was. So Bruce backed up until his shoulder blades his the wall, and gestured for Clark to follow.

When they were a foot apart, Bruce took a deep breath and grabbed Clark's hands. "You have to hold my arms, yeah?"

Clark nodded, though he looked like he would rather do almost anything else. Long fingers wrapped around Bruce's wrists, and he was not prepared for the way his heart immediately began to race. But he was fine. Bruce was doing this for Clark, so he wouldn't be so afraid of himself anymore. Neither of them was in danger this time, there were no drugs involved and Clark was in full control of himself. Bruce was safe. He was.

So why was his throat closing?

His eyes flew open - when had he shut them? "Let go," Bruce tried to say, but his voice came out strangled and too quiet.

Clark released him immediately, stepping hastily backward until he was half way across the room. His eyes were full of panic. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"

"Don't," Bruce said as firmly as he could manage through his panting breaths. He bent over, hands on his knees, and told himself to get a grip. "This isn't your fault. Get back here."

Clark hesitated. "Are you sure we should-"

"I'm fine.”

Bruce looked up, but Clark was not any closer. He sighed. “Look, this is exactly what Canary wanted to show you. You let go the instant I said to. You didn’t force anything. You’re a safe person to be around and close to.”

A strange expression swept over Clark’s face. But he nodded slowly and strode closer again.

This time, when Clark pinned his wrists above his head, Bruce forced himself to focus on his breathing. To remember how desperately he had wanted to be touched this way, by this man, for what felt like an eternity now. To stay grounded in his body and not get sucked back into the memory.

But the more aware he became of his body, the more aware he was of how very close together they were. Bruce opened his eyes - which had closed again without his realizing - and focused on the face in front of him.

Clark’s gaze was searching his intently, most likely for any reason to stop what he was doing. Bruce did not give him that. Instead, he lifted his feet off the floor and wrapped it legs around Clark’s waist, completing the position they’d been in at the beginning of this whole mess.

And he was okay. He was calm. Not panicking.

His heart was still racing. But really, Bruce thought, who could blame him. This was Superman after all. How many people would kill to be in his exact position right now?

Pinned between an unmoving wall and an equally sturdy chest. With a hand-

Oh no.

Clark had shifted both of Bruce’s wrists to one hand and was wrapping the other around his thigh. And Bruce was going to lose his mind. That was all there was to it. How would he ever function again after this? How was he meant to use a brain that had turned so thoroughly to mush?

“Bruce?” Clark asked softly.

“Mm?”

“Is this… are you okay?”

It took a moment to find words around the heaviness of his tongue. His “Yes” came out like a croak. Which would have been embarrassing, except Bruce couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t think he’d ever been this horny in his entire life. And it didn’t help that Clark chose that moment to stroke his thumb across the top of Bruce’s thigh.

Even through the fabric of his pajamas, that movement sent a shower of tingles down his spine, and his back arched involuntarily, increasing the contact between their bodies.

Clark instantly began to apologize, but Bruce cut him off. “Don’t- I mean, just… let go of my hands please. Don’t put me down,” he added hurriedly, as Clark made to do exactly that. “I just want my hands.”

“Yes. Yes, okay. Whatever you want.”

Whatever I want, Bruce thought dizzily.

Chapter 47: Whatever He Wants, Part 1

“Whatever I want?” Bruce repeated faintly, and Clark nodded.

“Of course, just tell me.” The nervousness still swirled in the pit of his stomach. Bruce said he was fine, but Clark could sense his vitals going crazy, could feel the way Bruce was trembling ever so slightly against him. How scared was he? Should Clark stop this now?

Bruce wet his lips, and Clark’s thoughts spun to a sharp halt, focusing in on the tiny motion.

“I… in all honesty,” Bruce said hoarsely, lowering his recently released hands to Clark’s shoulders, “I really want to kiss you right now.”

Oh.

All Clark could think to say was, “Okay.”

Immediately Bruce was fisting both hands in his shirt and pulling him in - not that there was much distance to close. His lips were soft and perfect, so much better than Clark could have imagined. And he had.

Bruce kissed him desperately, hungrily, as if Clark was all he would ever need. With so much adoration Clark’s heart squeezed, and the words I love you were suddenly there in the forefront of his mind.

When Clark kissed him back, gripping his thighs and pressing him more firmly into the wall, Bruce let out a sound that was part whine and part moan against Clark’s lips.

Suddenly there were fingers in his hair, and he could feel the press of Bruce’s erection against his stomach, which was swooping wildly and making it difficult to think. Was this how it was supposed to feel? Hot and fast and all consuming? No wonder people liked it. Clark felt an overwhelming urge to do something rash and impulsive. And, well… there was a bed right behind them.

Bruce gasped as he was lifted higher, turned, and deposited on the bed. Clark gazed down at him, at how beautiful he looked with his hair mussed and his chest heaving. And then they crashed together again, Bruce clinging to him as if it had been years rather than seconds since their last kiss.

Clark was pleasantly surprised to find that his body knew exactly what to do. He had one arm wrapped around Bruce’s waist, and used his free hand to pull Bruce’s knee up over his hip. And when Bruce squeezed with his legs, Clark let his hand slide up to his perfect ass, gripping there in a way that made Bruce arch his back.

Then Clark felt the brush of fingertips at his waistband and stiffened. Bruce immediately pulled back - though not much.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly.

But Clark shook his head aggressively. “It’s okay. It’s just that I haven’t… I mean, I’ve never… done this.”

Clark knew that Bruce was experienced, had probably slept with half of Gotham. And he had never had any feelings about that one way or another. But now he was suddenly struck with the anxiety that Bruce might find him boring, or might not want to be with someone so inexperienced.

And Bruce did look surprised. But he blinked and the expression was gone. In its place were pleading eyes that Clark never would’ve expected to come from that face.

“We don’t have to do anything.” He paused, biting his lip. “I just want to make you feel good.”

Really? “What about you?” Clark asked doubtfully.

But Bruce let out a sharp laugh. “Don’t you worry about me, I’m enjoying this plenty.”

Clark swallowed around the nerves, and decided to be impulsive one more time tonight. He took Bruce’s hand and placed it back where it had been.

Bruce’s eyes lit up, and he hooked two fingers under the waistband of Clark’s pajama pants. He slid his hand in against Clark’s abs, reaching up to kiss his neck as he curved his fingers around the bulge in Clark’s boxers.

Clark appreciated that he was going slowly, not stripping him immediately… but at the same time, he was desperate to feel those fingers against his skin without the barrier of fabric between.

Quite suddenly Clark was on his back, and it took him a moment to figure out why. Normally, a move like Bruce had just used would never have worked on him. But apparently, having a hand down his pants was significant enough of a distraction to bypass his super strength.

Bruce took advantage of Clark’s surprise to straddle his hips and slide both hands up beneath his t-shirt, lifting until most of Clark’s chest and abs were uncovered. There was a moment of stillness and Bruce seemed to catch his breath, and then he leaned down and put his mouth to Clark’s skin.

Clark groaned at the soft press of Bruce’s lips and the warm, wet drag of his tongue. And when Clark lifted a hand and slid his fingers through his hair, Bruce gave a shuddering gasp and leaned into the contact.

Chapter 48: Whatever He Wants, Part 2

Bruce felt like he had been waiting for this - waiting for Clark to want this - for an eternity. And now that it was finally happening, he was pretty sure his brain was short circuiting. Clark just kept touching him, and it was driving him wild with want.

Bruce dragged his tongue in a long line between Clark’s pecs, pushing his knee up to the cock that was so hard against him. Clark exhaled sharply, fingertips pressing hard into Bruce’s thigh. It didn’t hurt, but Bruce thought he wouldn’t mind even if it had. He might not even have felt it over all the adrenaline currently pumping through his veins.

He moved downwards slowly - almost painfully slowly - careful to kiss every inch of Clark’s exposed skin. Bruce paused at the waistband of Clark’s pajamas, rubbing one thumb down his length as he looked up at those gorgeous blue eyes.

“Do you know what you like?” Almost immediately Bruce realized the answer was probably no; if Clark hadn’t done this before, how would he.

As he’d expected, Clark shook his head.

“Do you… want me to help you find out?”

It was an offer Bruce told himself he would not be crushed to have rejected. And yet, he felt almost giddy when Clark swallowed and managed a hoarse, “I think so.”

Bruce looked back down to where his hand was stroking Clark over his pants. How best to start? He wanted it to be as enjoyable as possible. This was his chance to treat Clark the way he deserved, to maybe begin making up for how much he’d hurt this man.

After the briefest hesitation, Bruce rose up on his knees and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Then he did the same for Clark’s shirt. He was tired of having so much clothing between them.

Clark was flushed and panting when Bruce finally began to pull his pants and boxers out of the way. Clark was right in the sweet spot that Bruce preferred - big enough to hit all the right places, but not so long that it was hard to take. But of course Superman, of all people, would have the perfect cock.

Bruce lowered his lips, wrapping one hand around Clark’s shaft as he took the head in his mouth. Fingertips dug into the muscle of his shoulder as Clark stiffened, and Bruce looked up into his eyes.

He smiled, rubbing his free hand over Clark’s abs, relishing the feel of his skin and his powerful physique. “Relax and enjoy yourself,” he murmured, pressing a feather light kiss to the tip of Clark’s cock. “Just tell me what feels good.”

“Fuck,” Clark breathed, and Bruce blinked in shock. Did he actually just swear?

Bruce huffed a surprised laugh, lowering his head once more and taking the whole length of Clark into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the tip, and Clark groaned loudly.

Bruce released him just long enough to ask, “That’s good?”

“Yes,” Clark responded breathlessly.

And so Bruce did it again. And again, and again. And when he began to bob his head, and Clark swore a second time, Bruce was surprised to find he also felt close to his orgasm. Without touching his own erection even once so far… which was new.

God, he couldn’t wait to fuck this man. If giving him head was enough to nearly get Bruce off all on its own, how incredible would it feel to ride him? To kiss him, to feel his strong arms as Bruce took him inside?

He maneuvered so that he could continue to use his mouth while stroking himself, and the tightness in his gut built as Clark’s involuntary sounds of pleasure intensified. Bruce wanted to go over the edge together, and so he paced himself.

Finally, Clark reached down to cup his face, stiffening an instant later. Bruce had never felt anything quite like the sensation of swallowing everything Clark gave him while riding the wave of his own orgasm. It was intense pleasure the kind of which he had been desperately needing for so long. And the fact that it was with this man, this perfect, wonderful man, made it all so much better.

Chapter 49: Intimacy, Part 1

Clark was not new to orgasms, though they had never involved another person. Still, he hadn’t expected it to be so much different than what he was used to when he took care of himself, and yet here he was with his muscles trembling and a rushing sound inside his skull. The sensation of Bruce’s mouth around him was unlike anything he had ever experienced at his own hands.

Bruce stood up, face flushed and hair wild, and Clark noticed for the first time that he must have been entirely truthful about “enjoying this plenty”, if the dampness darkening his pants was any indication.

“I’m going to take care of this,” Bruce said, gesturing at himself. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Clark’s lips before vanishing into the on suite bathroom.

Clark lay there in a satisfied daze, feeling light and content, as the water ran. When the faucet stopped running Clark glanced toward the bathroom door, only for Bruce to appear there - completely naked.

He strode confidently across to the walk-in closet and disappeared inside, and Clark tried to swallow his shock. They did just have oral sex. But Bruce had been mostly clothed throughout - Clark hadn’t actually seen anything.

When Bruce reappeared he was wearing a new set of pajama pants, though he appeared to have left off any underwear. He climbed into the bed and sat cross legged beside Clark, reaching down to gently pull his boxers and pants back up over his hips.

Clark had completely forgotten about that. “I think I should be thanking you,” he said.

Bruce laughed. “You’re welcome to, but I’m definitely thanking you too.” He slid one hand over Clark’s forehead, brushing back his curls with an almost mesmerized expression.

Clark rolled onto his side, wrapping one arm over Bruce’s lap and around his waist, pulling them together and pressing a kiss to the skin just above his waistband. “I really enjoyed that.”

“I could tell.” Bruce sounded amused, but in a tender sort of way. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“The Batman is asking for permission to be blunt?” Clark gasped, feigning shock.

“I could go back to not doing that, if you prefer.”

It was Clark’s turn to laugh. “Go ahead and ask.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t been with anyone else,” Bruce began. “Not that it’s abnormal to abstain, but you are the heartthrob of Metropolis. Everyone is in love with you. I’m just surprised you don’t have people throwing themselves at you constantly.”

Clark gave a half shrug. “Ice palaces in the remote Arctic can be helpful for getting away from the masses, believe it or not.” He paused, hesitating. But surely after all this, he could be honest with Bruce? Intimacy was about more than being naked together, after all. “There’s also the fact that my first experience pretty much convinced me I just didn’t like sex.”

“Oh? Was he that bad?”

“She was fine.”

Comprehension dawned on Bruce’s face. “I see. And it put you off forever? What’s the story there?”

“Well,” Clark began, rolling onto his back again, “Lois and I actually dated in high school. We were best friends, and we were so close that pretty much everyone at school and in our families thought we were going to get married. There was a lot of pressure on us to be together, so we were. And then one night I was at her house, and her parents were gone, and we thought ‘This is what teenagers do right?’ So we gave it a shot.”

“Classic comphet,” Bruce said, nodding sagely.

Clark snorted. “Yeah well, we were kissing, and she was on my lap, and I wasn’t feeling it but I was afraid she’d be hurt if I told her I wasn’t attracted to her. Things progressed, we were in her bed, both of us practically naked, and then she just stopped and asked me if I actually wanted to keep doing this. I didn’t really know what to say, and I think she knew, because she said ‘Look, you know I love you, but this isn’t fun.’ And I was… so relieved. We broke up that night and went back to being friends and it was the happiest I’d been for our entire relationship. Of course we later realized we were both gay, which obviously clarified a lot.”

Bruce whistled. “That’s quite the best friend origin story. Harvey and I met at college and just… were friends after that.”

“Yeah… I guess after that I was afraid there was something… I don’t know, broken? In me. That I wouldn’t enjoy sex. And later when I realized I liked guys, it stuck with me anyway. It was a stupid teenage fear and I suppose it just never went away and I didn’t notice.”

“Well look at that, personal growth.” Bruce made a face. “Lately Tim keeps saying things are ‘for the plot’. I have no idea what that means, but based on context clues I feel like it fits here.”

Clark laughed, stopping when he felt Bruce’s thumb coast across his bottom lip.

“May I kiss you again?”

Clark blinked, shockingly arrested by the intensity in his eyes. “After all that, you really think you have to ask?”

Bruce shrugged, gaze locked on his mouth. “Sometimes it’s nice to be asked. Is that a yes?”

Clark suddenly wanted very much to make Bruce feel cared for the way he did. He pulled Bruce down onto the bed, leaning over him and stroking a thumb over the sharp cheekbones he admired so much.

And then Clark kissed him, long and slow and intentional. Unlike the rushed, feverish kisses of an hour ago, this kiss went on and on and on. Bruce cupped both hands around his face, and it made Clark’s stomach flip.

He couldn’t believe they’d put this off for so long. It was nothing against Lois, but kissing Bruce was a million times better.

“I love you,” he murmured against Bruce’s lips.

Bruce froze. “What?”

Chapter 50: Intimacy, Part 2

I love you.

The words swirled around and around Bruce’s head, making it hard to focus on what Aquaman was saying. He hadn’t known how to react to the bomb Clark dropped on him but of course, as usual, their alerts chose the absolute worst times to go off.

Now here Bruce sat, listening to Aquaman drone on and on about a crisis he’d been following closely for months that he suddenly couldn’t make himself care about.

I love you.

Bruce’s gaze darted to Clark involuntarily. He was the picture of attentiveness, focused completely on Aquaman. Was he thinking about their last couple of hours spent together? Or was he able to put personal matters aside at work, the way Bruce should be doing right now?

I love you.

A light touch on his shoulder made him jump, and he turned to find J’on looking at him inquisitively, head tilted slightly to the side.

Bruce glanced around and realized everyone else at the table was looking at him too. H must have missed a question. He cleared his throat.

“Apologies. I’m… not feeling well.” That was possible the worst excuse he could’ve come up with. They all knew he gave 100% whether he had it to give or not. His teammates were constantly exasperated about it.

The others turned slowly back to Aquaman, who was directing a question at someone else this time. Everyone except Wonder Woman, who was squinting suspiciously at him. She glanced in the direction Bruce had undoubtedly been staring when he zoned out, and the gaze she leveled at him afterwards was sharp enough to cut.

Bruce swallowed around the sudden dryness in his mouth. Whatever she thought she knew… he would have to deal with it later. All he wanted to do right now was talk to Clark. Or hide from him forever. Or possibly throw up.

I love you.

Yes, he was definitely going to throw up.

Bruce stood abruptly, drawing everyone’s surprised looks.

“Excuse me,” he said, which wasn’t an explanation, then turned and strode briskly out of the conference room.

What was wrong with him? Why was he thrown for such a loop from three little words? It wasn’t like he’d never heard them before. Yelled from rabid fans, told laughingly by Harvey, even murmured occasionally when Tim thought he wouldn’t hear. But somehow, hearing Clark, of all people, say those words against his lips was making his head spin and his chest constrict and god it was so hot in here-

“Batman!”

Wonder Woman grabbed his shoulder, stopping him dead in his tracks and his panic. They were far enough from the conference room that no one would hear them - no one except Clark, if he was listening. Which he probably was. He was too good hearted not to worry about Bruce acting so out of the ordinary.

I love you.

“What is going on with you? Are you still messing with Kal?”

That was not what he’d expected her to say. “What are you talking about?”

She crossed her arms, leveling a cold stare directly at his eyes through the mask. “Do you seriously think I didn’t notice that stunt you pulled at the gala? And then I heard you took him out to breakfast-“

“No I didn’t,” Bruce protested, genuinely confused.

“It was in the papers, you two were spotted on a double date in Gotham not long after he interviewed you for a highly anticipated piece in that newspaper he works for.”

Bruce didn’t have the brain capacity right now to even wonder how she knew so much about Clark’s civilian life. “That’s not what happened, we were both there with friends and ran into each other by accident-“

“And now you’ve been staring at him all through the meeting, not listening to a word Arthur says, and don’t think I haven’t noticed you always call him for backup out of everyone. It’s not fair to keep messing with him like this. I know that you know a lot of our secret identities, but that doesn’t give you the right to play with people like toys.”

“Diana, he knows, okay? Yeah, at first I was an asshole but we figured it out. Can you give me a moment to breathe and get my head on straight please?”

Diana looked completely dumbfounded at that. “He knows.”

“Yes. We were talking when the call came earlier. We left from the Batcave together.”

She dropped her arms. “Oh.” Then her brow furrowed in concern. “Are you… actually sick?”

Bruce gripped his head in both hands, hoping the squeezing would relieve some of the pressure in his skull. “I don’t know. I feel… strange. I can’t focus.” He wasn’t sure why he was even telling her this. It wasn’t as if he was normally very forthcoming.

Diana seemed to think it was odd too. She placed a hand gently on his shoulder. “Is there anything I can do?”

Bruce gritted his teeth and stood straighter. He was being ridiculous. “No. I just… I need some air and a minute to get my head in place. I’ll rejoin you in the conference room momentarily.” He stepped back from her, ignoring the confusion on her face, and made for the locker rooms.

Allowing the door to slam behind him, Bruce braced himself on the sink with one hand and tore his cowl off with the other. That helped a bit, but he still felt confined. Boxed in.

I love you.

He turned the faucet as cold as it would go and splashed the frigid water over his face, raking his fingers back through his hair. What was wrong with him? Where did this come from? Was he seriously having a fucking panic attack over this?

The door opened behind him, and Bruce gripped the sink tighter. “Seriously Diana, I’m fine-“

“You don’t seem fine.” Clark’s head appeared in the mirror, reflected over his shoulder.

Bruce’s chest squeezed. This was only going to make it worse.

“Well, I am. You can go back in there, I’ll follow you shortly.”

“I thought we agreed you’d be yourself with me. Not this curt, dismissive version of Batman.”

Bruce bit back a sharp response. He knew he shouldn’t be lashing out at Clark. He wasn’t even actually angry. But the sensation of his skin buzzing was making him want to be angry, to snap at someone, just for some kind of outlet.

“Hey,” Clark said, moving closer and rubbing one hand over Bruce’s back in a soothing motion. “What’s wrong?”

I love you.

Bruce twisted sharply away, moving backwards to put space between them. His hair was dripping cold water onto his neck, but it didn’t help the overheated feeling in his skin. “I can’t do this.”

Clark’s expression shifted. “Do what?”

“This,” Bruce said, gesturing helplessly between them. “I can’t… be two people-“

“You’ve always been two people, ever since you became the Batman.”

“I know that,” Bruce snapped, trying to step backward as Clark got closer again and finding his back against a wall. “This is different. How am I supposed to focus on our job when you’re here?”

“Did I do something wrong?” Clark’s face looked so hurt, so worried, it made his chest ache.

“No-“

“Because I thought… I thought things were going well earlier. Did I make you uncomfortable somehow? Cross a boundary I didn’t know about?”

“No! It’s not - I mean it isn’t like that-“

Clark was too close. He took Bruce’s hand. “Then what is it like? Just tell me what you need from me and I’ll do it.”

Bruce couldn’t take it, all his thoughts were nothing but an incoherent jumble of wordless emotions. He grabbed Clark sharply by the front of his suit and pulled until their mouths came together and he could lose himself in the sensation of Clark’s kisses again.

But Clark broke away too soon. “You’re giving me some very mixed messages here,” he said softly, brushing a still dripping strand of hair behind Bruce's ear.

The panic was receding some. But Bruce’s head was still a mess, and so instead of explaining or lying or anything that made sense, he blurted, “You love me?”

Clark’s expression morphed into surprise and something like guilt. “I made you uncomfortable, didn’t I.” He looked away. “I’m sorry. It was… you know, the heat of the moment and it sort of slipped out-“

“You didn’t mean it?” The idea sent a surprisingly painful stab of hurt through Bruce’s stomach. He didn’t want Clark to take it back, he realized. Maybe he hadn’t been ready to hear it, but knowing it hadn’t been real suddenly seemed much worse.

“I…” Clark seemed completely at a loss for words. “Have you really been panicking this whole time because of me?”

Bruce didn’t want to answer that. Frankly, it was just embarrassing. He had completely overreacted, and now here he was making Clark feel guilty for caring. “I’m terrible at words,” he admitted finally.

“Bruce Wayne, terrible at words?” Clark finally met his eyes again. “I think you’re a liar.”

He didn’t care what Clark thought he was. “I don’t want you to take it back. I want you to kiss me again.”

Clark hesitated. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem-“

“Please, Clark. I want to think about something else for a while.

Clark swallowed. Then he set his jaw and in one smooth motion, picked Bruce up so that his legs were around Clark’s waist. He pressed them into the wall, mouth finding a very sensitive spot just to the side of Bruce's clavicle.

Bruce moaned almost immediately, the intense amount of contact between their bodies sending tingles all up his spine. He tangled his fingers into Clark's hair, holding him in place, and Clark obediently continued to kiss him and tease his skin with sharp teeth. When Bruce gasped, Clark twisted his hips just slightly, the friction instantly making him hard. It was almost painful in his tight suit.

“Clark.”

Chapter 51: Hot and Cold, Part 1

Maybe this was how it would always be. Maybe Bruce would always struggle with his feelings. Maybe he would forever be hot and cold, assured one moment and anxious the next.

Clark decided he could deal with that. Sure, it would probably be nerve wracking. But if that was what it took to be with Bruce, to stay with the man in his arms, that would be worth it.

Bruce moaned again, grip tightening in Clark’s hair. Even through the dampening effect of the batsuit, Bruce’s heartbeat was pounding loudly in Clark’s ears. He’d been panicking a moment ago, then desperate in a way Clark hadn’t yet seen him.

Clark paused, pulling back enough to look at Bruce’s face. “What do you need from me?”

Bruce swallowed, chest heaving. “I need things that are not appropriate for the workplace.”

Right. They were in the locker room. On the Watchtower. Where literally any one of their fellow supers could walk in on them.

“Rain check then?” Sure, Clark was mostly doing this for Bruce. But it wasn’t as if he wasn’t also enjoying it. Something about holding Bruce, feelings his muscular frame, their capes falling around them was… incredibly hot.

…Was he into the suit?

A drop of water fell from Bruce’s dark hair and landed on the bat symbol clinging to his well defined chest. It was Clark’s turn to swallow.

Yeah. He was into the suit.

Bruce’s feet hit the tiled floor with a crisp tap as Clark lowered him against the wall. They were both breathing hard, and Bruce’s hands slid out of his hair and came to rest over the S on his chest.

“I’m… sorry.” Bruce wasn’t making eye contact.

“You don’t have to apologize for kissing me,” Clark responded. “I do enjoy it, you know.” The words weren’t very bold but they felt it, considering they’d only been doing this since earlier that night - had it only been hours since he’d been in Bruce’s bed? Clark felt his face heating despite his confident tone.

Bruce just shook his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He lifted his chin, shaking his damp bangs out of his eyes. “I don’t want you to take it back. What you said.”

Clark’s heart squeezed. Looking down into those gray eyes, he felt the words just as strongly as before. “I won’t take it back. But I’m sorry if it was… too much too soon.”

Bruce nodded, looking away. “I’ll hold you to that rain check, but right now we should get back in there before someone gets suspicious and comes looking.”

Clark reluctantly stepped back. “You’re right.”

Bruce moved around him, retrieving his cowl from the sink and sliding it back on. It was unsettling how much harder he immediately became to read.

The suit though…. Clark had never given much thought to any of their work outfits, but all of a sudden he understood the raving fans and how obsessed they seemed to be with body shots online. Bruce’s figure in the skin tight material was almost godly, the cape falling elegantly over his square shoulders. It wasn’t as if he’d never noticed that Batman was objectively good looking, but something about the emotional distance that had always been between them had somehow kept him from thinking about it.

He was thinking about it now.

“Wait,” Clark said, coming out of his thoughts as Bruce made for the door.

He paused with one hand on the handle, turning partially around. Clark watched his throat bob. And then Bruce was striding back toward him purposefully. He took two fistfuls of the material of Clark’s suit, pulling him in until their mouths crashed together again.

The suddenness made Clark’s stomach swoop, but the kiss was over before he could reach out.

“Kal…” Bruce said, voice rough. He cleared his throat. “I need you to pretend I don’t exist. I’m not going to get through this meeting otherwise.”

Clark was too stunned to say anything other than, “Okay.”

And that was what he did. They returned to the conference room, and Clark studiously refused to even glance at Batman’s side of the table.

At one point Green Lantern leaned over the arm of his chair and elbowed him. “You and the Bat have some kind of fight?”

Clark made the split second decision to roll with the assumption. It was certainly better than the others getting suspicious that they were hooking up in the locker room.

Clark cut his gaze away, making his voice low and irritated sounding. “Something like that.” The fewer specifics he gave, the less likely he was to accidentally get caught in a lie.

Green Lantern nodded knowingly. “He’s a stubborn bastard.”

Clark snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”

When the meeting was finally over, Clark took off for home without a backward glance. He was itching to check on Bruce, but it wouldn’t do to ignore him all morning and then leave with him afterward.

You can check on him later, he reminded himself. It wasn’t as if they went very long without talking these days.

Chapter 52: Hot and Cold, Part 2

Bruce took several calming breaths, hands resting on the leather of the steering module. The Batwing was in autopilot mode as they coasted above the clouds back toward Gotham, and he was itching to call Clark. Self control, he reminded himself. It wouldn't be much longer before the rest of the League had scattered enough that they wouldn't notice Superman changing course. He just needed to be patient.

Finally, when the radar was no longer picking up anything in range, Bruce opened the comlink and fired off a short message. Meet me at the Bat Cave. He thought for a moment and added - Please.

Clark was leaning casually against the wall in the landing bay when Bruce brought Batwing to a stop. He climbed out, silently thanking the universe that his nerves had relaxed on the flight back and his hands no longer shook. Seriously, he needed to get a grip.

"Did I ignore you sufficiently?"

Bruce strode up to him, pulling the cowl back but not off, so it hung around his neck like a hood. "You were very helpful."

The corner of Clark's lips tipped up, then fast as a cobra striking he had Bruce around the waist and was pulling him into a kiss. Bruce melted into him, letting his mind go blank. This was surely the ideal state of being; one of Clark's hands cupping his head and the other at his hip. Lips gentle but firm against his own. The warmth Clark always radiated sinking into his bones.

One of Clark's legs moved, wedging his thigh between Bruce's, the friction making him groan.

"Kal."

"Yes," Clark murmured against Bruce's lips.

"I need you to get me out of this suit."

Clark paused momentarily, a soft laugh huffing out of him. Then he was unstrapping the utility belt, fingers hooking into the gap between the top and bottom halves of Bruce's suit.

"Be careful," Bruce suddenly thought to say.

"Don't you have a spare?" Clark's voice was teasing at his ear.

"This is the spare," Bruce said, shivering slightly at the feel of Clark's fingertips brushing his stomach. "The other one has a giant hole in the bicep."

"Fine, I'll be careful. But do you want this off or not?" Clark tugged at the bottom hem, pulling the tight fabric up and revealing Bruce's abs. Then he stilled.

"What's wrong?"

Bruce was worried suddenly that this was too fast, too much. That Clark had realized he wanted to stop. But after a split second's hesitation Clark shook his head, curls bouncing.

"Nothing. It's just... I forget you..." He swallowed. "You're beautiful."

Clark's face was red in the cave's low lighting. He avoided Bruce's eyes, gaze darting down.

Bruce's stomach flipped violently. He'd been complimented a lot of different ways. He knew he was good-looking, objectively. But he didn't think anyone had ever called him beautiful before.

He leaned down and in, capturing Clark's mouth again. He pressed into Clark, showing as much desperation as he could. Trying to express this great, unknowable feeling expanding inside his chest. One little word pricked at the back of his consciousness but Bruce ignored it. It was too big, especially when he was already grappling with so much. He didn't know if he could ever give Clark that. But he could at least give him this - all of himself, completely devoted in this moment.

Clark's hands smoothed down over Bruce's abdomen, questing lower and making him shiver. He broke the kiss, leaving Bruce panting.

"I don't, um, know what to do exactly," Clark said apologetically.

Bruce took his wrist, guiding his hand lower until Clark's fingers curled firmly around his cock, and groaned. "I'm going to enjoy anything you do," he managed.

"I'm glad. But... I would appreciate some guidance." Clark sounded almost sheepish. "I mean, I do want to get better at this."

Bruce took a deep breath. Considered. This could be fun.

"Get on your knees," he commanded, forcing the breathiness out of his voice.

Clark's eyes instantly darkened, heating in a way that made Bruce's stomach swoop. Did he like taking orders? Bruce never would've guessed that Superman of all people...

Clark lowered to his knees obediently, hand still wrapped around Bruce's cock, making direct eye contact. "What now?"

Bruce swallowed. "Stroke me."

And Clark did. Slowly at first, speeding up only when Bruce told him to, holding Bruce's gaze steadily. It was unbearably sexy. He was getting too close.

"Stop," he said suddenly, and Clark complied immediately. "I want to fuck your mouth. Come here."

Clark moved in closer, opening his mouth and taking Bruce in without any hesitation. Bruce groaned, letting his head fall back and pressing his palms into the wall at his back. Clark felt incredible. So god damned good.

He reached out and grabbed a fistful of Clark's gorgeous curls, yanking them back until Clark released him. Normally Bruce would've been more careful. But none of his previous partners had been Superman. He couldn't hurt Clark if he tried. And he didn't want to finish yet.

Clark moaned, eyes fluttering shut. With his head tilted back like this, his throat exposed, he looked ethereal. The Man of Steel, a god among men.

Bruce tugged on Clark's hair again, pleased when he got another moan in response. "Show me your tongue."

Clark opened his eyes, gaze so hot it seemed to sizzle over Bruce's skin. He opened his mouth wide again. Stuck out his tongue. Kept his eyes on Bruce's face. Fuck he was hot.

Clark didn't resist as Bruce guided him forward with the hand still in his hair. He took himself in his free hand, pressing the head of his cock down against Clark's tongue. The image of this moment, Bruce knew, would be seared into his brain for the rest of eternity. The Superman, kneeling before him, taking his cock exactly how Bruce told him to. Yes, Bruce would always remember this.

Knowing it wouldn't take much to finish him off, Bruce pushed Clark's head forward, seating himself fully inside the delicious heat of Clark's mouth. "Do you want to learn how to swallow like a good boy?"

Clark's eyes flashed. He nodded, lips still closed around Bruce's length.

But Bruce pulled back sharply until Clark released him with a pop. "Use your words," he growled.

"Yes, Batman."

"Good, because I'm going to show you." Bruce began thrusting into Clark's mouth, relishing in the feeling of sliding against his tongue. It was only a matter of several strokes before he was coming violently. Clark took it all, keeping his lips closed tight and even working his tongue in a slow circle around Bruce's now oversensitive cock.

"Get up here and kiss me," Bruce demanded before he'd even gotten his bearings back. The whole world was spinning around him, but then there was Clark, pressing him into the wall with his whole body and kissing him passionately, strong arms holding him in place.

Chapter 53: The Work Is Never Done, Part 1

Notes:

I apologize guys, this chapter is going to be a little rushed/unrefined. I’ve been stuck on it for what feels like fucking EVER and I just want to get it over with so I can keep writing past it, yk? Anyways. Will continue posting afterwards as normal. I hope you’re all staying healthy (sadly I am not. Rip.)

Clark alighted atop a skyscraper, examining the destruction - courtesy of his latest defeated villain - below him. It wasn't that bad all things considered. A couple of office buildings had gotten trashed, but they'd been sitting empty since a huge chunk of the workforce went remote. He suspected the CEOs might be grateful they could at least collect on the insurance money. His main concern was the Daily Planet, which was currently being evacuated by Wonder Woman and Superboy. Clark tried not to be too involved with rescues there in case anyone recognized him, but he also knew he couldn't stay away entirely. He squared his shoulders, put on the coolest expression he could manage, and flew towards his workplace.

Connor was herding a long line of people towards the triage space the Metropolis first response team had set up. Clark did a quick scan and was relieved not to find anyone who was seriously injured. Hopefully a few concussions would be the worst of it.

He swiveled his head, listening for Lois. She wasn't in the triage space, but surely that couldn't mean - ah, there. Wonder Woman drifted gently to the ground beside Connor, lowering Lois onto the street between them. And Lois was... Clark looked closer, a grin spreading across his face. She appeared absolutely starstruck, gazing up into Diana's face with a sort of stunned wonderment. She was practically drooling.

Diana looked up and saw him hovering. She patted Lois's arm with a smile, told her to try to stay out of danger, and flew up to join Clark in the air.

"I have something to discuss with you."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "That sounds ominous."

Diana crossed her arms. "What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Bruce?"

"I- what do you mean?"

"I feel like I was very clear," Diana said, unimpressed. "If he's still fooling around with you, or if this is going to compromise your ability to work together-"

"It won't," Clark blurted. "Look, I..." He swallowed. Diana was one of his most loyal friends, even if they weren't extremely close. He could talk to her. "I care about him. And he cares about me. And we're doing it right this time, with no pretext or secrets between us."

Diana eyed him suspiciously. "Batman will always have secrets."

"You know what I mean. I know you weren't happy with Bruce for the way he... you know. Before. But it's not like that anymore."

Clark waited, and slowly Diana's face softened. "I am choosing to believe you. But don't think I didn't notice how he hurt you before. If it happens again, he will come to severely regret every decision that lead him to that outcome."

Clark blinked at her for a moment, stunned. "Uh, thanks?"

After they finished helping clean the rubble out of the streets, Diana left to take a shift on the watchtower. Superboy cut Clark a sideways look as they flew towards home.

“So things with Wayne are going well?”

Clark cleared his throat. “Yes. How are things with Dick?” He added after a moment.

Connor looked away, embarrassed. “Good.”

“So we’re both good.”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause. Then: “I’m glad we can have these nice long in-depth chats,” Clark said, and Connor snorted.

“Look, I won’t nose in your business and I don’t need you nosing in mine. I just don’t want you to get your heart broken or anything.” They alighted in the back yard, hurrying inside before anyone saw them.

“Touché.”

Before Clark could finish stripping off his suit, his phone rang from his bedroom. When he answered it, Lois immediately began babbling about the attack downtown.

He mhmd and wowd at all the right places, letting her talk as he changed into casual clothes.

“And…” Lois said, her stream of words finally slowing. “And Wonder Woman was there.” Her voice had taken on a quality of wonderment that made Clark smirk.

“I didn’t realize you had a celebrity crush,” he teased.

“She’s not a celebrity,” Lois retorted. “And you can’t tell me she isn’t gorgeous.”

“You’d know better than me.”

“Oh shut up, you have eyes.”

“Yeah yeah, alright,” Clark said placatingly. “But seriously, you’re okay? Not broken bones or anything.”

“Oh I’m fine. I mean, a little shaken up that it sounded like the whole building was going to come down on our heads at one point. Physically I’m completely fine.” She sighed. “You always miss the exciting stuff. I can’t tell if you have the best or worst luck as a journalist ever.”

Clark forced a laugh and hoped it didn’t sound as uncomfortable as it felt.

Chapter 54: The Work Is Never Done, Part 2

Bruce felt as if his ribs were constricting, crushing his lungs inward. Slowly but steadily cutting him off from his air supply. He was at half-capacity and losing ground, and if he couldn't fix it soon he would simply suffocate in the claws of his own bones. And the solution? Extremely simple, and yet it had somehow proven unreachable regardless.

It had been days - almost a whole week - since he'd seen or even spoken to Clark, and it was killing him.

Distantly Bruce was aware that this was, in fact, dramatic. But it was also true. He hadn't realized just how much being around Clark had been sustaining him until suddenly their lives had resumed their usual pace and kept them apart. For days.

Clark was currently juggling a resurgence of random small-time attacks all over Metropolis. This happened from time to time, and it had never affected Bruce before. But now it meant that every time Bruce had a single moment to breathe he still couldn't talk to Clark because Superman was on duty. And Bruce had been extremely busy himself. Dick had gotten injured on patrol which meant Alfred was enforcing bedrest with a ferocity he usually reserved for Bruce, so Bruce had taken over his shifts. On top of a spate of explosive Joker "pranks" around Arkham, several urgent meetings he'd had to attend for Wayne Enterprises, and a higher workload at the Watchtower because Aquaman and Green Arrow were indisposed, this meant that Bruce had had barely a moment to sleep in the last week.

He had arrived home that morning from a very late-running patrol and fallen into bed for a couple of hours, only to be awoken by a harried Alfred who reminded him he still had an appointment with the modeling agency he was currently collaborating with. He was meant to have arrived for his first fitting twenty minutes earlier.

The weight of all this felt as if it were crushing Bruce as slowly and surely as a hydraulic press. As the designer and director circled him, examining the fit as the seamstress adjusted his outfit here and there, Bruce found it almost unbearable to keep his shoulders relaxed and his smile on. All he wanted to do was call Clark and ask to see him, or better yet just show up at his house. Clark could whisk him away to the ice fortress and they would maybe, at last, have a moment to breathe and just be together.

Bruce wasn't even sure that they were together, now he thought of it. Sure, yes, they had gotten much closer recently. But they'd had no chance to discuss what that meant. And what if, in the time apart, Clark had remembered his desire to be only friends? What if it had all been too much for him, and now he would pull away? Bruce wasn't sure he'd be able to survive such a thing.

I love you.

Yes, Clark had said those words. And he hadn't taken them back either. But still... they had been said in the heat of the moment, and he hadn't repeated himself. Maybe he regretted it? Perhaps Bruce would call him and Clark would use that unbearably gentle, apologetic voice he reserved for relaying bad news. He would say he was sorry, that it wasn't about Bruce, but he just wasn't ready for a relationship like this.

And how could Bruce even blame him? He was a lot. He knew that. It was a big ticket item on a long list of reasons he'd never had a serious long-term relationship before. And Bruce had hurt Clark not all that long ago, pretty badly. How could he begrudge Clark the desire to protect himself from the mess Bruce knew he was?

"Mr. Wayne?"

The designer's voice broke into his spiraling thoughts with a tone that suggested he'd been trying to do so for a while. Bruce pulled himself together with a great amount of effort and smiled, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. The better this fitting went, the faster it would be over, and the faster he could get home and figure out what the hell he was going to do.

Chapter 55: School Shopping, Part 1

Notes:

The last chapter was a little short, so this is my apology 🫶🏻
Forgive me?

Lois, Connor, and Clark strolled side by side up the Gotham street, stopping once for Connor to take a selfie with some fresh graffiti left by either Harley Quinn or a copycat. When they turned into the shop, a bell tinkled cheerfully and Clark's senses were assaulted with the scent of some unidentifiable flower. The front desk was unmanned, so they sat in the chairs by the door to wait.

Before the receptionist had returned, there was another joyful jingle and Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Wally West stepped into the shop. The boys all mingled together as Bruce navigated around them and came to sit beside Clark. He seemed to be positively brimming with frenetic energy, but he was hiding it well, so Clark resolved to wait and ask him when they were surrounded by fewer teenagers.

"Hey," Lois said, sticking out her hand to shake. "It's been a while."

Bruce nodded, taking her hand. "It has. How did your interview with Harvey go?"

"Oh, it was good. He's fun to talk to."

"Don't I get a hello?" Clark asked teasingly, feeling the exact moment Bruce turned towards him like a physical jolt.

Bruce gave him a tentative smile. "Hello."

Lois snorted. "You two are so awkward."

"Hey," Clark protested, but she shushed him as the receptionist finally appeared.

The young woman now standing behind the counter blinked bemusedly at the entry space full of teenage boys, and Bruce shot to his feet. "It's under Wayne," he said, striding up to the desk.

"Right, okay. Let me just look you up in the system." The woman turned her attention to her computer. After a moment she looked back up at Bruce. "Yes, here you are. I must admit we thought this reservation was a prank. Four all at once? And for Mr. Wayne?"

"Understandable," Bruce replied, smiling. "But here we are."

The receptionist turned towards the boys and gestured widely at the store with a sweep of her arm. "Why don't you all start looking around, we'll be with you in a moment." When the boys had gone, she turned back toward Bruce as Clark and Lois came to stand beside him. She lowered her voice. "I'm not sure exactly how to ask this without being insensitive but... can you explain what I'm working with here? I admit I've only had girls in my shop before - not that they aren't, but-"

Realization hit and Clark butted in. "They're all boys. They just have a school dance coming up and decided to go in dresses."

"He/Him for everyone," Bruce said.

"Except me," added Lois.

"Right," Clark confirmed. "Except her."

The receptionist nodded, smiling a bit easier. "Understood. Shall we join them?"

Clark, Lois, and Bruce followed as she escorted them deeper into the store. They found Tim taking pictures of Wally as he posed with a display veil. Both boys were giggling, and their smiles warmed Clark's chest. It was good to see them having so much fun. Beyond them, Dick was perusing a long rack of hot pink cocktail dresses, and Connor was examining the effect of a very sparkly tiara against his piercings in the floor length mirror.

"Well," the receptionist said, clapping her hands together once for attention. "My name is Carly, and I'm going to be helping you all today. Do you have an idea of what you want, or are we starting from scratch?"

The boys all looked around at each other for a minute. Finally Connor spoke up. "I want something black."

"I want lots of sparkles," Wally added.

"I think I'll know it when I see it," Dick said.

Tim looked around at the rest, unsure. "Uh, maybe I can just try some stuff on and see."

"Excellent," Carly said with a smile. She offered to show Connor where they kept most of the black dresses, and Clark split from the group to follow.

"Black, huh?" he asked once Carly had returned to the others and it was just the two of them.

Connor shrugged. "I like black. It's comfortable." He browsed through the racks, pulling out a skirt here or there to examine it more closely.

Lois appeared around the corner and came to join them. "Do you know the silhouette you're going for?" Connor shook his head, and Lois hummed thoughtfully. "I think a sweetheart neckline would look wonderful on you, to start with."

"I don't know what that is," Connor admitted. Clark was glad he'd said it, because he had no idea either.

"Here, I'll find one." Lois prowled the racks, finally reappearing with a dress which she turned outward to show them. "You see how the top looks like the top of a heart? That's what a sweetheart neckline means."

Connor looked at it for a moment. Then he nodded. "I'll try it on."

Lois picked up the dress again, and together they headed back toward the changing room area. Carly met them there with her cheerful smile.

"Ah, you've picked one out! Are you going to be comfortable with me helping you into it?"

Connor looked between her and Clark. He blushed slightly. "Is... is it okay if Lois helps me instead?"

"Of course," Carly and Lois said together.

Clark settled into one of the plush white chairs situated around the room to wait as Lois and Connor and the dress vanished into one of the changing rooms. Before they had emerged, Wally reappeared with a massive armful of shimmering gowns and plopped them into a chair. He accepted Carly's help with the one on top of the pile, and they too disappeared. Next, Bruce and Tim returned from the depths of the shop with a dress apiece. They placed them on a chair beside Wally's pile, then Tim said he was going to help Dick and left again.

Bruce sat down gingerly next to Clark, who raised an eyebrow. "You're not injured again, are you?"

"I'm fine. Just stressed, as usual." But he wasn't meeting Clark's eyes.

"Are you sure? Because you look like you're waiting for something to explode."

Bruce winced. "I-"

"What do you think?" Lois asked as she and Connor spilled out of the dressing room.

Connor was wearing a full ball gown that shimmered with tiny crystals. He looked like he wasn't sure whether he was uncomfortable or not, and seemed to be waiting for Clark to tell him how to feel.

Clark smiled. "It suits you."

Lois pushed at Connor's shoulders. "Go on, check it out. Take a nice long look in the mirror and see what you think." Then she turned to face Dick, who had appeared at her elbow and was asking for her help getting into his dress.

Clark watched as Connor stopped in front of the mirror. He stood very still for what seemed like a long time, and Clark exchanged a glance with Bruce before standing and coming up next to his brother.

"How are you feeling?" he asked gently.

Connor swallowed. "I, um...." He trailed off, staring at himself in the mirror.

Clark placed a hand on his shoulder. "If you don't like it, you don't have to-"

"That's not it." Connor shook his head.

Clark waited.

Connor swallowed. "I... I feel... pretty," he admitted finally, dropping his eyes to the floor as his face reddened.

"You do look very pretty," Clark confirmed. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"I think it's a good thing," Connor all but whispered.

Clark smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing gently. "Well, is there anything about this dress that you would change? Or is it perfect?"

Connor slowly raised his eyes to his reflection again. "I think... I think Lois was right about the neckline. But the skirt is... too big? Maybe something less poofy?"

"We can look for that." Clark turned to look for Lois, but she was still helping Dick, and Carly was still busy with Wally.

Bruce saw him looking and stood. "I can help you out of that, Connor." He glanced at Clark. "No offense, but you'd probably tear the buttons off."

They all knew he was right, so Connor followed Bruce into another changing room. Apparently getting out of prom dresses was much easier than getting into them, because they came out again before the others, and Connor went off in search of a less poofy skirt.

With the room relatively to themselves, Clark took the opportunity to prod further. He took Bruce's hand. "What's wrong?"

Bruce bit his lip, looking down at their clasped hands. "I missed you," he said softly.

Clark blinked. Surely that couldn't be what was bothering him so much? "I've missed you, too." He hesitated, but they were alone for the moment, so Clark leaned in and pressed a quick kiss against Bruce's mouth. "I'm sorry I've been so busy."

Bruce visibly relaxed. "I have been too, it's not your fault." Then he glanced around and, seeing no one, grabbed the back of Clark's head and pulled him in for another kiss.

They were just stepping apart when from behind them Connor said, "What the fuck-"

Clark spun around guiltily, but Connor wasn't looking at him. No, he was staring slack-jawed at Dick, who had just emerged from his dressing room wearing a floor-length silk gown of deep royal blue. It draped elegantly off his shoulders and had a slit ending at his hip that displayed one long leg. Connor looked like he'd been slapped across the face as Dick smiled at him.

"Told you I'd know it when I saw it," Dick said smugly.

"God damn, Grayson," seemed to be all Connor could say.

Chapter 56: School Shopping, Part 2

Bruce helped Wally into and out of a dozen dresses before he finally settled on a bright orange one with a skirt comprised of ruffles upon ruffles upon ruffles, and which lived up to his desired sparkliness. Leaving the boy to watch himself twirl in the floor-length mirror, Bruce went to find Tim.

Well, he told himself he was looking for Tim. Secretly he was hoping to be waylaid by Clark. The paranoid tension in Bruce’s chest had loosened, but now he was aching to be alone and show Clark how much he’d missed him.

Then again, they really hadn’t been apart for very long. What if he came across too clingy and pushed Clark away? What if his desperation was off-putting? He'd never had to worry much about maintaining relationships - by nature they worked best in the short-term. And now Bruce found himself quite suddenly overcome with anxiety about each individual action he might take in regards to Clark and the potential consequences of each choice. He didn't want to be too much for Clark, but he also didn't want to come across indifferent in the pursuit of looking secure. Where was the balance? Did Clark prefer his lovers more or less involved? Would he be happiest if they saw each other once a week or would that be far too little, resulting in the crumbling of their entire relationship? Could Bruce even say that they were in a relationship?

Bruce fell out of his spiraling thoughts with a light touch at his elbow and turned to find Tim, who was wearing a two piece dress with a halter style top and mermaid skirt.

"What do you think?" Tim asked, thumbing the bottom hem of his top.

"Very nice," Bruce confirmed. "Do you like it?"

Tim nodded. "I think so. I've never worn a shirt this short." It covered his ribs, but the majority of his stomach was visible between the top and bottom.

"Tim!" Wally appeared around a rack of emerald green gowns, an excited grin stretched across his face. He spun delightedly, the ruffles swirling around him. "Look!"

Tim laughed. "You look like a pom-pom ball." When Wally glared at him, he amended - "A very cute pom-pom ball."

Bruce's watch vibrated and he turned his back on the boys to check it.

Early Warning systems have detected patterns consistent with increased Injustice League activity, scrolled across the digital watch face. Bruce sighed and opened the notification to read the summary provided by his surveillance program.

"What's wrong?" Tim asked, noticing Bruce's distraction.

"Family business," Bruce replied, knowing Tim would understand. "Dick and I are going to have to catch up with the rest of you later."

Hours later, after retrieving Dick and leaving his payment information at the shop’s front desk, rushing to the batcave, and spending the rest of the day foiling Injustice League plans, Bruce finally arrived at the Watchtower. J’on had informed the League that there was an urgent matter they all needed to discuss, and Bruce was very curious about the lack of additional information - J’on was not usually so vague.

He strode into the conference room to find -

"Flash?"

"Hey Spooky," Flash beamed, extracting himself from Wonder Woman's hug.

A whoop from behind Bruce alerted him to Green Lantern's presence as he flung himself into Flash's arms. "You're back! You didn't tell me you were released!" Flash laughed, wrapping his arms tightly around Green Lantern's torso.

Superman, apparently having come in with Green Lantern, drifted down to land lightly beside Bruce. "Huh." He glanced sidelong at Bruce, then lowered his voice. "Are we not the only workplace fraternization going on?"

Bruce coughed to cover his startled snort. "Perhaps not."

Once everyone had arrived and settled themselves around the conference table, J'on began his debrief. Flash was now considered fully healed and able to use his powers again, and was going to look at the sample of Poison Ivy's toxin Bruce had collected to begin synthesizing an antidote. Bruce was assigned recon duty to try and ascertain where Ivy and Grodd were operating from. And everyone else was to be on standby, ready to take down their facility at a moment's notice.

"We must discover how they are producing the toxin," J'on said finally, "And we must ensure it cannot continue."

After they'd all been dismissed Bruce returned to Wayne Manor, despite wanting little else than to stick with Clark. This wasn't possible however, as Superman had been urgently requested to attend a grand opening of some sort.

"Channel eight," he'd told Bruce. "You can watch me hover and wave. That's all they ever want me to do at these things," he'd added, chuckling at himself.

Now Bruce was home, and he was indeed turning the tv in his room to channel eight. The boys were out on a mission with their team, so he had the house to himself. The perfect conditions to have his - well, not boyfriend over. He sighed.

On the tv, the mayor of Metropolis was speaking. Sure enough, Superman hovered just behind him and to the side, gazing benignly down upon the crowd like a very colorful guardian angel. He looked so majestic like that, with the wind scattering his curls and fanning his cape out dramatically. Bruce’s chest ached looking at him. He wanted to tell Clark how good he looked, but he wouldn’t have his phone…

Then again, Clark didn’t need a phone to hear him.

Bruce cleared his throat, feeling a bit self conscious. “Clark?” He waited, but couldn’t tell if he’d been heard. He tried again.

“Kal-El?”

There was a couple of seconds delay on the tv, but then he saw Superman cock his head just the slightest bit to the side. He could’ve been picking up something else, but…

“You look incredible,” Bruce murmured. He knew if Clark could hear him his volume wouldn’t matter, and he didn’t want Alfred to overhear if he happened to walk past.

On the tv, Superman was beginning to flush. Bruce felt a grin spread across his face. He was listening. Suddenly Bruce felt very impulsive.

“You have no idea what that suit is doing to me,” he told the tv. “The things I want to do to you.”

Superman was definitely blushing. And - it was hard to tell as the camera was not focused on him, but - Bruce thought he might also be growing hard. He felt his own cock stiffen in response and swallowed.

He imagine what Clark might say if he could answer. What would you do if you could?

“If you were here,” he began, but then hesitated, feeling unaccountably nervous. On the tv Superman gave a barely perceptible jerk of his chin, almost as if he were urging Bruce to continue.

Bruce took a steadying breath and tried again. “If you were here I’d be slow getting that suit off you. I’d pay your body the attention it deserves.”

Superman raised his fist to cover a cough, and Bruce felt the sensation of all his blood rushing to his head. He palmed his erection over his pants without meaning to.

“I’d make sure to put my mouth on every inch of your perfect skin,” he breathed into the still air of his room. “I’d make you feel how much I-“ he stumbled over his words, tripping on the shape of what he’d been about to say. “I’d make you feel how much I want you.”

Bruce was stroking himself now, and it occurred to him to tell Clark so.

“You make me so hard I can’t help but touch myself. Of course I’d much rather it were your hands in my pants.” His eyes traced over Superman’s delicious figure, lingering on the slopes of his thighs and the breadth of his shoulders.

“Do you want to fuck me, Superman? I’d let you.”

There was the delay, but then Superman dropped few inches in the sky. He was definitely distracted.

Almost without thinking, Bruce prepared his free hand with the lube from his bedside table. He reached past his aching cock, slipped one finger inside himself, and groaned, knowing Clark could hear.

“I’m so ready for you. ‘Whatever you want’, that’s what you said to me once. I can return the favor. I’d let you do whatever you want to me. I’d do whatever you wanted me to if you asked.”

Bruce gave himself another finger, watching Superman shift uncomfortably on the television. Every single muscle looked wound tight.

“You’re so hot. Have I ever told you that? Looking at you feels like looking into the sun. I look away and everything else is dim and lifeless in comparison. I could stare at you all day and be happy even if it blinded me.”

Bruce stroked himself faster as on the tv, Superman leaned down to speak to the mayor. And then he was flying away, the camera turning to follow as he shrank in the distance.

“Emergency?” Bruce asked, not having any way now to tell if Clark was still listening but assuming that he was. “Those are always keeping us apart, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” said a voice, and Bruce whipped his head around to find Superman standing just inside his balcony doors.

Notes:

So I have to apologize for a continuity error that I’m not even sure anyone but me would notice, but just in case-

When I started this fic the Green Lantern I was including was John Stewart because he’s my favorite Green Lantern. And then without me realizing it, somewhere along the way he morphed into Hal Jordan? Idk, I just like Barry and Hal as a ship. Two annoying dumbasses being obsessed with each other? Yes please. And John doesn’t really fit that dynamic so I guess my brain ejected him.

Anyways, I’m sorry if you could somehow tell I swapped GLs half way through the fic. Just… ignore that. Thanks. 🩷

(P.S. I know most of my readers are probably fine with this, but just in case anyone would ask: yes I will make every single character gay. They wear spandex/lingerie and sweat while doing feats of physical prowess together all day long. They're gay.)

Chapter 57: Just Following Orders, Part 1

Clark had never been so hard in his entire life. Not in the ridiculously-horny-at-all-times phase of his early teen years. Not when his original crush on Batman had made it hard to work with him in the field. Not even when trying to resist memories of Bruce’s cock in his mouth at work. Something about having Bruce’s voice in his ear from all the way across their two cities was sending every ounce of non-essential blood away from its normal functions and straight to his groin.

Clark had so far been completely content with the sexual encounters the two of them had had. He’d gone back over those moments in his head when handling himself in the privacy of his room, no longer needing porn to get himself off. But he hadn’t imagined anything new. And yet, with these ideas Bruce was planting directly into his brain, Clark found himself suddenly consumed with wondering why, exactly, neither of them had fucked the other yet.

Do you want to fuck me, Superman?

Did he want that? Yes, yes of course he did. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t considered it yet. He knew with immediate certainty he definitely did want that.

Looking down at Bruce on the bed, apparently ready for him, Clark was practically salivating. There was a rushing sound in his skull, over which he could hear Bruce’s heart racing madly. Like his own was doing.

“Are you going to make me come to you?” Bruce asked, and it jolted Clark into action. He dropped to the floor, striding forward with what felt like more confidence than he had. He didn’t bother with finesse but fell upon Bruce, their mouths coming together hungrily. His cock ached against the too-tight material of his suit.

Almost as if reading his mind, Bruce took a fistful of his cape and broke the kiss. “Let me get this off you.” Not a question or even an offer, but a command.

His tone reminded Clark of Batman barking orders on missions, of Bruce pulling his hair in the batcave. Something about Bruce telling him what to do was unbearably sexy.

Bruce was as good as his word, working the suit off him so slowly Clark felt he would go stir crazy with desire before it was over. Lips and tongue traced each rise and dip of his every muscle, even better than the first time he’d experienced it. The stroke of Bruce’s tongue at the inside of his hip tickled, making Clark grab his shoulder, and in response Bruce bit him there. It didn’t hurt and Clark knew it wouldn’t leave a mark. But the pricks of his sharp teeth contrasted so deliciously with the wet drag of his tongue that Clark couldn’t resist arching his back into the feeling.

Bruce chuckled darkly, pulling the suit lower down Clark’s legs. Then he murmured a quiet good boy into the kiss he pressed against Clark’s thigh.

Finally, finally it was off. Somehow Bruce had worked his own clothing off in the process, and they were naked together in Bruce’s bed for the first time.

Bruce rolled onto his back, guiding Clark up and over him until their foreheads met and their cocks rubbed together with every tiny shift either of them made. Clark was panting with the force of his lust and how Bruce was teasing him, stomach so tight in knots he was surprised he could breathe at all.

Bruce guided a hand into his hair, pulling gently but firmly. “I asked you a question, earlier. You haven’t answered me.”

Clark’s mouth and throat were so, so very dry. “Yes. Yes, I want to.”

“To what, Kal? Use your words for me.”

“I want to fuck you,” Clark breathed, unable to resist following orders when he was already so wound up. He was dimly surprised to hear the whine in his own voice. And yet, he couldn’t care. Not when he was so close to getting what he wanted.

“Good,” Bruce said, voice low and sultry and almost soothing. “Because I’m going to let you.”

Clark was trembling all over with desire as Bruce showed him how to use his fingers first, how to warm him up.

“I’ve already done this,” Bruce reminded him. “But I’m going to expect you to from now on, so you need to know.”

“Yes,” Clark agreed immediately, the word falling from his lips so easily. In his hazy state of mind all he wanted to do was whatever Bruce told him, to comply with everything he said.

And then at long, long, long last, Clark was sliding inside him, and the tightness was almost too much, almost painful. His cock was so over sensitive, so beyond ready, be wasn’t sure he could take it. He stopped, not fully inside, biting his lip against a whimper that escaped anyway.

“I need you to give me all of it,” Bruce told him, almost scolding. “You want to, don’t you?”

“It’s so much,” Clark managed, not caring at all how pathetic he sounded.

“I know baby, I know. But you do what I tell you to, don’t you? You want to be a good boy for me. You want to obey.”

He did, god he did. He knew he could say no. It would all be over. But Bruce was right, because Bruce knew him. Clark did want to obey.

He pushed inward until they were flush together, and Bruce let out a sharp breath. The hand in his hair moved down to stroke his cheekbone. “You’re doing so well,” Bruce told him. The praise warmed his chest, and Clark leaned into his hand.

“Good, good,” Bruce murmured. He wrapped his legs around Clark’s waist. “Now go ahead and fuck me. That’s what you wanted, right?”

Clark swallowed hard around the dryness of his throat, shut his eyes tight, and pulled out just a little. When he thrust back in, Bruce let out a hum of satisfaction. He needed to hear that sound again.

Clark gritted his teeth and gave him another thrust, stronger this time. He could do better. He knew how to work through pain. And this wasn’t even truly pain — it was far too decadent of a sensation for that.

Bruce groaned as Clark began to find his rhythm. He arched into where their bodies met until his chest brushed Clark’s.

“Kiss me,” he demanded, and Clark obeyed immediately, wrapping his arms around Bruce’s waist and trying desperately to maintain his thrusts. The tight warmth of Bruce’s body around his length was unlike anything he’d ever felt. Paired with Bruce’s mouth devouring his, Bruce’s legs holding onto him, it was unsurprising that his orgasm was building so very quickly.

“Bruce- I can’t-“

Bruce grabbed his jaw, forcing him to make eye contact. “Don’t you dare stop.”

“But I’m going to-“

“Then give it to me,” Bruce ordered him. And Clark couldn’t even conceive of doing anything else.

Bruce’s mouth claimed his again, swallowing his cry as he came. But he continued to thrust through the following sensitivity until he felt Bruce do the same. Only then did he allow himself to fall still on top of Bruce, cum slick between their skin as they panted together.

After a long moment, Bruce slid a hand up to cup the back of Clark’s head, holding him close. “Good boy,” he managed to get out around his ragged breaths.

Chapter 58: Just Following Orders, Part 2

Notes:

When I started this fic I was very much going with the flow, and had no idea how many chapters it would end up being. We are now far past anything I would’ve guessed, and I’m so thankful for everyone who’s stuck with me so far. I have the last ten chapters planned out, and we are therefore approaching the end. But I will not be leaving the Superbat ship, or even this iteration of the characters, behind just yet. I am already planning a bit of a spinoff fic where you’ll all get more of a look into the lives of the boys, Lois, and a few others.

Anyways, enjoy 🩶

Bruce lost himself in the flow of cleaning them both up for several moments, allowing his mind to remain pleasantly blank. He wiped a damp cloth across Clark's torso, allowing his thumb to caress the skin there as he watched Clark's face. He looked as serene and content as Bruce felt. Fulfilled and loose-muscled and drowsy in that way that, at least for Bruce, only followed sex. Once they were both relieved of their stickiness, Bruce climbed carefully back into bed and stretched out beside Clark.

"Thank you," Clark murmured sleepily.

"After what you just did for me, it's the least I could do."

"Mmm." Clark rolled onto his side, wrapping his arm over Bruce's waist and pulling until they were lying flush together. "Still."

Bruce was going to let it slide, but his critical mind broke through the fog just long enough to remind Bruce that Clark had virtually no sexual experience. He hadn't known how to give a blow job beyond the general idea of the thing. How much did he know about dom/sub dynamics? Likely very little, if anything at all. So Bruce asked. The answer was unsurprising.

"What's that?"

Bruce lifted one hand and ran his fingers through Clark's curls. "It's a kink dynamic, a part of BDSM. The idea is that one person is dominant and gives the orders, and the other is submissive and follows orders."

Clark opened one eye. "You're calling me submissive?"

Bruce laughed. "Well, I'm not wrong. The point is, there are rules around these things. Not rules for what we can and can't do, but rules for safety. And one of the rules is that the sub needs a safe word."

Clark's eyes were both open now, watching Bruce to show he was listening. "I assume you're going to explain that too."

"Yes. In BDSM, the safe word is the one word that is used to make it stop. For some people the safe word is 'stop', but some kinks include playing out a scene in which one person says things like 'no' and 'stop' even though they don't mean it. The safe word is there for complete clarity that everything needs to actually stop. For a sub, the safe word is what you say when you're not having fun anymore, or an order you've been given is too much for you or crosses a boundary. It's to make sure you have an out."

Clark furrowed his brows. "Do you really think I wouldn't be able to stop you if I had to?"

Bruce felt heat creeping up his neck but ignored it, shaking his head. "I know you could. But you shouldn't need to use physical force to stop having sex. You should be able to say so, and be done."

"So we need a safe word." Clark's thumb stroked the curve of Bruce's lower back, sending tingles cascading into his stomach.

"Yes," Bruce confirmed.

"Well, what should it be? Something we wouldn't normally say otherwise I'd guess. So it can't be mistaken?"

Bruce nodded, momentarily distracted by how Clark leaned into his hand. "How about kryptonite?"

Clark's thumb paused it's motion. "I... suppose that would work. I can't think of many situations that would make me say that in your bed."

"Good. I feel better knowing you understand the dynamic. You don't actually have to do what I tell you to."

Clark cradled Bruce's waist, nuzzling his face into Bruce's neck. "I know."

Bruce slid the hand in Clark's hair back until his arm was around Clark's neck, holding onto him. The warmth Clark always radiated was spreading through him. "There's one more thing."

"Yeah?"

"What we're doing right now? This is called aftercare. Its to help us come down from the high without a crash, because BDSM interactions can be pretty intense. There are different ways to do aftercare; sharing a snack, watching a movie, that sort of thing. I like to clean my partners up so they don't have to. And it seems like you like to cuddle."

Clark nodded into his collarbone. "Mhm."

"Good, so that's what we'll do."

Clark lifted his head. "Just cuddle? So I can't kiss you?" His eyes danced teasingly.

"I suppose I could allow that," Bruce responded haughtily.

Clark snorted. "Well, as long as you'll allow-"

Bruce cut him off, kissing him deeply, and Clark responded perfectly. He pushed Bruce onto his back, leaning over him almost possessively, kissing him back with such passion it took Bruce's breath away. "Kal," he groaned as his stomach flipped over and he felt his cock stiffening again.

Clark broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to Bruce's. "Why do you call me that?" he asked quietly.

Bruce opened his eyes, searched Clark's face. "Would you rather I didn't?"

"No," Clark said, planting another kiss on his lips. "It's just that no one else does. Even the League. It's always Kal-El, or Superman, or Clark. Never just Kal."

Bruce drew his hands down over Clark's chest to his abs, relishing the feel of him. "I don't know. It just... happened. I don't think I ever mean to say it. But it feels right." In fact, now that he thought about it, it felt like a part of Clark that no one else got to have. Something just for him.

Clark took Bruce's hand, dragging it lower until it was pressed between where they were both hard. "I think I like it," he murmured in Bruce's ear.

"Sure feels like you do," Bruce responded, earning a chuckle.

Clark pulled back, looking down at Bruce with a mischievous glint in his eye. "You wouldn't have any other orders to give me, would you?"

The memory of how Clark sounded when he was whining sent a flash of heat across Bruce's skin. Oh yes, he could come up with more orders to give. Besides, he reasoned, Clark needed opportunities to practice with his safe word. It was only right that they go for round two.

Bruce pushed all the softness out of his voice, reveling in the lust in Clark's eyes at the sound of it as he commanded, "Get down here and use that pretty mouth of yours to make me feel good."

Clark fell upon him immediately, kissing his neck and wedging his thigh between Bruce's so they could both get the friction they wanted. Superman was clearly a very quick study.