Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

*~*~*~*~*

Clark had just sat down at his table. A nicely cooked meal steamed on the plate in front of him and he took a moment to enjoy the aromas that wafted up. It had, in all honesty, been a supremely crappy week. He didn’t even want to think about it. Pushing everything from his mind, knife and fork poised over the plate, his phone buzzed.

He contemplated ignoring it, to the point where he made the first cut, but the insistent beeping was the tone he had set for his fellow Justice Leaguers. A deep sigh escaped his lips as he slowly, deliberately, put down his cutlery and stood from his seat. With a last deep inhale, he moved over to where his phone was vibrating against the surface of the coffee table.

After a settling breath and a controlled exhale, he didn’t want to ice up his apartment, he answered.

“This had better be good. I was finally sitting down to dinner.” His tone sounded put out, even to his own ears.

“Would you like me to call someone else, Kal-El?” Diana’s melodious tones answered.

“No, it’s fine,” Clark mumbled. He knew he shouldn’t take it out on Diana.

“There’s a situation in Gotham,” she began.

“Gotham! No, nope, no way, no-can-do!” He really did not want to face the Wrath of the Bat. “You know what ‘He’ says about any of us in Gotham, Di.”

He brought his hand up to rub the space between his eyes. Sure, Superman and Batman had worked together before but the man had been abundantly clear about staying away from ‘His’ city. The one time Clark had visited to be friendly, he’d been given a verbal whipping from the growling black clad vigilante. Just thinking about it made Clark’s chest ache. He rubbed at it absently and concentrated on the conversation.

“Clark,” Diana began patiently.

“Diana,” Clark interrupted. “He made it perfectly clear that I was not welcome. I told you all about it months ago and ‘He’ hasn’t bothered to contact any of us unless it’s to snap orders. He called me a SuperTwit!”

Diana laughed and Clark had to fight the urge to crush the phone in his hand, with the excuse of ‘technical difficulties’, but it was a new phone and he really liked this one.

“Are you not flattered that he thought of affectionate nicknames for you?” She asked.

Hah! Clark thought to himself, if only there were some truth to that. Affectionate was not in Batman’s nature and Bruce Wayne avoided Clark Kent the way he avoided all media, unless it was to do something spectacularly embarrassing or be caught in a compromising position. An image flashed in his mind of a recent expose that had Bruce in the arms of a dark haired man, the way the photographer had caught the expression of lust on the handsome face. Clark fought the blush that threatened to rise on his face.

“Big Blue Boob is not affectionate, Di,” he said tiredly.

He flopped onto his couch and imagined this is what a headache felt like to regular people.

“You think you are the only one he has pet names for, Kal?” Diana enquired, and Clark could hear her  amusement over the phone.

“Princess is not the same as Overgrown Smurf, and you know it,” he snapped back.

“He calls Barry a child though,” she responded crisply.

“That’s because Barry is a child, a big cinnamon roll of a child, but still not the same,” he gritted through his teeth. “Is this urgent or can I return to my meal before it gets cold?”

Diana quietened at that point and Clark heard her take a deep breath.

“What is it, Diana?” he asked.

“I spoke with Alfred earlier. He’s worried.” Diana sounded serious now.

“You… speak with Alfred?” Clark questioned cautiously.

“We meet up on occasions to share a cup of tea,” Diana replied.

Clark pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it with incredulousness.

“Seriously? You and Alfred?” He knew he sounded disbelieving but he couldn’t help it.

“Alfred is marvellous company, and I think he does it to annoy Bruce.” Clark could hear the smile in her voice.

“OK,” he said slowly. “So what exactly is he worried about? And is this important enough to interrupt my dinner?”

“If it wasn’t important, Kal, I would have waited until seeing you again to discuss this.” There was a chiding note this time.

“I’m listening,” Clark sighed.

Diana went on to outline a case Batman was working on that had the Caped Crusader working four days without rest. There was a threat to the city (wasn’t there always, he wondered) that seemed to be leading the Dark Knight around in circles.

“Tonight, there was a bomb threat and a clear invitation to a location,” she finished up.

“Then he should be pleased and not welcome my assistance,” Clark grumbled. “He’s more than capable of dealing with this.”

“It’s the Joker, Clark,” Diana almost whispered.

Clark tensed up immediately. Everyone knew that one was psychotic and far too clever. A knot formed in his gut at the thought of Bruce being vulnerable. A voice, that sounded suspiciously like Batman’s, growled at him in his mind about how Bruce could take care of himself.

“I see,” he rumbled. “And why do I need to know about this? He’s dealt with that lunatic before.”

“Alfred has lost his signal and he’s not responding to comms,” Diana said. “He’s been out of contact for six hours.”

“You know he won’t thank any of us for interfering,” Clark huffed.

“True,” she said sadly. “But if it’s serious enough for Alfred to risk talking to me about it, and contacting me tonight, then it might be dire enough to warrant his bluster later.”

Clark looked over at his cooling meal before responding.

“OK, Diana.” Clark was seriously debating whether he could delay long enough to eat before heading out to be abused by a grumpy Bat with his tights in a twist.

“Thank you, Kal,” Diana replied. The relief was palpable in her voice.

“Wait, why aren’t you going instead?” Clark asked, but Diana had already disconnected.

Clark’s shoulders hunched forward, his elbows on his knees, staring at his phone in his hand. Wrapping his food up and placing it in the fridge, was optimistic at best and he knew it, but he moved at regular human speed to tidy up before changing into his uniform.

Flying unhurriedly over the bay, it occurred to Clark that he didn’t exactly know where he was headed. He changed course slightly, out towards the ocean, before coming in by the cliffs under Wayne Manor. Clark knew he’d be chewed out even more if he went unprepared, so he headed to the Cave to speak with Alfred.

Clark had never visited the Cave before. He had discovered an exit on the cliff face, the one the BatWing emerged from, purely by accident. He hovered outside the well disguised hangar entry until the doors opened. Following a row of lights, he made his way to a huge open space. The BatWing was in it’s launch cradle and a level below him had Alfred, arms crossed, glaring up at him. So that’s where Bruce learnt it, he thought to himself.

“Miss Prince advised me that you were notified twenty seven minutes ago, Superman,” the deep voice stated. “Did you travel the scenic route?”

Clark blushed because he hadn’t rushed, it’s true. He’d never felt comfortable in the presence of presence of Bruce, or Batman, something about the man stirred his blood like no other. When they weren’t arguing, there was no contact at all between them. Batman didn’t do friends. Clark was always made to feel inadequate and tongue tied, and Batman took advantage of it mercilessly.

Alfred seemed to be made of the same stern stuff, although he was more curiously reminded of Jonathan Kent than Bruce. Clark only knew of Alfred’s existence because he could hear them on their private com. Batman hadn’t been happy to learn that piece of information early in their association.

Before Clark had a chance to respond to Alfred, the main screen of the biggest computer he had ever seen flared to life.

“Is this thing on?” A voice asked.

Alfred whirled around and rushed to the console. Clark floated down behind the Englishman at a sedate pace. Furious typing began as the image resolved from blackness to a face that was well known to both men.

“Joker,” Alfred hissed.

Clark was surprised by the amount of venom in the normally calm man’s voice.

“Check, one, two, two, one, two,” the voice continued before cackling madly.

“Is he a roadie for a band now?” Clark asked sarcastically.

Alfred turned to give Clark a narrow eyed stare.

“This is not the time for humour,” Alfred said flatly. “This man should not have access to this feed, nor be this close to the cowl without a fist in his face.”

“Are your little hero friends watching, Batsy?” the Joker asked while waving a vicious looking knife around carelessly.

The image jumped in jerky motions and the knife was pressed forward, beyond the immediate camera range.

“Tut tut tut, Batsy,” the joker giggled. “If you keep struggling, I will have to cut you some more. How do you intend to play our little game with so many holes in you?”

There was a grunt in the background and the knife was pulled back, glistening red in the dim light.

Alfred opened a secondary screen and began a trace program. The beep heard was clearly negative and Alfred ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair.

“The tracker has been disabled.” Alfred sounded worried to Clark’s ears.

“Can we indicate somehow that someone is listening, Alfred?” Clark asked.

Alfred stopped and thought for a moment.

“There may be a way,” Alfred said, before returning to the keyboard.

“Hello? Anyone home?” the Joker asked, leaning forward and tapping the bloody knife against the cowl.

“There’s a stealth mode in the cowl that dims the eyes, although Master Bruce usually controls that himself,” Alfred stated. “I should be able to bypass the manual control.”

“So, Joker will see the eyes flicker?” Clark asked.

“Indeed,” Alfred replied.

“This will not be nearly as much fun with just the two of us, Batsy,” the Joker continued. “Don’t you have any friends?”

The head shook to indicate no, the camera panning with the small movement.

The Joker’s knife lunged forward again, and this time the grunt of pain was clearly heard through the audio.

“Where are your Justice League pals, Batsy?” the Joker asked, tapping the knife against his lips and smearing blood against the red makeup.

The Joker paused to lick his lips and hummed, before he began to lick the knife.

“There,” Alfred cried out. The image flickered between a green filter and normal for an instant.

“Aha!” Joker exclaimed happily. “Can you do that again?”

Batman must have begun to shake his head once more, muffled noises that sounded like ‘no’ came through the speakers. Alfred pressed the keys and the filter flared again briefly. The struggles became more desperate. Joker’s knife flashed forward again and the movement stilled.

“Yes, Batsy, I know that you don’t want whoever is seeing this to join the party but there’s nothing you can do to stop me right now.” The Joker broke off into gleeful giggles and danced on the spot. “One for yes, two for no, ok?”

Alfred made the lenses dim once.

The Joker laughed so hard that he appeared to struggle for air for a moment, before he suddenly composed himself and stared straight out at them from the screen.

“Shall I stab Batman again?” Joker asked seriously.

Alfred gave the double flicker to indicate no.

“It works,” the Joker cried out gleefully. “So here’s the thing. I have my favourite Bat trapped here, leaking all this red stuff everywhere. He’s so messy. And I have six bombs set for Gotham in various, uh, interesting locations.”

Clark ground his teeth together and heard Alfred suck in a sharp breath.

“I will give you the location of the bombs and let the super buddies deal with them however they want. BUT,” the Joker paused, his black eyes gleaming manically. “For every bomb that is disarmed or in some way prevented from exploding in the location I have placed it, I will hurt the Bat very very badly.”

The Joker then reached out on the screen and did something that Alfred and Clark couldn’t see.

“You won’t get away with this, Joker,” Batman growled, breath coming in rasping gasps.

“Sir?” Alfred called through the comms but there was no reply. Whether it was because Batman couldn’t hear them or refused to respond was uncertain.

“Time is ticking boys and girls. What do you say Batsy, should your mysterious friend spend time tracking you, or going after the bombs?” The Joker sounded smug, like he already knew the answer.

“Disarm the bombs,” Batman grated out.

The Joker giggled and danced for a moment.

“Oh, we are going to have such fun,” the maniac exclaimed.

During the conversation, Clark had contacted the WatchTower. When Alfred noted Clark talking quietly into his com, a few more keys were tapped and Clark heard Cyborg note that he had access to the feed now.

“So there are six bombs,” Clark said. “Do we have enough people on standby to get to six locations while we track Batman?”

“I’ve already sent out the alert, Superman,” Victor replied calmly. “However, I cannot get a location from the feed.”

“If I cannot track the telemetry,” Alfred stated acerbically, “then you will have no luck either. Let’s not waste time with double handling and get on with it. I will send locations throughout Gotham for the members to standby. Cover the largest area until we can narrow down the locations.”

“Got it,” Cyborg answered over the coms. “I’ll get everyone into position and let you know. Can you speak on this frequency, Mister?”

Clark passed on the question to Alfred who raised his eyebrow.

A few more clicks of the keyboard had Alfred hooked into the com system and Superman had the unnerving experience of hearing Alfred speak next to him while a modulated voice came over the coms a fraction of a second later.

“You may call me Penny One” the Englishman said in a flat voice, without a trace of his usual accent.

Clark pondered for a moment that perhaps only Diana and himself knew anything about Bruce’s father figure. Bruce’s secrecy seemed never ending.

His attention was brought back to the screen when the Joker stopped dancing around and stared back through the monitor. Clark shuddered as he felt the gaze through the screen.

“Listen up Justice Losers,” the madman drawled. “As soon as I’ve decided on what part of Batman I’m going to cut off first, I’ll give you a location and a countdown.”

Clark shuddered. Batman was only human after all and any damage the Joker was likely to inflict could have long lasting consequences. Beyond the risk of death, disability would take Batman away from them just as easily. His heart rate increased beating inside his chest but Clark had to ignore it. He needed to focus on the feed, concentrate on any clues, sounds or what the telemetry showed on the screen in front of him.

Suddenly, the Joker reached forward, the only view of his horrendous smile. The muffled sound seemed to indicate that Batman was being choked. Then the Joker leaned forward to lick at one of the eyepieces of the cowl, the tongue was almost white as it lapped, smearing saliva to distort the view in one lense.

“Batsy, Batsy, Batsy,” the psychotic criminal crooned. “Shall I cut out your tongue?”

Joker leaned away from Clark and Alfred’s view, both could hear how Batman sucked in gasping lungfuls of air. The hand with the knife came into view, the tip pressed against the eyepiece of the cowl.

“Maybe I’ll poke your eyes out,” the painted fiend continued.

“You… don’t want… to do that,” Batman rasped.

Clark had his hands clenched as his feeling of helplessness rose. His attention didn’t divert from the monitor, his hearing trying to catch any background noise. Alfred had gone deathly still and only Clark’s enhanced senses were able to detect the tremor running through the Englishman.

“Why ever not, Batsy?” the Joker giggled. The knife was drawn away as the madman flipped it from hand to hand.

“The game,” Batman replied, with a little more strength behind his words.

“Hmmmmm, good point,” the Joker admitted, leaning back to tap the knife against his lips. “But the game has to have a winner and a loser. You’ve been a great player, the best even, but you won’t let anyone else in your sandbox.”

“What…?” Batman began to ask.

Clark heard the rattle and hum of machinery over the audio, and concentrated on trying to identify it.

“You won’t share,” the Joker shouted.

The clown leapt back, and began to pace agitatedly. The knife flashed in the light as his arms flailed with the obviously building anger.

“You won’t let the others into your city. You growl like a big dog at any who come along. What if I want a multiplayer game? But nooooooooooooo! You won’t let me play with them. You keep Gotham all to your greedy self.”

Spittle flew from the painted lips as the Joker got more and more worked up.

“I protect Gotham,” Batman interjected.

The Joker leapt forward again, plunging the knife into Batman somewhere below the camera’s view.

“You do, don’t you,” the Joker snarled. “Every single time I come out to play, there you are. What if I want to play with someone I can beat?”

“I won’t let you hurt them,” Batman hissed from between clenched teeth.

Clark was surprised at the words. Batman had never given any indication that he even liked members of the League. To hear the vigilante protecting them made him scoff. Alfred’s head whipped around to give a narrow eyed glare at him.

“The Joker is human, like Batman, we don’t need protection from this lunatic,” Clark whispered. “B should have let us help him sooner, then none of this would have happened.”

Alfred nailed him with a look of contempt that nearly took the breath from his lungs. Movement drew the pair’s attention back to the task at hand.

“Superman,” Cyborg’s voice cut in at that point. “Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Flash, Martian Manhunter, Aquaman and Hawkgirl have arrived in Gotham. Awaiting instructions.”

“Standby,” Clark curtly answered.

“So,” Joker spat as he stalked closer. “Does your friend, on the other side of the flickering eyes, need your protection? What about that green glow stick guy? What about SuperDweeb? Do they know you are shielding them?”

There was no response from Batman. The Joker snapped his hand forward to grab what Clark presumed was Bruce’s jaw, and began to push and pull at random. It made the images on the screen change rapidly. Clark watched with keen eyes.

“Stop,” Clark called to Alfred. “Can you freeze what the feed picked up? There was a flash of something to the left.”

Alfred nodded and after a few typed commands, another monitor began to replay frame by frame.

“There,” Clark cried out. “There was a flash of something.”

Alfred raised a single eyebrow before backing up several frames and began to sharpen the images. It was a window with a green neon light shining in. The whole word couldn’t be made out but several letters were clear.

“That looks like the industrial area behind the docks,” Alfred muttered. “There is a transport company that distributes shipping containers after they reach port.”

The live feed continued but Clark was on his communicator to request Arthur to begin searching around the Port of Gotham.

“Let’s ask your mysterious friend if help is on it’s way,” Joker sniggered.

Another tap tap tap on the lenses accompanied the next question.

“Sooooooooooooooo, Eye Flickerer person, are the rest of the Fraternity heroes on their way? And be honest, because I have the whole board set up with my players and I will know if you lie.”

Alfred gave the indicator for yes.

“Oh, goody,” the Joker clapped his hands together excitedly with the response.

“On with the show,” Joker crowed. “I have assigned a bomb for each of your exclusive club members.”

The madman went on to explain a location and a name of who he expected to go to the site. When one of the bombs was allocated to Superman, Clark immediately asked for J’onn to shapeshift into his form. By letting the Joker think Superman was complying to his demands, it left Clark able to search for Batman.

Although Arthur was closing in on the transport company identified through the transmission, Joker had a bomb on a passenger cruise liner thirty kilometers off the Port. Clark diverted the Sea King to take care of it. Joker had requested Superman go to a bomb planted at a school outside the city limits. An obvious ploy to get the Kryptonian away from where Batman was being held. The others were scattered around in seeming random patterns. A hospital, a high end restaurant, GCPD headquarters, and the offices of the Gotham Gazette. The Leaguers were quickly dispatched to the locations.

“I’ll head to the docks and find the transport warehouse,” Clark said to Alfred.

“The doors are open for your departure, Superman,” Alfred said quietly. “Please bring him back, preferably in one piece.”

Clark nodded and headed back out the way he had arrived.

*~*~*~*~*

Chapter Text

*~*~*~*~*

Clark flew close to the choppy white caps of the water, keeping a low profile. In the distance he saw Arthur arrive at the cruise liner and pushed on at greater speed for the rapidly approaching dockyards. He’d seen a map Alfred had pulled up before he left, so he knew where he was headed. Just as he arrived at the shoreline, he reached up and touched his House Shield on his chest and the bright colours of his uniform became muted and dark. Alighting on the tall Port Harbour Authority tower, he scanned the area before heading to the site where the transport company was located. There was a distinct hum of sensors sweeping the area. After a few minutes, Clark was able to determine a pattern and slipped between without being seen. Using his super powers, he began to X-Ray the buildings and listen for the distinctive mad cackle of the Joker.

The transport buildings were in a fenced compound, clustered in a corner of the large area. Storage, loading docks, garaging for trucks, mechanical maintenance facilities, offices, and all had the large neon signs on them. The nearby buildings seemed to contain a lot of lead. The Joker had stopped babbling while his countdown to the bomb detonations progressed. Clark needed a way to pinpoint exactly which building the madman, and the prisoner, were holed up in.

“Penny One,” Clark spoke quietly into the com. “We need to get him talking so I can identify the exact location.”

“I’m open to suggestions,” was the snapped reply.

Taking a breath to steady himself, Clark continued scanning and listening, and hoped the clown would do something that didn’t involve harming Batman further. His hearing was focussed on the conglomeration of buildings, otherwise he may not have heard the intake of breath on the com.

“What is it, Penny One?” Clark asked quickly.

“One of the bombs exploded but was contained by the Green Lantern,” Alfred replied. “The Joker has a large mallet, it belonged to one of his associates, and has used it on Batman.”

Clark felt himself go cold. In the pause, before either of them could speak again, he heard it. The peal of distinctive laughter. He narrowed his eyes in concentration but was met with the impenetrable lead lined buildings once more. The sound bounced around and made it difficult to pinpoint the exact location.

In the distance, another explosion went off. Clark turned his head sharply, in time to catch the flare bright in the sky.

“Another…” Alfred began.

“Wait!” Clark called into the com before the snap of breaking bones filled his hearing. The sharp retort sounded loud to his ears and he struggled not to wince. That narrowed it down to a small cluster of buildings towards the east side of the compound.

Clark landed and scooted past parked trucks to get closer. He didn’t want to think about the damage Batman was taking, instead he tried to focus on moving nearer to the source without detection. He paused to get his bearings when the com flared to life once more.

“You’d better hurry,” Alfred said quietly. The normally stoic man had a breathlessness to his tone that Clark didn’t like.

Another blast shattered the eerie landscape. Clark knew it was the passenger cruise ship. Arthur hadn’t managed to contain the bomb, managing to begin evacuation procedures, and now the vessel was listing precariously. Clark started to move back so he could assist Arthur when the mad laughter assailed his senses. Chatter over the com clearly indicated that Arthur required assistance, but he also needed to free Batman from the madman’s clutches.

“Cyborg,” Clark spoke rapidly. “Who can assist Arthur?”

“Wonder Woman is enroute,” Victor replied, as efficient as ever. “Flash is removing one of the incendiary devices out of the city, and will be able to assist shortly. Martian Manhunter has not been able to identify the bomb’s location. Green Lantern should be arriving now. Hawk Girl has just discovered the bomb at the Gotham Gazette and is working to disarm the device.”

“Send Flash to Hawkgirl,” Clark ordered. “Green Lantern and Wonder Woman can help Aquaman at the ship. Keep me posted on how Martian Manhunter is progressing.”

“Acknowledged, Superman, Cyborg out.”

“Penny One” Clark called to Alfred. “Any further information?”

“Batman has been severely injured,” the Englishman’s voice cracked several times as he spoke. “The Joker is aware Flash has removed the device from the Hospital. There have been further repercussions.”

“Dammit,” Clark swore. “I didn’t hear anything.”

Silence greeted that statement. As he concentrated on the buildings once more, a deafening blast erupted. One of the buildings in front of him went up in a giant ball of flames. Clark didn’t hesitate, rushing forward into the inferno. He paused at the centre of the blast radius and exhaled icy cold air to put out most of the fire. He couldn’t inhale to remove the oxygen from the atmosphere, snuffing the flames that way, because Batman needed to breathe.

“Lord,” was Alfred’s exhaled word over the com.

The lead was still hampering Clark’s view but he moved towards the largest consolidation of x-ray blocking material, picking his way through the tumbled remains of the warehouse. It must have been storage for shipments because the air was full of detritus. Working his way through the smouldering remains, he carefully navigated towards the large blank spot in his specialised vision.

“No sign of the Joker,” he said gently into the com.

Clark’s lips curled back as he thought of what he wanted to do to the monster that had done this.

Alfred did not reply. Clark opened his hearing once more. There! Beyond the crackle of fire and electricity, the muffled thump thump of a heartbeat. It was faint, weak. He zeroed in on the sound and took in the scene of the ruins, he had to move carefully otherwise the broken structure of the building could collapse on the wounded man.

A low groan broke Clark from his contemplations, and without realising it, he moved forward and into the ruins. He shoved aside pieces of the broken structure, tried to ensure he wouldn’t cause further collapse but it was impossible. Instead of coming in from ground level, he flew up to the top of the pile and began lifting away large sections. There was a grumbling as concrete, wood and metal shifted slowly. The time seemed to drag out interminably long. Clark was getting impatient but forced himself to consider his actions, when all he wanted to do was crash through to where Batman had to be trapped.

Clark’s stomach dropped when he finally reached the black clad figure. There was so much blood! He could smell the coppery tang of it, taste the metal in the back of his throat. He pushed away the last of the tortured remains of the building when he heard the groan again.

“Kal,” Batman hissed out in a pained breath.

Clark’s eyes widened in shock, how is the man, the human, still conscious? There’s no time to contemplate this as Batman attempted to move, to reach out to him. He doesn’t hear the crash of the concrete hit the ground, away from their immediate vicinity, before he’s standing before the broken man. Staring, gulping air that he doesn’t need into suddenly oxygen starved lungs.

He watched as Bruce managed to raise a broken and twisted arm towards him, the spell is broken, and he’s lifting the man out of the rubble. His vision blurred and he realised that tears are filling his eyes. He lifted the shattered figure, cradled against his chest, heard the sharp intake of breath that indicated pain.

“Creation of a Bond” Art by @vaticansaint

“I’ve got him, Penny One,” Clark said into his com. “I’m taking him to the MedBay aboard the WatchTower.”

“Godspeed, Superman,” Alfred whispered. “Please keep me informed.”

“Of course,” Clark muttered quietly.

As soon as he cleared the ruined warehouse, he called for transport to the WatchTower. Clark cradled Batman to him as the destruction vanished in a haze.

*~*~*~*~*

Chapter Text

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Clark sat in the darkened room of the MedBay. He was surrounded by the sounds of monitors and machinery attached to the man swathed in bandages that laid upon the bed. The surgery had been brutally long and Clark had to be coaxed into not staring through the walls to watch every gruesome second. Since returning to the recovery area, Clark had not left. He’d been waiting for ten hours. Clark had paced, wanted to hold the broken pale hand in his own, cried and now sat in a hard plastic chair with his forehead resting against the bed.

He should have been faster. It was his fault. He was so sorry.

Clark could hear Diana outside the MedBay, speaking with one of the Doctors that had worked on Bruce. Looking at the battered and bruised form, lying so painfully still on the bed, his brain registered the words as if through a dense fog. So many bones were broken, including that sharp jaw. As the conversation continued in the hall, and the pair spoke about physiotherapy, Clark turned his gaze on the hand that rested near his head. Pins of metal pierced the flesh of long dexterous fingers. The Joker had used an oversized hammer, a giant mallet from what Alfred had said, to smash many bones in both hands. Clark squeezed his eyes closed to prevent more tears from falling. He concentrated on Diana and the Doctor.

“He will not be able to move for many, many weeks, Ms Prince,” the medical professional said. “I’d like to put him in an induced coma to assist with healing.”

“We will need his consent for that,” Diana stated firmly. “How will he communicate?”

“Once he is awake, the Martian Manhunter has agreed to spend time with the patient and communicate on his behalf.”

“So, only telepathic communication with J’onn?” Diana’s voice sounded rough to Clark’s ears.

The silence that followed implied that the Doctor replied non verbally.

Shortly afterwards, the door opened and Diana entered the room. She moved to stand at Clark’s side, her hand resting on his shoulder with a strong grip.

“He will need all of us, Kal-El,” the Amazonian said softly.

Clark nodded, he couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat.

“Get some rest,” Diana murmured. “I will sit with him a while.”

Clark began to protest but was cut off by Diana’s sound arguments. He knew he wasn’t thinking rationally and Diana simply wore him down with logic.

Besides, he thought grimly to himself, he had no right to be here. Maybe if he hadn’t dawdled to leave his apartment in Metropolis, maybe if he had seen a hint in the video feed from Batman’s cowl sooner, if he’d been faster to locate the scene of this brutality. Clark’s thoughts swirled into a confusing landscape of what ifs and maybes.

He left the MedBay, heading towards his quarters, when J’onn approached from the other end of the hallway. Clark stopped in his tracks when he saw the sadness etched onto the green visage.

Instead of continuing past Clark, J’onn came to a halt in front of him. Clark’s mouth worked several times, trying to force words past the pain that was lodged in his chest.

“You did what you could,” J’onn soothed in his deep sonorous tone.

“I should have done more,” Clark’s voice was thin.

A melancholic look passed over J’onn’s features. A green hand reached out to clasp around his wrist. The Martian simply shook his head negatively.

“He will recover, Kal-El, he is strong and stubborn.” Green lips quirked. “As you well know.”

A hoarse laugh bubbled out of Clark’s chest, and he clapped his hand over his mouth to stop it from rising into hysterics. Eventually, by focussing on the strong grip on his arm, his breathing steadied.

“I was wrong about him. I thought … he didn’t like me, the League, all of us,” Clark’s voice trailed out into nothing.

Understanding seemed to bloom in those deep crimson eyes and J’onn nodded, before releasing his arm.

“I must go now, but we shall talk again very soon.”

J’onn moved on down the hall and Clark stood in place for a few moments longer before continuing his journey to his quarters.

*~*~*~*~*

Clark had showered, changed, and was headed to the cafeteria. He didn’t feel much like eating. It was the routine, going through the motions, that sustained him. As he approached, he could hear hushed voices from within. The other Leaguer’s were present in the room, discussing this disaster in whispered tones. Clark could hear how scared they were, the underlying grief that had followed the near loss of their highly regarded, respected tactician.

As he stepped through the door, the murmuring stilled. Silence engulfed the room and Clark felt everyone staring at him. He stopped three steps inside the doorway, not knowing what to do or say. His throat was dry as he searched his mind for words to reassure them, but nothing would come to him.

He was rescued from the awkward situation by the arrival of J’onn. The Martian picked up on the tension and cleared his throat. The remaining League members were present, so there would be no need for a briefing later in the day. Clark was grateful to not need to speak.

“Good, everyone is here,” J’onn began slowly. “Batman is in recovery and cannot have visitors at this time.”

A combination of gasps met the news. Clark felt as if a band of steel had wrapped around his chest. The guilt had only continued to curdle inside him since seeing J’onn in the hall earlier.

“What is his prognosis?” Flash asked, the words dropping like stones in the hushed atmosphere.

“He has been severely injured, and will require extensive physiotherapy to regain function,” the green skinned alien replied somberly.

“Will he recover fully?” Cyborg queried.

“It is too soon to tell,” J’onn answered. “The injuries are mostly broken bones, but surgery was needed to repair the multiple stab wounds, wire his broken jaw and set his hands.”

Clark tried to inhale sharply, but the air seemed too thin, not filling his chest.

J’onn turned toward the Man of Steel, a grim mask etched onto his features.

“He’s asking for you, Kal-El. Will you return to the MedBay with me? He cannot communicate with you without my assistance.”

Clark nodded, his suddenly weary body weighed down by the knowledge that he hadn’t reacted fast enough, he hadn’t saved Batman from this nightmare of pain.

The pair left the suffocating cafeteria and headed back to the Medical wing in silence.

*~*~*~*~*

When Clark and J’onn arrived, Batman was sleeping. Clark sat in the hard plastic chair, the same one he had been using earlier, and reached out. There seemed to be nowhere to rest his hand that wasn’t bruised, bandaged, attached to IV’s and monitors, or caged in steel traction for broken bones.

A fraction of a second before the monitors caught the change, Clark detected the increase in heart rate and the sharp exhale of air that indicated Bruce was waking up. He sat up straighter in the chair and couldn’t help but hear the double cadence, from machinery and his own super hearing, how Bruce’s heart raced in panicked, debilitating spikes. He must be in a great deal of pain, Clark thought to himself.

The eyes slitted open, bloodshot and hollow.

J’onn moved on the other side of the bed and rested long green fingertips to the bruised face. The fluttering heartbeat began to subside and Clark involuntarily hunched his shoulders. He felt so helpless.

“I have reduced some of the pain transmissions to his brain, and will act as intermediary between you,” J’onn said, as crimson eyes closed in concentration.

Clark’s knuckles went white as he clenched his fists in frustration. He deserved the condemnation he was expecting from the Gothamite. He tried to steel himself for what he knew was coming.

“It wasn’t your fault, Clark.” J’onn’s voice was speaking, but with Batman’s inflections.

Clark turned his head to look at Bruce’s face incredulously. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but there were no words forthcoming.

“The Joker,” the words were spat with venom from J’onn’s lips. “He was never going to let you succeed. He planned for you all to fail.”

“I should have done more,” Clark stammered.

“No!” J’onn raised his voice. “As soon as you doubt yourself, he wins.”

Tears began to track down Clark’s face. He could feel the heat under his skin, the shame, and guilt pricked at him like a million Kryptonite needles.

“Clark,” J’onn’s tone changed to one of calming. “You did what you could. You shouldn’t feel bad for not catching him.”

“That’s… that’s not what I….” Clark struggled to form coherent sentences. How could he explain that he was responsible for Bruce’s injuries? He was Superman, he was supposed to be better than that. What good were all his powers and strengths if he couldn’t save the person who had needed him?

“I’m sorry…..” he croaked out.

His throat closed up and he could feel a keening building within, needing to escape, needing to be released. His gaze flashed over the prone figure, cataloguing the injuries that he should have prevented. Clark stood so quickly, the chair he had been sitting on clattered backwards onto the floor.

“I’ll be right back, I just need a minute,” Clark mumbled before moving out the door at super speed. He didn’t stop, zooming along hallways until he reached the hanger. He forced himself to enter the code for the exterior doors, instead of smashing through like he wanted to. The seconds crawled past and as soon as the door was wide enough, he flew through into the blackness of space.

He flew quickly out of range of the WatchTower and beyond. Past the moon, glowing in orbit around the blue/green jewel of the Earth. Clark continued beyond Mars, until he found himself approaching the asteroid belt. A large lump of rock filled the sky in front of him, not as big as Earth’s Moon, and he wanted to smash it to smithereens. Instead he landed in an untidy heap. Sobs escaped his lips but there was no noise in the vastness of space. He let the howl of pain and remorse escape his chest soundlessly. His fists flew to his hair and tugged, moisture gathered in his eyes but evaporated before they could flow down his face. He let it all out, the agony, the guilt, the frustration, the shame and regrets. Clark knew that Batman would figure out what had happened and would verbally eviscerate him, but he needed to get his head on straight so he could assist Bruce in any way he could.

He stayed on that asteroid for over an hour before returning to the WatchTower.

*~*~*~*~*

Diana met Clark in the hangar. Her face was grim and the look she flashed at him seemed angry. He approached her with his head hung low. When he was in front of her, she reached out to grasp him by the bicep.

“You worried us,” she hissed. “You worried him.”

“It’s my fault, Diana,” Clark said mournfully.

“Nonsense,” Diana reproached.

“I delayed, I… I…” Clark’s words failed him once more.

“He needs us, Clark.” Diana’s clipped tone made Clark flinch.

“You know he’ll never accept help,” Clark blurted out. “Not after I failed him.”

“You must snap out of this, Kal.” Diana’s eyes sparked with banked fury. “This isn’t about you, or your perceived feelings of guilt.”

“You’re right,” Clark said morosely. He felt he had a lot to make up for, and running away wasn’t going to solve anything. He needed to face his failure, to face Batman, and find a way to fix this.

Diana nodded and shifted her grip on his arm, not releasing him from her strong hold, and proceeded to drag him onwards.

*~*~*~*~*

Diana wordlessly left Clark outside the door to Bruce’s room. He took a steadying breath before entering. An unusual sight greeted him. J’onn and Bruce were obviously communing via J’onn’s telepathic abilities. Both pairs of eyes landed on him when he entered. Clark felt a flush up his face before he steeled himself. He walked to the side of the bed and glanced down once more. Bruce’s jaw was wired shut but he still heard a huff of air through the man’s nose. It was amazing how expressive an exhale of air could be. Clark tried not to read too much into it.

“Kal-El, I’m glad you are here,” J’onn spoke up amidst the sounds of equipment. “Batman has been informing me that he wishes to return home.”

“What?” Clark was momentarily gobsmacked. “You can’t be serious?”

Despite the immobility of Bruce’s jaw, and butterfly stitches above clouded blue eyes, Clark could detect some unhappiness across the aristocratic features.

J’onn squinted and turned towards Clark. “He is most displeased.”

He almost laughed out loud at the look on J’onn’s face.

“Displeased?” Clark questioned. “I bet he’s using stronger language than that.”

“Indeed, he is.” J’onn’s wry tone acknowledged Clark‘s keen understanding.

A muffled hurrumph sound emitted from Bruce. Clark could swear the man wanted to cross his arms over his chest.

“B,” Clark started, using the most reasonable tone he could. “You know you’re in no fit state to leave. Surely you don’t want to give Alfred more duties?”

The widening of Bruce’s eyes proved Clark correct. The Dark Knight hadn’t considered the full implications of his condition. Bruce would have realised the consequences eventually and Clark figured Bruce didn’t like him getting one up on the Bat.

“Have you spoken of the Doctor’s suggestion?” Clark asked J’onn.

“Batman is resistant to the idea,” J’onn replied in the tone of someone that had already had this conversation with the very stubborn human.

Clark knew that feeling well. There had to be a way to make the distrustful man understand that it was in his best interest. He turned to logic in this instance.

“B,” he began, in the most placating tone he could manage. “Less stress on your system will mean your body can focus on healing faster. I’ve also spoken with Diana. She is leaving shortly for Themyscira to obtain some aids to speed and improve your recovery. Do you trust us enough to do this?

Clark felt trepidation at mentioning trust. If there was one thing the League knew with certainty, Batman trusted no one but himself. Clark now knew that wasn’t true. Bruce trusted Alfred.

Both J’onn and Clark remained silent as Batman seemed to ponder the information. Clark knew Bruce was debating internally but the benefits of faster healing had to be almost irresistible to the Dark Knight.

When the response finally came, drawn out for what seemed like forever, it was a simple nod of the head.

“Do you want us to stay with you?” J’onn asked solicitously. “You will be prepared for sedation in the morning. There is time to put in place any contingencies that will reassure you.”

A negative huff of air was all the answer they were going to get.

“We shall leave you to your rest, Batman,” J’onn muttered as he backed out of the room.

Clark lingered a moment longer.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Bruce. If you accept our help, you will be back on your feet faster. And you know this!” Clark knew he wasn’t being fair, speaking to the man when there was no way to hear a reply. Only a narrowing of calculating eyes betrayed the billionaire’s feelings. Clark raised his hands to show he meant no harm.

“I’ll be back to check on you soon,” Clark said, as he too moved towards the door. He reached out to dim the lights and hoped that Batman could manage to get some rest.

*~*~*~*~*

Early the next morning, Clark was sitting by the bed Bruce was laid out on. Multiple IV’s, heavy painkillers and medications meant Bruce was non compentus. Here was Bruce, severely injured and without any of his masks.

Batman had always mandated no metas in Gotham, and no others unless invited. Failure to comply had netted outright hostility from the Bat.

Clark wasn’t sure if this was a mask, or the true person underneath it all.

After all, approaching him as Clark Kent had been impossible. Brucie Wayne played the socialite set, and the media, like a maestro. Clark couldn’t get in the same buildings as Bruce Wayne, never mind attend Galas and the like. On a personal level, the people that surrounded Bruce, and threw themselves at him, were grating and shallow. Clark had even tried to get Perry to assign him a piece at Wayne Enterprises, any piece, only to be warned not to go anywhere near Wayne Enterprises - not to mention how pissed Batman had been.

Clark really had no idea who Bruce Wayne really was. Did the man ever get lonely, tired, or dispirited like Clark did? How many layers were there to Bruce Wayne?

What was he like with Alfred? That made Clark remember the cold reception he had received by the stoic Englishman. Alfred reminded Clark of his Ma in a way, in that ‘I’ll take none of your crap’ kind of way. More importantly, Bruce trusted Alfred implicitly. Clark’s brain ticked over as he thought over it a bit more.

That’s when he noticed he had been staring through Bruce’s body, not all the way, but seeing his bones via X-ray - so many breaks, fractures and bone deterioration. The damage seemed to draw the air out of him in a huge exhale. Batman never showed signs of injury, but surely had to have fought in less than optimum health based on what he was seeing.

He could read the story of lacerated muscles and scarring on internal organs, as he pulled his vision back to normal range by degrees.

Just before he blinked his eyes to ‘reset’ his vision to what he considered normal, he caught a glimpse of the damage that littered the surface of Bruce’s body. The new wounds stood out, raw and visceral, but it didn’t stop him from seeing the sheer number of older scars.

Clark sat straighter in his chair to find Bruce’s blue eyes slitted at him. He blushed deeply and looked away.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. It took Clark an embarrassing number of minutes to realise why Bruce wasn’t admonishing him, because the man couldn’t talk. He quickly looked back at Bruce’s face, only to discover a raised eyebrow. How did the Gothamite manage to convey so much meaning into a look?

“Can we talk about this later?” Clark asked sheepishly.

Bruce snorted through his nose and huffed out a sound that was suspiciously close to a laugh. Clark grinned at him in response. He watched as Bruce’s eyes fluttered shut once more. It would be interesting, he mused, to see if Bruce remembered the incident at all due to the drugs he was on. Clark kinda hoped it was the horse tranquiliser variety, so he wouldn’t have to face the man about invading his privacy.

When the medical staff arrived to put Bruce into the induced coma, he headed to his quarters to get cleaned up and sleep. If anyone saw him with his fingers crossed the whole way, hoping Bruce wouldn’t recall this little incident, they didn’t say anything about it.

*~*~*~*~*

Clark arrived at the MedBay after working a hell of a day at the Daily Planet. It had been a little over two weeks since Batman had been put into the artificial coma, but he still felt terribly guilty about Bruce’s condition. Clark spent as much time as he could by the sleeping man’s bedside. He wondered, not for the first time, what it was that made a human like Bruce put himself on the line over and over again, to risk such injury or death? The man trained like the possessed, and although at the peak of human conditioning, he wasn’t unscathed. His body bore the marks of both success and failure. Clark had been tempted during many late night vigils, to run his fingers over the twists and bumps littering the skin - as if he could read the story of Batman like braille.

A lot of mental conversations had occurred between Bruce and J’onn while the vigilante was kept under, but it had been the only way to get the final agreement for the procedure. Batman was kept up to date with progress reports, the improvement in the rate of recovery, and was the reason the medical staff had been able to prolong the duration for so long. Clark was grateful for any reprieve the injured man could get.

However, the last few days had seen the dosage of the drugs being slowly lowered. Clark hadn’t managed to get any sleep the night before worrying about his fellow Leaguer. During the day several contacts had fallen through on his latest story at the Daily Planet. Perry and Lois were not pleased with him. He wanted to do something, anything, so badly, but was at a loss to know what. Clark’s helplessness weighed on his mind and the distraction was evident to anyone that knew him. A few visits to the farm to talk with his Ma had helped, but it clearly wasn’t enough. Clark’s mind kept his sleep full of nightmares, of all the worst case scenarios, and he was, to put it simply, exhausted despite only needing the healing rays of the sun to ensure he was at full power.

Bruce seemed to still be unconscious when Clark turned up in the MedBay, hooked up to even more monitors and IV’s than before. The bruising had deepened and a rainbow of red, purple, blue, green and yellow seemed to cover nearly every inch of skin not covered by bandages and dressings. They were healing faster than usual thanks to Diana’s trip home.

Clark pulled up the same uncomfortable chair he’d already spent so many hours in, since Bruce had been injured, and intended to go over his work. He just couldn’t concentrate though. With his enhanced senses, he could hear every hitched breath despite Bruce being under sedation.

An hour passed in relative silence before the monitors indicated a change. Clark sat up straighter and watched as Bruce’s eyelids fluttered. A groan escaped and Clark felt his stomach drop further.

Dull blue eyes were mostly hidden behind slitted lids and swelling. It took a while until Clark was sure Bruce comprehended that he was there at all. He waited patiently, his heart beating out of his chest, palms clammy and throat tight. He wanted nothing more than to help Bruce, to ease his pain somehow.

Bruce finally focussed on him and Clark made sure not to turn away.

“Bruce,” he whispered. “I know you can’t speak right now, but I’m here to help.”

Bruce simply moaned again.

“Do you need me to get someone?” Clark asked, trying to sound calmer than he was.

Bruce looked like he was trying to shake his head negatively, but Clark could tell his breathing had picked up along with his heart-rate. He stood from his chair and motioned to the door.

“I’ll just go and ...” Clark tried so hard not to stammer and stepped away from the bed.

As Clark headed out the door to get one of the medical staff, he could have sworn he heard Bruce growl.

Great, he thought to himself. He was already screwing this up.

*~*~*~*~*

Chapter Text

*~*~*~*~*

Bruce stayed on heavy painkillers and sedatives for several more weeks after being woken from the induced coma, not waking for long periods. When he was lucid, he seemed very uncomfortable which led, naturally, to a frustrated vigilante. Clark had devised a method of understanding some basic responses from Bruce through various hums and The Eyebrow. Clark was amazed at how expressive Bruce could be despite the physical restrictions .

Clark had also been by Bruce’s side at every opportunity. Tonight though, Bruce seemed to be very bent out of shape. He was sure the Bat would be laying into him if he could vocalise, but the limitations just seemed aggravate the situation.

Clark had initially been reading fiction, to keep Bruce from being so bored, at the beginning, but Bruce eventually got the message across that updates and current events were preferred. They had fallen into a routine whereby Clark would start off reading the Daily Planet and the Gotham Gazette. Then he would talk about the cases that the Justice League got called out on and the goings on at the WatchTower. Occasionally, Clark would catch a small smile quirking at one side of Bruce’s lips. It was a small, private thing that Clark watched develop over time and he looked forward to seeing if he could make it appear as often as possible.

J’onn reported his patrol in Gotham after every shift. Clark felt uncomfortable being in the room while the Martian and the billionaire silently communed, and would usually head back to Metropolis. J’onn still tried to reassure Clark that there was no reason to feel guilty, but Clark was determined to accept the blame.

However, Diana had joined Clark this evening and contributed to the information. Bruce did not seem happy. Clark had impression that he didn’t like anyone seeing perceived weaknesses.

“Bruce,” Diana began patiently. “You know you will need help, you cannot do this alone.”

The swelling had gone down enough for the Gothamite to scowl at the pair of them. Diana laughed softly.

“Your BatGlare™️ is less effective at the moment.”

Bruce managed to look even more displeased, while Clark stayed silent. He’d had that infamous look directed at him too many times already.

“Shall I assist with nursing you back to health, Batman?” Diana tried to contain her amusement. “After all, you will require assistance with your personal hygiene.”

Clark’s eyes nearly fell out of his head at that statement from the Amazonian Princess. Brucie Wayne may have been caught in compromising positions but Batman obviously did not appreciate either the tone, or thought, of Diana’s suggestion. Both could hear the growl low in Bruce’s throat.

Diana turned to look directly at Clark, and he could see mischief dancing in her eyes.

“Then perhaps it will be better for Kal-El to assist you in these matters,” Diana offered as an alternative.

Clark nearly choked on air he didn’t need to breathe, but miraculously managed to hold it inside. Bruce’s eyes flicked over to him and raised what could only be described as a defiant eyebrow. Clark felt the heat of his blush from the tips of his ears, all the way down his chest. He took a moment to collect himself before straightening his shoulders resolutely.

“Yes, I’ll do it,” Clark said steadily.

Diana’s eyes glinted in the artificial lighting and Clark had the feeling he had done exactly as she planned. Bruce locked a stern gaze on him but didn’t give any other indicators of how he felt about this turn of events.

Clark sighed inwardly as J’onn finally entered. Clark refused to look at Bruce as he and Diana left the room, but would swear he saw a quirk on the lips of the Martian.

*~*~*~*~*

Clark nearly dropped his papers as he passed the doorway. Batman was trying to leverage himself up and was on an awkward angle, legs dangling precariously over the edge of the bed.

“B,” Clark exclaimed. “What are you doing? It’s barely been a month!”

Bruce gave him a pointed look and flicked steely blue eyes over at the attached bathroom. Clark mentally slapped himself as he realised Bruce was attempting to use the toilet. Clark had avoided helping Bruce to use bedpans once the catheter equipment was removed.

A grunt brought Clark out of his momentary reverie and he rushed forward.

“Ok,” he muttered. “I’ll help you.”

Clark dropped his paperwork, reached an arm around Bruce’s shoulders and took the nearby elbow to help get the recovering man levered up into sitting position.

“Give yourself a moment,” Clark said calmly.

The response was a grunt and Bruce attempted to shuffle forward again.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Clark inquired quietly.

A small nod answered the question. Bruce was well enough to have the monitors removed but still had an IV in his arm for antibiotics and nutrients, because he couldn’t eat yet. Clark disengaged the fluid bags from the pole and rested them on his shoulder. He helped Bruce onto his feet, ignoring the way the hospital gown bunched around the injured man. They shuffled their way over to the ensuite, Bruce still limping heavily, but were stalled by the narrow doorway. There was no way they would both fit through together standing side by side.

“Hang on, B,” Clark stated, not looking at the man’s face.

Clark picked Bruce up bridal style and maneuvered through the door, ensuring nothing was bumped on the frame and the IV bags didn’t fall. Clark had to enter side on before gently depositing the man back onto the floor. His lips quirked into a small smile as he saw Bruce’s toes curl upon contact with the cool tiles. It was only a couple of steps to the head before Clark began to step back. He stopped when Bruce looked down at his bandaged hands and glared at Clark.

Once more, a blush heated the back of his neck as he realised he would need to assist Bruce. Looking at Bruce’s face, he was met with a quirked eyebrow.

“Um….” Clark stammered. “I’ll have to help?”

He could swear the grunt from Bruce was akin to ‘you think’ but didn’t dwell on it.

Clark moved behind Bruce and gently moved the gown out of the way. He refused to think about Bruce’s bare backside against his groin while he reached a hand around the tapered waist in front of him. A quick glance told him where he needed to aim, before he took Bruce’s penis in his hand, and deliberately looked away. Clark was determined to leave the man with some dignity if he could.

It took a few moments before Clark heard the sound of water. He focussed his attention on anything but what was happening until a shoulder jolted back against him. Clark realised Bruce had finished and shook any residue from Bruce’s skin. He left Bruce standing while he flushed the toilet and washed his hands before he lifted Bruce into his arms again.

Clark carried Bruce all the way back to the bed and tried to get the man comfortable, putting the medical bags back on their pole, and adjusting the hospital gown back into place before pulling the light blanket up. Bruce rested his hands back onto the covers gently before humming a thankyou sound.

Clark stepped back and rubbed his neck. He had never been this close to another man in this way but didn’t want to make it more awkward than it already was.

“I was thinking of going to Alfred to get you some home comforts, and bringing back some sustenance from your own kitchen,” he spoke quietly, while he fiddled with the bottom of the blanket.

Bruce hummed what sounded like a positive response. When he looked at the Gothamite’s face, there was a small smile on the man’s lips. Clark grinned back helplessly.

“Glad to help, B,” he said happily.

At least he was able to do something, in some small way, for which he was grateful. Clark picked up his discarded papers and began the evening’s reading to Bruce.

*~*~*~*~*

Clark landed out of sight and quickly changed into his civvies, before walking up the steps to the Manor. It was an impressive building. He rang the doorbell and waited a few moments before Alfred opened the door.

“Mister Kent,” the Englishman greeted. “Do come inside.”

Clark paused for a moment. He expected to ask for Alfred’s help, but the thought of entering Bruce’s home made him baulk at the last minute. Alfred merely raised an eyebrow and moved back to allow him entry.

“Um…” Clark stammered.

“Would you care for a beverage, Mister Kent,” Alfred asked. “I have just made a pot of tea.”

“Sure,” Clark tried to sound confident. “I could do with some advice please?”

The pair made their way to the kitchen, while Clark tried not to gawk at the opulent residence. After settling at a cosy kitchen dining table, and Alfred had poured them both tea, Clark tried not to fidget under the stare of Bruce’s father figure.

“So,” Alfred began. “How can I help you Mister Kent?”

“Bruce is pushing himself, trying to get back on his feet already,” Clark started.

“Of course he is,” Alfred snorted. “Quite typical for Master Bruce. I admit I am surprised he hasn’t found a way to return to the Manor already.”

“I thought he might appreciate his own things,” Clark said softly. “Although he is only on a liquid diet, I also figured he might like something familiar from home. Does he have a preference for soup or… um… smoothies or something?”

“Master Bruce is dedicated to his protein shakes,” Alfred mused. “I can provide you with the recipe, alternatively I can prepare you some to take on your return journey. His favourite is banana flavoured.”

Clark couldn’t help but chuckle. It was hard to imagine the Dark Knight enjoying anything banana flavoured.

“That’d be great, Alfred,” Clark managed to say when he got himself under control.

“Do you not like bananas, Mister Kent?” Alfred cheekily queried.

“I like bananas just fine, Alfred,” Clark replied, still giggling to himself. “I just can’t imagine it. The Bat doesn’t seem the type to have preferences like that.”

“I suppose you would think he partakes of Justice flavoured shakes?” Alfred deadpanned.

Clark couldn’t help himself, he let out a guffaw while Alfred just smiled smugly.

“Would you have any advice for keeping a bored vigilante in his bed?” Clark asked once he settled down again.

“Hardly,” Alfred answered drolly. “Whenever he is injured, he ignores what is in his best interest. ‘Crime doesn’t wait on a few bruises or sprains, Alfred.’ He will usually leave his recovery far too early, and despite my best intentions, he will always return to his evening hobby and exacerbate his injuries.”

“I had a feeling that would be the case,” Clark said, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Unless you can keep his mind active, let’s just say I have found myself resorting to spiking his drinks, when the need arose.” Alfred said matter of factly.

“I can’t do that, Alfred,” Clark exclaimed. “He’s got Kryptonite!”

“He may refuse pain relief, but he will usually accept it when necessary,” Alfred stated soberly. “He will complain loudly, but never violently, in my experience. Master Bruce simply doesn’t like his vaunted control out of his hands when plied with drugs.”

“That I can believe,” Clark mused. “We need him to stay in bed long enough for his bones and wounds to repair.”

“I can only wish you the best of luck on your endeavour, Mister Kent,” Alfred replied with amusement. “He is a stubborn man.”

Clark sighed and resigned himself to the forthcoming battle of wills.

The pair finished their tea and Alfred prepared some protein shakes for Clark to take to the WatchTower.

“I was wondering,” Clark began uncertainly. “Would he appreciate his favourite pyjamas? He’s getting annoyed at the hospital gowns he’s been forced to wear. I think he would prefer to be in his uniform if he had any say in the matter.”

“Agreed, Mister Kent,” Alfred spoke as he finished the protein shakes. “We can put together a bag for him.”

Clark didn’t expect the ‘we’ component of his request, but figured the least he could do was help Alfred. The Englishman seemed to do so much, from running the Manor to assisting Batman down in the cave. Clark couldn’t help but wonder at how the butler managed it.

Alfred led him up the stairs and opened a set of double doors into Bruce’s bedroom. Clark felt like he was intruding on billionaire’s most private space. Alfred moved to the biggest walk in closet he’d ever seen and selected an overnight bag. Clark was handed the bag and Alfred moved to some drawers, pulling out pyjamas, socks and underwear, and placing it in the bag in Clark’s hands.

Clark noted a variety of fabrics and textures, especially the silk pyjamas. He deliberately looked away from the underwear and tried to control his blush. Alfred then had Clark follow him into the ensuite bathroom to pack a toiletries bag.

“He can’t brush his teeth yet,” Clark offered helpfully.

“Master Bruce will endeavour to try,” Alfred responded dryly.

As Alfred gathered more items, Clark noted an expensive moisturiser.

“Batman uses that?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Bruce Wayne certainly does, even if the Bat won’t use anything more than sunscreen and perhaps a chapstick if we’re lucky,” Alfred smirked.

“I… actually never considered that,” Clark knew he sounded surprised.

A small bag was filled quickly and then Clark suddenly blanched. With Bruce’s hands out of commission, he realised he was going to be the one applying the lotions and creams, brushing Bruce’s hair and helping the man change/dress.

If Alfred noticed his paling complexion, he graciously didn’t say anything.

*~*~*~*~*

Clark arrived back at the WatchTower with two bags in tow. Hal looked as if he was going to ask but Clark just took off towards the MedBay.

He arrived to see Bruce sitting up in bed, attempting to use a holographic interface. Clark bit back laughter to see a stylus between Batman’s lips and leaning forward to flip between screens.

“B,” Clark called gently. “I brought you some things from home.”

Bruce spat out the stylus and scowled at him. Clark, once again, thanked his lucky stars that the vigilante couldn’t speak. He was sure Bruce was thinking unkind things.

“I have some of your protein shakes as well as pyjamas,” Clark said without looking up at the glaring visage on the bed.

He held out one of the shakes but got a stare in response. Clark realised that Bruce could neither take the drink container nor partake without a straw.

“Hang on,” he stammered.

Clark retrieved a straw from a glass on the bedside table, and placed it in the shake after opening the top. As he held it out in front of Bruce, he couldn’t help but watch how the billionaire’s lips wrapped around it and how the adam’s apple bobbed as the contents were sucked down with relish.

When Bruce released the straw, with a sigh of contentment that surprised Clark, he tried not to fumble as he put the empty shake container aside. Hiding his blush by looking down into the bag again, he began to pull things out.

“Alfred packed you a toiletries bag as well as your pyjamas,” he mumbled.

When he was able to look up once more, he noted an amused glint in Bruce’s blue eyes. He continued to stare for a few moments before Bruce cleared his throat and tilted his head in query.

“Oh, right, yes…” Clark was definitely stuttering now. “There are several pairs of pj’s for you, socks and er, underwear. Do you want a shower before changing?”

The nod that Bruce responded with was emphatically enthusiastic. Clark smiled.

“I’ll put this in the bathroom first,” Clark said, waving the toiletries bag. He unpacked the contents on a shelf, underneath the mirror, above the vanity and returned to Bruce’s bedside. After rummaging some more, he looked up at Bruce.

“If I hold up your things, can you indicate what you’d like to wear?” he asked mildly.

Bruce simply nodded once so Clark focussed on the varied items. Bruce selected a pair of soft Egyptian cotton pyjamas (not the silky black ones, Clark noted) but didn’t seem to care about which underwear or socks Clark selected. He put everything but the rest of the items back into the duffle before putting the bag in a cupboard of the nightstand.

Clark then gathered the necessary plastic to protect the wounds scattered over Bruce’s body. There were special bags to go over the immobilised hands, and plastic dressings to cover the still exposed wounds. He would change the bandages afterwards.

Once everything was ready, he turned to Bruce to find the man almost grinning at him. Clark found himself with butterflies in his stomach as he felt drawn in to those knowing blue eyes. Taking a steadying breath, he moved forward.

“OK, so it can only be a quick shower and we can’t get your bandages wet,” he said while trying to get his beating heart under control.

Bruce nodded again and started shuffling on the bed. Clark came forward with the dressings. The gown had ridden up around Bruce’s stomach so Clark tried to keep his hands steady as he applied the plastic coverings to the stitches on Bruce’s thighs, but there were still stab wounds on the torso that needed protection from the water.

Clark looked back up at Bruce’s face when he hesitated, but Bruce gave a minute shrug of his shoulders and indicated to Clark to remove the hospital gown with the careful motion of a damaged hand. Clark leaned forward and untied the back and could feel Bruce’s breath on his skin as he reached over the broad shoulders. Sliding it down over toned arms, and gently over the delicate looking structure around Bruce’s hands, left Clark almost breathless. He turned away quickly to dispose of the gown but when he turned back to the bed, he was greeted to the sight of one very naked Bruce Wayne. A constellation of bruises still covered the man from head to toe and Clark had to contain the flinch at the view. Bruce must have caught a hint of Clark’s reaction because the man looked down at the dressings and bruises that decorated pale skin. Clark reached out to gently brush his fingers over a large section of purple, above the injured man’s hip, but caught himself before touching it.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” Clark asked tentatively.

Bruce seemed to huff a neutral reply that Clark couldn’t decipher, but then the Gothamite stared at the dressings pointedly.

“Yeah, ok, Bruce,” Clark struggled to hold his voice steady.

Bruce moved as much as possible to assist Clark in applying the waterproofing where needed. It took all of Clark’s self discipline to not stare at the older, scarred, skin. He felt a need rise up to smooth his fingers over the puckered flesh. It seemed to take longer in Clark’s mind to get everything in place before Clark began to help Bruce over towards the attached bathroom.

Once inside the small wet area, Clark realised the new problem that faced him. How would he help wash Bruce from outside the small cubicle? As he began adjusting the water temperature from the shower head, he felt Bruce shuffle up next to him. Clark straightened up and turned towards the plastic wrapped, yet naked, man next to him.

“I don’t know how clean you’re going to get around all that,” Clark said, as he indicated all the covered bandages.

Bruce looked down at himself once more then looked back up at Clark. There was a glint in the blue eyes that Clark didn’t recognise but he turned away to get the soap and shampoo. When he turned back to the shower, Bruce was already inside. The water droplets splashed everywhere as Bruce’s head tipped back under the steady stream of water. Clark was momentarily embarrassed at the groan he heard emanate from Bruce. When Bruce looked back at Clark, that glint was there again, before Clark was doused with water as Bruce shook his hair.

Clark looked down at his wet uniform before looking back at a smirking Bruce Wayne.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Clark tried to growl without heat.

He nearly laughed out loud when he used Superspeed to strip out of his uniform, leaving on his ‘novelty’ Batman boxers, and Bruce’s eyes widened in surprise. Suddenly Bruce was laughing, as well as one could for someone with a wired jaw.

“You know,” Clark began. “This reminds me of every time I had to wash the dog at the farm. It’s useless to wear clothes that are just going to end up wet.”

With that, Clark stepped into the cubicle and deliberately avoided looking at Bruce’s face. He grabbed the shampoo bottle and squeezed a measure into his palms. The expensive fragrance merged with the steamy mist that filled the room. Clark nudged at Bruce’s shoulder, gently, to get the man to turn around before he lathered the product into dark raven locks. He could feel the man underneath his hands begin to melt as a result of his ministrations. He scratched his finger nails gently against the scalp and massaged points of tension.

When it came time to rinse, Clark had to hold Bruce against his chest and let the man tip his head into the stream of water from the showerhead. While Bruce’s eyes were closed, Clark saw the sudsy water flow across the planes of hard muscle. The way the stark white bandages criss crossed toned skin. Bruce’s whole body shouted disciplined strength, from powerful biceps and ripped abdominals in a perfect 8 pack, but none of it was too large or overly exaggerated. He couldn’t resist watching as the white foam trailed down narrow tapered hips towards the dark thatch of dark hair. The bubbles also traced their way down Bruce’s strong thighs and legs before merging with the water to spin away down the drain. Clark drew his gaze back up to find Bruce’s eyes staring unnervingly at him. It made his spine tingle. Bruce lifted an eyebrow in seeming enquiry and Clark gave a small chuckle.

“More of you to clean than the dog,” he grinned.

The eyebrow lowered and an unimpressed look crossed Bruce’s face.

“Yeah, Shelby would have the same look at bath time too,” Clark snorted.

Bruce just shook his head and stood in position for the second wash with shampoo. Once that was done, Clark was about to start washing Bruce’s skin when the man motioned towards another bottle. Clark picked it up and read it with some surprise.

“Conditioner? Seriously, Batman uses conditioner?” Clark asked incredulously.

The haughty look on Bruce’s face, and accompanying nod, were enough for Clark to flip the bottle over and read it’s instructions, hiding a small smile.

“OK, so this stuff has to stay on for 10 minutes,” Clark began hesitantly. “So I’ll turn the water off, and we can wash the rest of you while it… does it’s thing.”

Bruce seemed to chuckle but it was difficult to tell.

Clark turned off the faucet and began to apply the conditioner. He took his time combing the product through socialite’s hair with his fingers, grinning when he imagined the looks on those jet setter’s faces about now.

Bruce’s eyes closed and finally seemed to totally relax.

This was the moment Clark realised that Bruce was truly trusting him. There was no trace of hostility or wariness in the man leaning against his chest. This was truly Bruce. Not Batman or Brucie. The strokes of his fingers became lingering, sweeping the hair behind the man’s ears, sweeping down the muscles at the base of the skull. Bruce groaned in obvious appreciation and it made Clark’s chest swell with pride. Clark was being allowed to see what lay beneath all the facades that Bruce always wore.

He grabbed the antibacterial soap and began to lather up the acres of skin, despite the numerous dressings, that was pressed against him. His hands swept over broad shoulders, down rounded biceps and stopped above the plastic mittens wrapped around Bruce’s hands. He lifted first one arm, then the other, washing underneath and down around the taped ribs. Bruce let his arms flop down while Clark was concentrating on not getting anything near the wrappings around Bruce’s torso. Without meaning to, Clark wrapped his arms around Bruce’s waist and hugged the man to him, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Bruce didn’t move or push him away, so Clark let his chin rest on a soapy shoulder. They stayed that way for a few moments until Clark felt Bruce shiver, which encouraged him to continue with washing the billionaire.

“Not much more, B” Clark whispered.

Bruce nodded and Clark let go. He proceeded to wash Bruce’s back before kneeling down onto the shower floor. He applied the soap to Bruce’s legs and feet without glancing at anything he shouldn’t. Despite his efforts, his face was too close to Bruce’s rear end and without realising it, his hands lifted to soap the globes of flesh before him. Bruce startled and Clark glanced up quickly to catch the surprise on Bruce’s face. Clark stood slowly and stared into those arctic wolf eyes as he gave Bruce’s body another once over with the soap. The tension in the air was becoming thicker by the moment when Bruce’s gaze narrowed.

Clark wasn’t expecting Bruce to turn and step forward into his arms. They were chest to chest before amusement rippled over Bruce’s face. Although the man couldn’t use his hands, he used his arms and torso to smear soap all over Clark, managing to get conditioner along his neck and under his chin. Then Bruce stepped back and seemed to giggle from behind his wired jaw. Clark looked down at himself and realised that he was entirely covered in suds.

“Yep, just like washing the dog,” Clark said before dissolving into laughter.

There was a limited water fight once Clark turned the shower back on, and Bruce ended up with many wet bandages, but Clark couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed. It was the first time he had seen Bruce look like he truly enjoyed himself. The snuffles of laughter from both men soon subsided to quiet sighs when Clark eventually turned off the water.

He wrapped Bruce in two big fluffy towels and proceeded to dry them both off. Clark was then brought crashing back to reality as he realised that so many of the dressings had been soaked through, despite his careful application of waterproofing.

The thing of it was, Bruce didn’t seem to mind. For the first time, Clark saw Bruce’s eyes sparkle with shared mischief and glee. Clark shook his head.

“You nut,” he said, smothering more giggles.

Bruce lifted a shoulder in reply before Clark focussed solely on replacing all the bandages, gauze and dressings, getting Bruce into his pyjamas and settled back into bed. Once he stepped back to assess that everything was done, he noticed Bruce give his chest a pointed look.

Oh right, Clark was still only wearing his Batman boxer shorts.

Looking at Bruce gaze down his chest to land on the novelty underwear, Clark felt himself begin to blush. Bruce caught his eyes again and snorted.

“What?” Clark asked innocently. “They were on sale.”

Bruce lifted an eyebrow and laughed as hard as Clark had ever seen him, even with the limitations of his broken jaw.

Clark felt a bubbling happiness rise in his chest before he moved back into the bathroom to put his uniform back on. When he came back to Bruce’s bedside, the sight of a sleeping Bruce with damp hair curled around his face, his insides melt just a little bit more. As much as he wanted to reach out and brush the strands away, Clark silently left.

Although Clark still carried guilt inside him about Batman’s condition, he found a new emotion coiling inside. One that needed time for Clark to untangle.

He still flew home to Metropolis with a big grin on his face.

*~*~*~*~*

Chapter Text

*~*~*~*~*

Clark entered the MedBay a few days later to one very put out Bat. The look that greeted him could not be mistaken for Batman, despite the lack of the cowl.

“Evenin’, B,” Clark spoke neutrally.

A growl emanated from the bedridden man in front of him.

“So, not a good day then?” Clark asked innocently.

The reply was another growl but was followed up by a Glare.

“Do you want me to get J’onn so you can tell me what’s up?”

A negative head shake was the response.

“You don’t want to talk about it?” Clark tried to keep his question light.

Bruce waved bandaged hands toward his face.

“Well, ok, so you can’t talk yet,” Clark tried to stay reasonable in light of the mood that filled the room. “Does it have anything to do with the surgery tomorrow?”

“Hmmmph” Bruce answered as he looked away.

“Bruce,” Clark began, but when Bruce whipped his head around to look at him, he was taken back by what he saw there.

Pure frustration was oozing from every facet of Bruce. But there was something more in the gaze that landed on him. Clark was hesitant to try and identify what he saw there. If it was anyone other than Batman, he would call it fear or trepidation. Clark had never seen anything like it on Bruce’s face before. It jarred him deeply. Batman was always confident, always in control, and never stood down against seemingly insurmountable odds. It tilted Clark’s view of the man, of what he thought he knew.

Clark was learning more all the time about what lay under the masks of Batman and Brucie Wayne. He was beginning to discover Bruce.

His mouth went dry and he tried to swallow, looking away from the unknown emotion in Bruce’s eyes. He couldn’t deny how shaken it made him feel so he looked around for something to cheer Bruce up.  

Clark noted the soft stress ball on the nightstand and looked down at Bruce’s hands. The metal framework had been removed from both hands and a light layer of wrappings remained. Clark reached out and gently ran a finger down the back of the nearest hand on the bed.

“Diana’s healing salves have done a remarkable job,” Clark noted absently.

Bruce flipped his hand over so that Clark’s fingers were resting on the open palm. Very slowly and deliberately, Bruce’s fingers gently closed as much possible. Bruce then pushed to squeeze Clark’s hand harder but the bandages prevented a proper grip. Clark jolted back to himself and what he was doing. But Bruce didn’t seem like Clark’s hand was unwelcome. He stretched out his fingers and placed his palm against Bruce’s.

“That’s amazing, B.” Clark didn’t try to hide the astonishment from his voice.

It felt nice. Clark wanted to stay that way for as long as he could. He could imagine his skin tingling where Bruce touched him. He couldn’t seem to lift his eyes away from where they were holding each other. A warmth suffused him and filled him with a rush of heady feelings. If asked, Clark wouldn’t have been able to say how long he stood by the bed with their hands joined.

A huff of air made Clark look up into blue eyes that were dark with unidentified emotion. He felt a little guilty for touching Bruce without permission, and began to slide his hand away but Bruce gripped his hand again. Clark’s face lit up with a smile and he pulled the chair closer so he could sit without breaking contact. It only took a few minutes for Bruce to stop squeezing and Clark saw a brief flicker of pain on Bruce’s face.

He reluctantly removed his hand, missing the warmth instantly. Bruce raised an eyebrow at him and shuffled a little on the bed, bringing the other hand closer to Clark. Bubbles rose in his chest as he gently clasped the other hand, enjoying the peace it brought him. Sure, Clark thought it was only Bruce performing physiotherapy but he couldn’t help rejoicing in the simple touch from the other man.

Bruce’s face was relaxed, open, the opposite of Batman’s normal grimace. Clark, despite being a journalist, couldn’t find the words to describe this moment of happiness. Whether he was wrong or not, he felt closer to Bruce than ever before.

That had been the start of many physiotherapy sessions where Bruce gripped and held Clark’s hands. In addition to the exercise, her applied the healing salve before reapplying the dressings. It shifted Clark’s mood and it appeared that Bruce also looked forward to it. When J’onn would enter to give his report, he was definitely smirking which always made Clark blush and Bruce appear amused.

*~*~*~*~*

Clark had spent the last few months ferrying items from Wayne Manor up to the WatchTower. He had also gotten to know Alfred pretty well in that time. He grinned to himself as he remembered a particular conversation about a stubborn Bat.

“The thing is, Mister Kent,” Alfred had begun.

“What will it take for you to call me Clark, Alfred?” Clark interjected.

“The thing is, Mister Kent ,” Alfred emphasised. “If he is released from the infirmary of the WatchTower, Master Bruce will push himself too soon to get back to the streets of Gotham.”

Clark couldn’t help but agree with Alfred’s assessment.

“I’ve seen the damage,” Clark said softly. “Not just this recent trauma, but all the old wounds. I can see the healed breaks from the past, the deterioration of his skeleton, the internal tissue and organ scarring, along with the surface of his skin.”

It had saddened Clark to see how many times people had tried to break the Dark Knight. He looked up to see empathy radiating from Alfred.

“I fear for him, Mister Kent,” Alfred said quietly. “The day will come when he won’t survive what Gotham throws at him. I carry a degree of guilt because I am an enabler.”

Clark must have looked shocked, but Alfred continued.

“He has endured so much. As a boy, he lost his world when his parents were taken from him. But he fought back. He trained for many years overseas without a word to me. I worried for him and there were times, I admit, I doubted and wondered if he was gone forever. The day he returned, I was so relieved. He’s like a son to me and when he came to me with this hairbrained scheme of his, the Bat, I couldn’t say no. I helped facilitate Batman. Then, he started coming back with more serious injuries. The foes he faced were cruel but he would not walk away. Despite many instances that I have begged him to stay home and recover, he won’t listen. Master Bruce is a driven man, Mister Kent. It is my greatest fear that he will drive himself to destruction.”

Clark was uncertain what he should say. He had known of Bruce’s early orphaning but the rest was new information. A new insight to what made Bruce the man he was. Clark had spent many hours contemplating why Bruce would take on the mantle of Gotham’s protector. Admittedly, Clark hadn’t understood Bruce when they first began working together. The man was gruff, rude, pedantic, intelligent and the best damned tactician in the world, an unrecognised genius to boot. One thing Batman wasn’t, was friendly or social. He had never offered information about himself or his Mission.

“What can I do?” Clark asked.

He would give anything to help Bruce, even if every overture of friendship had been thrown back in his face in the past. Batman did not accept help from anyone, except for Alfred.

“You’re Superman, what can’t you do?” Alfred quipped.

“It seems I can’t make him like me,” Clark sighed.

“Master Bruce doesn’t like anybody,” Alfred huffed. “He certainly doesn’t listen to anyone else, including me.”

“He trusts you, Alfred,” Clark said quietly, trying not to sound petulant.

“I have known that boy since the day he was born,” Alfred said with a small smile. “I have changed his nappies, I watched as Thomas and Martha encouraged his first steps, I’ve seen him mourn. Grief nearly consumed him. I tried to comfort him when the nightmares began. Did you know he has an eidetic memory? Every time he dreams of that night, he suffers through every single detail.”

“I want to help, Alfred,” Clark’s voice was soft as he spoke.

“As do I, Mister Kent,” Alfred stated sardonically. “But what we want, and what Master Bruce allows? Entirely separate beasts. He is driven like no other I have ever known. The question now appears to be, what can you do? How can you help? What is it you truly want?”

“I’d like to...” Clark paused to clear his throat, and gather his thoughts before continuing. “To be his friend. To be someone that he would be willing to call on when he needs someone standing beside him. To be there for him, through battles and beyond. To make him smile and laugh, if it’s possible.”

“Ah,” Alfred knowingly replied. “You wish to be a part of his life. I encourage this wholeheartedly. I am neither young nor as strong as you. I struggle to help him to his room when he is too wounded to make it on his own. It is my greatest wish that he not be alone when I am gone.”

“Alfred...” Clark was deeply disturbed at Alfred’s words.

“Whether we like it or not, Mister Kent,” Alfred continued stoically. “I will pass someday. And you may be the only person in the world that he cannot force away because of your unique abilities.”

Clark opened his mouth to say Batman used words to hurt him, to push him, more thoroughly than Kryptonite could but Alfred continued.

“Yes, he uses his mind as his greatest weapon. I am already aware that he has denied your overtures of friendship, Mister Kent. You are the strongest man on the planet, let me ask you, can you use that strength to resist when he agitates, when he sets himself back on the path of the lone wolf? He will do everything in his power to put distance between you, and will resist any attempt to get close to him. In this, I believe he is a fool.”

Clark took a moment to really think about it. How many times had Batman riled him up, made him angry, drawn him into heated arguments?

“I’d be willing to listen to any advice you may care to give,” Clark responded, sounding firm in his conviction.

“Keep him at the WatchTower, Mister Kent,” Alfred perked up and seemed eager to broach the subject with him. “Do not let him return for as long as possible. Be there for him, help him with his recovery whether he wants you to or not. You must prove yourself beyond his doubts. He has to learn to trust you or you will fail.”

Clark nearly snorted at that. Trust from Batman was a battle in its own right. However, forewarned is forearmed. Alfred was laying down the challenge, giving him insights to the mysterious Dark Knight and the man behind the cowl. If Alfred was on his side, helping where he could, he felt confident.

Clark had spent the next few hours in deep conversation with Alfred. He gained further insight into what to expect and what to do to counteract the moody patient up on the WatchTower. It was the longest conversation Clark and Alfred ever had. As he had taken his leave, the one thing that stood out in his mind was, Alfred approved of him.

Clark grinned to himself. With his newfound knowledge, the support of Bruce’s father figure, and his own steely determination, Batman didn’t stand a chance.

*~*~*~*~*

Clark was waiting when Bruce was wheeled out of surgery and back into the MedBay that had become Bruce’s room. The wire had been removed from Bruce’s jaw. Clark knew Bruce wouldn’t wake up immediately so he took off to the communications centre to let Alfred know the results.

The information exchange with ‘Penny One’ was brief and perfunctory, but Clark could detect the Englishman’s relief. And it was Alfred that cut the conversation short, asking Clark to return to watch over his charge.

Clark had just entered the infirmary area when he could hear a ruckus. Machines were blaring warnings, doctors and nurses were in a tizzy, and underneath it all Clark could hear Bruce groaning and sounding distressed. He rushed forward to the doorway and the medical staff parted like the Red Sea for him.

“We think,” one of the young nurses said hesitantly. “He’s been calling for you.”

Clark’s eyebrows rose into his hairline and he focussed beyond the surrounding chaotic noises to listen to Bruce.

“Kllll, Kaaaa, Kaal,” was Bruce’s plaintive voice.

Clark moved to the bedside and took one of Bruce’s injured hands into his own.

“Shhhhhh,” he said softly. “I’m here, B, I’m here. Everything’s alright. You’re in the WatchTower and you’re recovering from surgery.”

Bruce’s eyes had trouble focussing on him, they were glazed and dull with all the drugs in his system, but when they did? It took Clark’s breath away. The stress seemed to melt out of Bruce and a wobbly smile graced the man’s features.

“Kkal,” Bruce exhaled.

Clark sat down on the edge of the bed and Bruce tried to curl towards him. Clark reached out to place a hand on the broad chest, once more dressed in a hospital gown, to keep Bruce laid back.

Bruce looked awful. Not as awful as when Clark first brought him to the WatchTower, that was for sure, but there was swelling around the jaw and the paleness of the man’s face was disconcerting. Clark lifted his other hand to push Bruce’s bangs back from his forehead before fluttering his fingers over the inflamed jaw. He checked, using his vision, that everything was as it should be. The Specialist Doctor had explained the whole thing to both Clark and Bruce before the procedure went ahead.

Bruce’s face turned slightly into his palm and seemed to want to nuzzle into his hand. Clark smiled a small private grin, sure that Bruce wouldn’t remember this when the anesthetic was out of his system. The attached machines had stopped alarming and it seemed that the medical staff had left the room once Bruce had begun to calm down.

“Mmmmmm” Bruce mumbled into his palm.

The exhale of air caught Clark off guard, making his heart flutter in his chest. For a brief moment, Clark hoped that the medication was wiping away Bruce’s mental defences and that the genuine relief was all Bruce.

Clark’s hands never stopped moving, rubbing the back of the healing knuckles with feather light fingertips, and caressing what had to be a sore jaw. He lifted the hand cupping the jaw to push a lock of hair back behind Bruce’s ear and gently smoothing the tender skin from temple into the damp, sweaty strands of hair. Clark could swear he heard Bruce purr. He wanted to giggle at the oxymoron. The tough Batman was purring like a kitten.

When he looked at Bruce’s eyes, he saw a tenderness that melted his insides to goo. Despite the wire being removed, the swelling and bruising from the surgery limited movement, a sloppy grin crossed the handsome face. Clark swiped his thumb across the dark circles under Bruce’s eyes and there was no denying the breath of relief Bruce exhaled. Bruce turned his face until his lips were against the palm of Clark’s hand.

“Hankoo Kal,” Bruce mumbled, lips barely moving.

Clark felt a shiver race down his spine but couldn’t make himself take his hand away. With all the emotions racing through his body, he almost missed the way Bruce pursed his lips gently to kiss Clark’s palm.

Fire raced through Clark, an all consuming flame. It engulfed him from the tips of his ears all the way to his toes, his breaths came in short sharp bursts.

“Anything for you, Bruce,” he coaxed from past the lump in his throat. “I’m here for you. I always have been, and I always will be.”

“Don’ leaf, Kaal,” Bruce pleaded. “Nee ooooh.”

“Shhhhhh, B,” Clark soothed. “Don’t try to speak, you need to rest.”

“Nooooooo,” Bruce whined. “Mus tell oooh.”

Clark was struck once more at how different the man in front of him was, with all his defences lowered, almost as if a regular human was laid out before him.

“You can tell me later, I promise,” Clark whispered while mesmerised at his fingers brushing against the planes of the billionaire’s face.

Bruce huffed in annoyance.

“Anna ‘ell oooh,” Bruce’s slurring was not improving and it was obvious the man needed to sleep.

Clark leaned forward, moving his hand until it ever so gently traced from pink lips to curved ear. They were so very close to each other that Clark could count the individual dark eyelashes as Bruce’s blinks grew longer and longer. It was obvious Bruce was fighting rest until he got whatever it was off that broad chest.

“OK, Bruce,” Clark conceded. “As long as you rest after this. I’ll wait with you until you wake up again. I won’t leave you.”

Bruce seemed to rally all the remaining strength for one last effort to be understood.

“Alays nee’ oooh,” Bruce was almost whispering, as if sharing a secret. “Yooo too good fo’ ee. I ike yoo ooo. Too ‘uch. On’t anna hur’ yoo buh nee’ you. Pleeeeas?”

All the strength was gone from Bruce, and those hazy blue eyes fluttered closed with some further completely incoherent mumbling. Clark could tell Bruce had finally fallen asleep. He stayed sitting on the bed, pushing Bruce’s hair back with one hand and gently stroking the bandaged fingers with his other hand. Every sense he had was muted now, like being wrapped up in a protective layer of cotton. He mulled over Bruce’s slurred words.

He recognised that Bruce had called his name, had thanked him for being there, told him that he was needed, and asked him not to leave. Then there had been something the man worked very hard to say, that Clark needed to hear. ‘Always need you’ but then Bruce had said that Clark was too good, that he liked too, but it was too much, that Bruce didn’t want to hurt him but still needed him. That last word had been a plea.

Clark sat for well over an hour untangling his own emotions from what Bruce had said. Bruce had never given any indication that he wanted a true friendship from Clark before he’d been so seriously injured. Clark tried, oh how he tried so hard, not to read more into it than the surface facts. Bruce had been up to his eyeballs in drugs and wasn’t in control. The reactions to Clark’s touch though, that made him wonder, made him hope.

Clark slid down into what had become his chair and retained his gentle hold on Bruce’s hand. He didn’t know if he was elated, filled with joy and anticipation, or if he wanted to cry because lucid Bruce never acted like this. He was confused and felt completely wrung out. He leant forward and rested his head on the bed near Bruce’s knees and closed his eyes for a moment.

The next thing Clark was aware of was the gentle touch of fingers in his hair, stroking softly. He lifted his head and tried to blink open his eyes. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Looking up at Bruce, there was a small smile quirking the corners of the man’s lips. Bruce’s colour looked better even if the swelling still looked painful. Clark smiled back before he noted the time on the display of vitals above the bed. He’d slept the rest of the afternoon and evening away. Clark couldn’t remember the last time he’d simply slept for so long. The worst part was, he needed to leave soon for work. Bruce must have caught the expression on his face and reached to touch bandaged fingers to Clark’s chin, turning him to face the bedridden man.

“Gooo ooo ‘ork,” Bruce mumbled.

“But, Bruce,” Clark sounded ragged. “I promised you I’d stay.”

“Yooo id, ank ooooh, Kal,” Bruce sounded a bit better, but it was obvious he was still in pain. “Ank ooooh fo eerying.

“Alright, Bruce,” Clark replied. “I’ll go on one condition.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, a clear invitation to continue.

“You have to rest and heal,” Clark felt a grin steal over his face as he said the words he was sure Bruce didn’t want to hear.

And yet again, Bruce surprised him with an affirmative nod. Clark gave the hand in his own a squeeze before standing up. He let their hands linger until the last possible moment before finally leaving the room. Clark stopped to advise the staff that the patient was awake before he returned to Metropolis.

Lois immediately wanted to know what put the goofy smile on his face but he didn’t relent to her hounding questions. He also didn’t stop grinning all day.

*~*~*~*~*

Chapter Text

*~*~*~*~*

The following months were frustrating. Clark still had to work his job at the Daily Planet, as well as superhero duties. J’onn was relieved of monitor duty to assist Batman, both in expressing Bruce’s wishes telepathically as well as shape-shifting into the Dark Knight on Gotham streets in the evenings.

J’onn had been taking care of Gotham, assisted by Alfred, but there was still no sign of the Clown Prince of Crime. The fact that Joker was not seen or heard from during Batman’s recovery kept everyone on edge. The other members of the League assisted where they could. Bruce had not been too happy about Metas in his city, but he hadn’t had a choice either. The man had scowled very effectively.

Clark found himself in the MedBay whenever he had time. He still struggled with helplessness but as Bruce slowly healed, their limited verbal communication continued to improve.

Diana’s visit to Themyscira had obtained wondrous healing elixirs from the Amazonian healers. It wasn’t a miracle cure, but it assisted Bruce to regain his strength. A concoction of herbal wraps had saved the nerve endings in Bruce’s hands, and helped the bones that needed to mend. Salves had assisted with bruising and swelling, helped the skin knit back together around the vicious stab wounds. Bruce and J’onn both discussed the possibility of stocking the WatchTower MedBay with said items to assist with future injuries to League members. The pair worked to convince Diana to give up the secrets of the concoctions and potions, but had been unsuccessful to date.

Overall, it was an enlightening time for Clark. He continued to learn about Bruce, more than he had ever imagined. The man was frighteningly intelligent but the constant bedrest, and the inability to work at the computers, made for a quick temper. Clark still thought Bruce showed more patience than he ever would.

Clark continued to assist Bruce with physiotherapy. The man still had to be careful of the muscle damage where the Joker had stabbed deeply into the upper thigh and abdominal area. There had been knife wounds on his torso and shoulders which seemed to benefit from the potions of the Amazons.

It had been a strange time between the two of them. Clark remembered when they had played many games of chess. Bruce would stare at the piece he wanted moved and growl or huff until Clark had moved it into the desired position. Despite the handicap, Bruce had won all their games. He wasn’t the tactician for the Justice League for nothing.

The time together had shown a lot of new sides too. Clark found himself getting close to the Gothamite, and developing feelings. He didn’t want to push for anything because he valued their new found friendship and growing trust too much. Staring at Bruce while helping him in the shower, running his hands over that scarred body, his fingers digging into the scalp as he shampooed the dark hair, had him flushed every time and he knew he was developing emotions beyond respect.

There were so many moments they had shared and Clark couldn’t help but feel that a little good had come from the enforced time together.

The time Bruce tried to sneak away, when the Bat had been caught by Hal Jordan who had laughed his glowing green ass off. Clark had used the vigilante’s embarrassment to ensure compliance, by teasing mercilessly. Bruce had stopped trying for a while since that incident.

Clark chuckled quietly at the memory of the one time Bruce actually made it to the transport room, Diana had intercepted him and scolded him. To see Bruce look contrite was a new expression Clark had added to his mental repertoire.

Ultimately, it had been Clark to most often catch Batman trying to leave the MedBay and he’d used the excuse to cradle the injured man in his arms gently. He couldn’t understand why the man was so stubborn, trying to get home while he was still so injured.

Clark smiled to himself remembering that first time Bruce had managed to leave the MedBay, the first time Batman hadn’t actively been trying to escape the confines of the room, and the WatchTower itself. He’d arrived early that day to find Bruce sitting up in bed, squeezing foam balls as physiotherapy for the healing hands. The man looked totally bored. Clark’s breath stuttered as Bruce looked up and seemed genuinely pleased to see him. He grinned and was given an open smile in return.

Before Clark had said a word, Bruce threw one of the balls which hit him squarely on his House Crest.

“Oh, I see someone is feeling feisty and needs a target?” Clark chuckled.

In response, the second ball hit in exactly the same place as the first even though Bruce threw it with the other hand. Clark came up with a brilliant idea at that point.

“How about some decent target practice and we get you out of this room?” Clark asked.

Bruce seemed to light up like a Christmas Tree.

Between the two of them, they bundled Bruce into a wheelchair (despite some good natured grumbling from the Bat, because he could only limp slowly and didn’t want to use a damned wheelchair, Clark!) and took off down the hallway as fast as safely possible. They made it to the elevator unimpeded. Clark got them to one of the smaller training rooms, after using his powers to ensure it would be empty while they were in the lift.

Clark made Bruce remain in the wheelchair, instead of standing, and brought over a large container of tennis balls, placing them nearby so that Bruce wouldn’t have to reach uncomfortably. Then Clark set up some easy targets at close range.

Unsurprisingly, Bruce’s aim had not suffered despite the injury, even if Batman had to focus more than usual to ensure no strain was put on the hands. From there it evolved into Clark intercepting the balls before they hit the targets. Bruce changed tactic and started pegging Clark with the tennis balls in rapid succession. There wasn’t any force behind the balls but Bruce was still good, very good.

“You’re just lucky I can’t throw them back at you,” Clark called out.

As soon as the last word was out of Clark’s mouth, a ball hit him squarely between the eyes. He knew he could have dodged it, all of the balls really, but he didn’t want to.

They played more like children and laughed like them too.

By the end of the ‘session’, Clark could see Bruce was beginning to tire (not that he’d mention that to the stubborn Bat) the happiness Clark saw in Bruce’s eyes made all the silliness worth it. He cleared away the equipment and was walking over to push the wheelchair back towards the elevators when Bruce grabbed his hand. Clark stood stock still and Bruce rubbed his thumb over the back of Clark’s knuckles gently.

“Than yooo,” Bruce hummed, the closest the man could say to thank you. He was getting better but still had to contend with the swelling in his jaw and movement was still painful.

Clark placed his other hand over where Bruce had a grip on him.

“Anytime, B,” Clark said softly. “Anything for you.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in question.

Clark felt that lurch in his chest once more and tried not to blush as he slowly slid his hands away from Bruce’s, moving to the back of the wheelchair.

As they made their way back to the Medical Wing, he saw the corners of Bruce’s lips curl upwards and stay that way. Clark would have liked to stay longer, to keep that small smile on the handsome face, but Bruce fell asleep fairly quickly. Clark was happy that he could take Bruce’s mind off his limitations, and the man would get some real sleep.

All he hoped was that Bruce hadn’t noticed the small signs of affection that Clark couldn’t seem to resist giving.

*~*~*~*~*

The day finally arrived when Bruce had reached his limit. He wanted to go back to Gotham. Now! J’onn was flinching at whatever mental barrage Batman was subjecting the Martian to. Admittedly, the billionaire was doing much better but Clark still worried that the man would head back out to the evening’s activities too soon.

A quick conversation with Alfred reassured Clark that the Englishman coud deal with it, under the proviso that Clark could continue to help outside of his journalism and superhero work. That was no problem to Clark, he would stay by Bruce’s side for as long as he was needed, as long as Bruce wanted him there.

Bruce was taciturn with the other medical staff and the other members of the League learnt to leave the grumpy Bat alone. It was left to Clark to help with physiotherapy, to help with personal hygiene, to ensure Bruce didn’t keep trying to hack the terminals to get on with research and information gathering, trying to escape the MedBay. For a Super powered Kryptonian, Bruce kept him on his toes, and he felt worn out on more than one occasion.

Clark’s presence seemed to calm Bruce so whenever there was a problem, an argument, they called Clark. It was as if Bruce’s trust had been placed in Clark and he wasn’t going to let Bruce down at this point. Not again.

Reassured, the Doctor agreed to release Bruce from the MedBay into Clark’s care to get the patient safely home and straight to bed. Bruce grumbled but accepted the conditions. It was obvious the billionaire wanted to be home more than remaining in the MedBay.

*~*~*~*~*

Two weeks flew by since Bruce returned to the Manor.

Clark worked at the Daily Planet during the day and returned to Gotham straight from work. He worked with Bruce on the physiotherapy, ensuring Bruce didn’t push too hard, and Clark was pleased. Bruce was improving in leaps and bounds.

The determination to get past the injury caused a few raised voices between Bruce and Alfred, but Clark was constantly tuned into the Manor. He would leave work, surreptitiously to follow a lead, and head toward the ruckus Bruce was creating. Often, Clark’s appearance in the doorway would end whatever had the Bat tied up in knots. Alfred’s sigh of relief showed the butler being pushed to the end of his patience as well.

Once Bruce was settled back in the huge bed, Clark would join Alfred in the kitchen for a cup of tea and some of Alfred’s famous homemade cookies (even if the man refused to call them anything except biscuits).

They would talk between themselves, the conversation always revolved around Bruce. Alfred was worried that Bruce would still try to return to Batman’s duties too soon so Clark reassured Alfred that he wouldn’t let that happen.

After a particularly harried afternoon, when Bruce threatened Clark with the Kryptonite, Alfred pulled him aside to let him know that he had moved the xeno mineral and that Master Clark was safe.

Clark wasn’t sure what touched him more. The fact that Alfred had seen to his safety by removing his one weakness from the grumpy Bat’s clutches, or that he’d been called Master Clark.

Although invited many many times, Clark never stayed for dinner. He had his planetary patrols to complete, meetings at the WatchTower, natural disasters to contend with as well as another run in with Luthor. That man was a pain in his backside.

Clark also knew that Bruce and Alfred would be in the Cave, advising J’onn who was still maintaining the role of Batman. He was rarely needed in the evenings.

Admittedly he’d gotten used to the shared evenings aboard the WatchTower, initially reading to Bruce but as the billionaire had begun to recover, their repertoire expanded. From playing chess, working through leads and stories at the Daily Planet, until eventually the two spoke of their own life experiences. Clark told Bruce about life at the farm with his Ma and Pa while Bruce shared with Clark the gruelling training undertaken for years to become Batman.

Clark began to miss the time they spent together.

*~*~*~*~*

The Cave contained more people than it ever had before.

Alfred stood near the console, arms crossed over his chest, disapproval radiating from the Englishman.

Bruce was seated before the terminal, no sign of injury to his hands as they flew over the keyboard. The vigilante was in full uniform except for the cowl.

J’onn was seated nearby, adding his own observations and notes as Batman updated the files on the cases he had missed while recovering.

Clark stood a little away from the group, simply observing. Quietly, he agreed with Alfred. It was too soon but the Bat was not to be swayed in his determination to return to Gotham’s streets. The low conversation between Bruce and J’onn surprised him and he fought to squash down jealousy that was trying to rise from the pit of his gut.

“I have an interest in seeing these cases to the end, Batman,” J’onn sounded determined as he spoke.

“You have put a lot of good work in, J’onn,” Batman complimented.

The Cave went tense and silent, these were rare words from the Bat. The fact that J’onn and Clark hadn’t been summarily exiled from Gotham’s streets was not going to be the only surprise tonight, it seemed.

“Gordon has been very accommodating,” J’onn sounded smug.

Bruce simply raised an eyebrow at the green skinned Martian, and Clark didn’t need telepathy to let him know what Bruce was thinking. The time they had spent together during Bruce’s recovery had taught Clark so much about the man, including the unique language of the Eyebrow.

Bruce’s sudden bark of laughter echoed around the Cave, disturbing the bats still roosting instead of out hunting in the night sky.

“How long did it take him?” Bruce snorted, when his laughter was under control.

“The second time he lit the signal,” J’onn grimaced slightly. “I thought you would be less than pleased that I hadn’t managed to maintain the facade.”

“I’d be more upset if Gordon hadn’t picked it up,” Bruce smirked. “We’ve worked together a long time.”

“He is a good man, Batman,” J’onn said seriously. “He assisted to keep me from inadvertently blowing my cover, and we would meet for coffee during the day. Gordon thought my shapeshifting abilities would be appreciated for undercover operations.”

“He would,” Bruce huffed. “Alright, J’onn, I’ll let you and Gordon continue to work these cases but I expect to be kept informed.”

Clark saw J’onn break into a big grin, and looked over at Alfred who seemed to have the same gobsmacked expression on the normally stoic face. Clark had to pick his jaw up from the ground as he looked back towards Bruce, only to find the man’s obviously amused eyes already on him.

“Surprised, Kal?” Bruce asked.

Alfred wisely stepped further away from the group and looked to be focussed back on the new reinforced gauntlets laid out on the nearby workbench. J’onn turned to stare at Clark, the deep crimson eyes seemed to glow. Clark almost stepped backwards when he felt J’onn inside his mind.

/It seems Batman has learnt from you, as you have learnt of him, Kal-El/ J’onn’s telepathy shared a fizzing sensation that seemed to reflect good humour.

“Are you laughing at me inside my head, J’onn?” Clark asked cheekily.

“The occasion of being allowed to work in Gotham is cause for celebration,” the Martian snarked back.

Clark stared for a moment longer before a careful snicker caught his attention. Alfred had his hand up over his mouth for a moment before dropping it down to reveal a wide grin.

“Finally,” the Englishman said. “I will rest easier now that Master Bruce has learnt to accept assistance, that he doesn’t have to do everything himself single handedly.”

“So,” Clark began cautiously hopeful. “This means I can help too!”

Bruce’s brow furrowed but the truth behind the expression was easily seen by Clark. There was a playfulness there that hadn’t existed prior to Bruce’s injury.

“If you’re lucky, Space Cowboy,” Bruce muttered.

Clark couldn’t help but feel lucky. The companionship that had grown between himself and Bruce, under the most difficult circumstances, warmed him. Even the nicknames that were used by Bruce weren’t as derogatory as they used to be. At least he wasn’t being called an Overgrown Smurf anymore, Boy Scout seemed to be Bruce’s favourite and was a vast improvement. He let his gaze linger as Bruce’s scowl softened. Steel blue eyes pinned him in place with an unreadable expression. Clark had seen it more and more often as he worked with Bruce on physiotherapy, eventually training and sparring. Often, it felt like words were redundant between them after learning to read Bruce’s mood while the man couldn’t talk, but this was new and something he didn’t know what to make of.

“I should be so lucky, lucky lucky lucky,” Clark sang deliberately off key while trying not to blush from the tips of his ears down to his boots.

Bruce rolled his eyes and snorted, then everyone returned to their tasks.

Clark took it as a win and focussed his attention back to the plans and routes for the evening. The fact that Batman had included a patrol route for Superman, included him, without even asking, made him happier than he could express. Bruce knew that he would be there, beside him, as Batman made his debut post injury. Clark felt knowing eyes on him again but didn’t look up to see who it was, otherwise the bubbling joy filling his chest would surely explode.

*~*~*~*~*

The shared caseload meant that Batman would only be on patrol for part of the night. A concession Bruce had made to placate Alfred, but Clark was relieved as he alighted on the rooftop of the GCPD. J’onn was already shaking Gordon’s hand as Clark noted Batman slip from the shadows to join them. Clark shook his head and hid his enjoyment of the theatrics.

“Good to have you back, Batman,” Gordon stated without turning around.

“Are all Gothamites perpetually unsurprised?” Clark couldn’t help but ask.

The group stared at him for a few moments before Jim lifted a shoulder in a one sided shrug.

“Hang around long enough, and you’ll find out,” Batman murmured under his breath.

Clark’s grin took over his face and that core of warmth in his heart seemed to flare.

As the group went over the files Gordon had brought with him, Clark could almost feel glee radiating from Batman, and plans were made for a big warehouse raid in conjunction with GCPD.

“You pair will remain on standby,” Batman growled, pointing at the two metas. “This operation has been planned for nine months and I’m going in alone.”

Clark made to protest but a small negative head shake from J’onn stalled him.

/He needs this, Kal-El/ J’onn spoke directly into his mind.

Clark let out a small frustrated growl which resulted in a Glare from Batman.

“We can be on standby nearby, right?” Clark gritted his teeth as he spoke.

A small nod from Batman was enough to pacify Clark for the moment, even if Gordon raised a bushy eyebrow.

“You can wait with the SWAT Team,” Gordon added, and wisely didn’t say anymore on the matter.

“They do have the best coffee,” J’onn deflected.

Clark tried not to let his fear for Batman’s safety interfere with the sting they were planning. It didn’t stop his stomach twisting into knots.

Soon after, the group broke apart to get the mission underway.

Naturally, the sting went down without a hitch. Batman was unhurt, the criminals arrested and Clark was so relieved that he nearly slumped to the ground. Batman had returned to Gotham. Did that mean he didn’t need Clark anymore? He couldn’t help but dwell on it but thankfully, it seemed Batman had no intention of kicking Superman out of his city anytime soon.

*~*~*~*~*

It was another few days before the Joker returned to the streets of Gotham. Batman had done everyone in the League the courtesy of advising them. Clark had nearly gone into full blown panic mode. He wanted to race to Gotham at top speed. All the months of Bruce’s pain and hard work weighed heavily on his mind. Instead, he forced himself to complete his normal planetary patrol before finishing in Gotham.

Clark followed the now well known heartbeat to the Bowery area and arrived in time to see the Joker punched down to the ground before being handcuffed. He waited just out of sight until Batman had called the collar in to the GCPD. He began moving forward just as the Joker started speaking.

“Hahahahaha,” the madman cackled. “You really are baaaaaaaaaaaack.”

“And you’re arrested,” Batman growled.

“Awwwwww, but I missed you, Batsy,” the Joker stated almost soberly. “Your little stand in, the second stringer, an understudy maybe? Well, I wasn’t impressed.”

Superman stepped up beside Batman and found those unnerving, insane, eyes glaring at him.

“Was it you? Wearing Batsy’s little ensemble?” The green haired clown sounded petulant.

“Me?” Clark began to laugh. “Oh no, I’m not brave enough to do something foolish like that.”

A low sound at the back of Bruce’s throat brought Clark up short. One glance informed him that Batman didn’t want him interacting with the lunatic.

“So, there are some brains behind all that muscle after all,” Joker snarked. “Hah!! Imagine that.”

“Shut up, Joker,” Batman growled.

“Super Dweeb won’t upset the big bad Bat.” Joker began in a sing song tone. “As you know, this territorial dog doesn’t play well with others. Did you have to let him piss on you before being allowed in Gotham? Did he hump your leg while he was at it? Hahahahahahaha!”

Clark blushed as the Joker dissolved into another fit of laughter.

Batman just knocked the insane clown unconscious and waited for the GCPD.

*~*~*~*~*

Superman and Batman were atop one of the tallest buildings in Gotham, watching the flashing lights far below where the GCPD were getting the Joker loaded up. Clark was just relieved that there had been no fight as such. Apparently the lunatic had wanted to see if ‘his’ Batman had returned to Gotham. Clark wasn’t sure how the madman knew it wasn’t Bruce in the uniform, J’onn’s shapeshifting abilities were perfect. But if Gordon had figured it out, then perhaps it wasn’t too far fetched to think that the Joker had noticed too.

The preceding week had gone better than Clark expected and Batman had not been injured at all. The swell of relief that filled him was almost overwhelming. He wondered if Batman would soon be kicking him out of the city because he was no longer needed, and couldn’t help wanting to delay the inevitable. When Batman turned to him and spoke, Clark startled because he was lost in his thoughts.

“Superman,” the usual Batman growl barked.

“Um…” he stammered. “Batman?”

“Thank you for your assistance.” Bruce said gravely.

Clark must have looked shocked because the edge of Batman’s lips quirked up.

“Er… no problem, B. Happy that I could help?” Clark’s voice rose at the end of his question.

“Kal,” Batman began. “You have done so much for me, helped me, over these months. More than I could have ever expected. Do you know how much I appreciate it?”

Clark stared. For a moment, the swell of guilt filled him once more. The litany of ‘if onlys’ came back briefly but he determinedly pushed it away.

“Will you join me for dinner back at the Manor?” Bruce seemed a little off kilter as the question was asked. “Alfred has made a fuss and for once, I don’t know what he has planned.”

“Sure, B,” Clark replied in a rush. “I’d love to.”

“Grab some civvies and meet me back at the cave, unless you want to eat in your uniform?” Bruce’s eyes roved up and down Clark’s blue clad form and Clark had to fight down the hammering of his heart and the blush that threatened to explode on his face.

“Sure, I’ll meet you there,” Clark didn’t hold back the pleased note to his voice.

Batman shot a grapple and headed towards the car, so Clark took off for Metropolis. He sped over the bay with a supersonic boom, reigning in the desire to do loop de loops.

Clark wasn’t going to be kicked out of Gotham, it would seem. Not only that, but Bruce appeared as though he wanted Clark’s company outside of the ‘job’. His thoughts whirled as he landed on the balcony of his apartment. Clark had spent so much time with Bruce and truly felt something had changed between them. He certainly didn’t want things to go back to the way they were before Batman had been injured. Clark threw a shirt and jeans into a messenger bag and slung it over his body and headed back out into the dark night.

*~*~*~*~*

Chapter Text

*~*~*~*~*

Clark flew back to the cliffs underneath Wayne Manor, and marvelled at how everything had changed. Before, Superman and Batman had only a perfunctory working relationship. It had taken serious injury and immobilisation, forced time together, to effect a change between them.

Clark had discovered how much Bruce gave to his city, to the cause of justice, and had paid with more than a pound of flesh. Bruce bore the marks of his dedication to the Mission.

Circumstances had meant Bruce learnt to rely on Clark, maybe even trust he hoped, and he felt confident in saying they were friends. Without hesitation. He would never share what he learnt, hoarding every show of closeness to his understanding of the bigger picture.

Underneath the brooding exterior, Clark discovered wit and charm alongside terrifying intelligence with an eidetic memory. He also began to understand how much Bruce cared. He gave to Gotham more than the Bat, Bruce Wayne provided jobs with good conditions and his philanthropic efforts were almost as famous as Brucie Wayne.

Alfred had warned him, during one of their conversations to stay for dinner, that Clark hadn’t met Brucie yet. He assured Clark that Bruce would be dreading it too, because it was Alfred surely was.

Now, even Batman’s hard exterior seemed to have softened when it came to Clark and Superman. He was even sharing the ‘Kal’ side of himself more easily, becoming a greater whole in the process.

He shook his head at himself as he arrived outside the hangar door. Clark remembered the first time he had arrived here, the cold reception from Alfred, and the terrifying ordeal of Bruce’s injuries. Clark flew inside, when the door slid open, and pondered how different his state of mind was between then and now.

Clark always looked forward to spending time with Bruce, and this invitation to dinner? Previously, only Alfred had invited him to stay for a meal, never Bruce. Clark’s first time having dinner, at the Manor, with Bruce was a milestone in his mind. Some sort of barrier had cracked. They had shared long looks when Bruce had returned to sparring, drawing out the sessions until J’onn came for the night’s briefing as Batman. They had grappled, pinned and felt each other’s breath on bare skin. It felt as if the very air had become heavier somehow, yet warm and inviting. It was electric.

Well, Clark didn’t want to get his hopes up but he was kind of viewing the whole dinner thing tonight as a date. Was it a date? Was he presuming too much? Nervousness flashed through him as he doubted himself.

Clark passed the BatWing and the sense of dejavu returned as Alfred waited below. However, this time it was no cold welcome. The Englishman smiled widely.

“Master Clark,” Alfred welcomed. “Dinner will be served in twenty minutes. You may change in there.”

Alfred indicated a changing area, with a self contained shower room immediately adjacent, before heading back up into the Manor proper.

Clark knew he was grinning like a proverbial idiot when he entered the locker style change room. He was caught off guard as the door to the wet area opened and Bruce exited surrounded by a cloud of steam. Clark had been stooping over to place his bag on a central bench when he froze.

Bruce only had a towel slung around the delineated waist, pale skin sparkling with drops of water were sliding down the dips and hollows of the torso, consolidating to run silvery trails down the eight pack abdominals, until it reached the towel tied in a vee. A trail of dark hair peeked out from above. Another towel was covering the dark hair, gl ittering blue eyes watched him from beneath the absorbent fabric. Clark couldn’t help it, he blushed.

“Clark?” Bruce asked, as the towel dropped down across broad shoulders.

“Uh… Alfred said I should change in here?” Clark would deny the squeak in his voice to himself, but it was obvious that Bruce noticed.

“Clark, you’ve seen more than this,” Bruce said with a smirk. “You’ve helped me shower, changed bandages, and even helped me piss when I couldn’t manage on my own.”

Clark glanced down to his messenger bag and started to remove his clothes.

“True,” he mumbled. “But you’re not injured now, and I know you have always valued your privacy.”

Bruce stepped closer, until they were barely a meter apart.

“Clark,” Bruce’s voice was husky as he spoke. “ You can invade my privacy anytime.”

Clark blinked. He had not expected that response at all. Clark felt pinned by the weight of Bruce’s scrutiny. He licked his dry lips and saw Bruce’s focus flicker down at the movement. The silence stretched between them.

“So, Clark, are you hungry?” Bruce asked.

Clark looked into smouldering eyes, and wondered if Bruce was flirting with him. He was flustered but his eyes roamed over Bruce’s taut muscular body. Water ran in rivulets, glistening under the fluorescent lights, and his mouth went dry. Bruce’s intense regard didn’t falter as Clark tried to drink in the man in front of him with his sight.

“I’m very thirsty, Bruce,” Clark grated out from his dry throat.

Bruce stalked closer until they were practically chest to chest, wafts of steam continued to haze above acres of skin and Clark had to stop himself from reaching out.

“Let me help you with that,” Bruce’s silky voice flowed over him, causing Clark to shudder.

“Please?” Clark croaked.

Time seemed to crawl in slow motion as Bruce closed the gap between them, and soft warm lips met his own.

The kiss was brief, too brief for Clark, but he resisted moving forward for more, when Bruce pulled away. He stood frozen as Bruce opened a locker and proceeded to dress himself. When the towel dropped, Clark couldn’t take his gaze away from Bruce’s ass. His eyes travelled up slowly, taking in the defined muscles of the billionaire’s back. Above the broad shoulders, Bruce was looking over at Clark, watching him take in Bruce’s body. Clark opened his mouth to say something, anything, but there were no words. Bruce watched him gape knowingly.

“Aren’t you going to get changed, Kal,” Bruce asked as he dressed. “Trust me, you don’t want to be late for dinner. Alfred would never forgive you. He’s been looking forward to this for months.”

The light quip broke Clark from his stupor and he grinned, while his insides turned to jelly at hearing Bruce use his Kryptonian name.

“I’ll be ready before you, B,” Clark replied with a laugh.

He used his super speed and was suddenly standing there in his jeans, buttoning up his shirt. Bruce crossed his arms unhappily.

“There goes the appetiser,” Bruce grumped.

Clark gulped and decided he was going to be as brave as the butterflies in his stomach would allow.

“Don’t want to spoil your appetite, Bruce,” he said, trying to sound suave. “You want to ensure you enjoy dessert.”

Bruce’s hands stilled in the process of doing up his belt buckle, when suddenly the man was lunged forward toward Clark.

Hands gripped the back of his neck and Bruce was devouring his mouth. Clark groaned and Bruce pressed their bodies together. This kiss was frantic, tongues tangling and exploring each other, and Clark felt as if he was melting.

A sudden knock interrupted the best kiss Clark had ever had in his life.

“Dinner is ready to be served,” Alfred called from behind the door. “I hope you are both famished.”

“Starving,” Bruce called out.

Clark and Bruce pulled apart before dissolving into laughter. Clark was giddy and unexpected happiness filled him to overflowing. He had grown to appreciate Bruce’s dedication and inherent beauty but hadn’t really believed that his growing feelings could be reciprocated. As they headed upstairs, Bruce took Clark’s hand and didn’t let go until they reached the dining room. Bruce kept glancing back with a small smile that filled some part of Clark he hadn’t dared to think about.

Alfred had gone all out. Bruce and Clark stood in the doorway, and took in the room, before looking at each other and bursting into snickers again. The space was lit with candles on the table and a single rose sat in an elegant vase. Linen napkins were stark white against the crimson red tablecloth, the cutlery gleamed silver in the flickering light. There was no room for misunderstanding, it was a romantic setting. Clark couldn’t help but hope it really was a date.

Before he could dwell on it, Bruce reached through his elbow and took his arm, and led him to his seat. Bruce pulled out the chair and settled Clark at the table. Bruce’s fingers lingered across his shoulders as the man moved towards the adjacent setting.

“This is very….” Clark began uncertainly.

“Intimate?” Bruce answered for him, as he sat leaning on the corner of the table, body angled towards Clark.

“Date like,” Clark continued courageously.

“Would you like that, Clark?” Bruce asked softly, gaze locked on to Clark. “You know Kal, I’m a very observant person.”

Bruce reached out to brush long fingers over the back of Clark’s knuckles, moving a little closer.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” Bruce’s voice dropped to a smooth whisper. “During all the time we have spent together, months in each other’s company, you seem to have grown to like me.”

Clark’s blood started pounding in his ears but he couldn’t make himself move. His palms began to sweat and a low heat pooled in his stomach.

“I… do,” Clark stuttered. “I…”

Bruce leaned forward into Clark’s space.

“I can think of a way to thank you properly, Kal, for all that you’ve done for me,” Bruce’s lips were mere centimeters away from his own.

Clark’s brain short circuited, his own body had angled towards the man subconsciously. Wait! Was Bruce doing this as repayment? What if this was only some misplaced gratitude on Bruce’s part? That wasn’t what Clark wanted. He leaned back away from Bruce and was rewarded with a frown.

“You…” Clark licked his dry lips and tried to force the words past the lump in his throat. “You don’t have to do this to thank me, Bruce. I do like you and I would overjoyed for this to be a date, but not because you feel some sense of obligation.”

Clark felt awful as the words passed his lips and Bruce’s frown grew more pronounced.

“Is that what you think this is, Kal?” Bruce hissed. “A thankyou fuck and then my boot up your ass to get you out the door, and out of Gotham?”

“That’s not what I want it to be, Bruce,” Clark whispered hesitantly.

The two men just looked at each other, the air stretched between them, fraught with tension. Clark wanted this more than anything but for the right reasons. Bruce slid out of the chair, knelt on the ground at his side, and reached out to cup Clark’s jaw.

“Kal, may I kiss you?” Bruce asked gently. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long and one night with you could never be enough for me.”

Clark didn’t answer, but took the initiative to join their mouths. He was terrified and exhilarated. Bruce had wanted to kiss him too. Bruce wanted him, all of him. Clark Kent, Superman and Kal-El, Last Son of Krypton. Clark felt his insides ignite into molten lava, his heart began to beat faster and elation filled him throughout his very being.

The kiss began chaste until Bruce’s hand reached up to his neck and pulled them even closer. Clark felt Bruce’s tongue along the seam of his lips and didn’t hesitate. His mouth opened and Bruce’s tongue swept in. Clark whimpered in response. This may have been their third kiss, but it was just as powerful as the preceding ones.

A polite cough from the doorway made Bruce pull back, not moving completely away, and both men were short of breath. Clark’s senses seemed to be on overload but he had not heard Alfred’s arrival.

“Ah, sorry, Alfred,” Clark said sheepishly, as Bruce returned to his seat.

“Nonsense,” the Englishman admonished. “I am glad to see my efforts to decorate the dining room have not been in vain.”

Clark blushed and Bruce smirked. Alfred served the main course but if asked, Clark wouldn’t have been able to tell you what he ate. Bruce drew his attention with soft touches to his hand and the most glorious smile Clark had seen on the billionaire’s face. It wasn’t a paparazzi smile, or a smirk, or even a large toothy grin. What Clark couldn’t look away from was the way Bruce’s lips quirked at the corners and the corners of those electrifying blue eyes crinkled, it was a private smile meant only for him. Mesmerizing was the only word Clark could think of.

Then Alfred was clearing the plates. It felt like no time had passed at all and Clark began to feel a little unsettled. The way he felt right now, he didn’t want to be seen off at the front door with a goodnight peck. His focus narrowed down to just Bruce, the way the collar was open at the neck, the graceful curve of a pale neck. It pulled taut across Bruce’s biceps when the man reached for Clark’s hand on the table, and had been distracting him all through dinner.

Those arctic eyes fully engaged with Clark on every level. They had learned to understand each other with a simple look when Bruce couldn’t talk. In the time Bruce had been back at the Manor, there was a dissonance, a hidden intensity lurking between them.

“Will you gentlemen be enjoying dessert?” Alfred queried as he finished loading the used plates onto a wheeled cart.

“Indeed we will, Alfred,” Bruce said confidently. “But I think we’ve had enough food for tonight.”

Clark’s insides ignited in a hot spark of want, reflected back at him from Bruce’s hooded eyes. Some of the unidentified look on Bruce’s face resolved into sensuality. Does Bruce want him as much as he wants Bruce? He wants to believe, he wants to hold, he wants to cherish. Clark wanted all of it.

“Bon apetit, gentlemen,” Alfred graciously murmured as he left the room.

Clark couldn’t stop the bark of laughter that bubbled out. His nerves sang, high pitched and tingly. Alfred’s comment had broken the building tension.

“I’ll be sure to thank the chef for my sweet treat,” Bruce leered, eyes alight with mischief.

By Rao, was this going to happen. The previous nervousness evaporated, this felt natural, familiar. Clark held a long look with Bruce, seeing the underlying sentiment matched his own. It felt easy, right and exciting.

“You’re unbelievable,” Clark snorted.

“Clark, would you like to come upstairs with me?” Bruce invited, in a voice that left no doubt in his mind as to what he was being asked.

Clark couldn’t remember wanting anything so much in his life before now. The way Bruce was devouring him with intense burning eyes made him tremble inside. He itched to touch, to feel, to give this man everything. Bruce had reassured him that ‘ one night could never be enough’ , that this was more than just misplaced gratitude. Perhaps they were rushing this, his mind niggled. It came back to the date question that hadn’t really been answered.

“But it’s the first date,” Clark said haltingly, not wanting the words to escape his mouth.

“We’ve been practically dating for months, Clark,” Bruce replied logically. “You’ve been there for me, seen me at my worst, endured my temper, celebrated hard won successes and witnessed frustration, yet you have remained by my side. We know more about each other than ever before, you pierced all my facades, and I’d like to see us continue that. I want to learn everything about you, my Kryptonian.”

This was more than a date.

This was the evolution of what began to develop between them aboard the WatchTower. They were beyond dating because they have an established relationship between them already. Clark realised that he’d continued to be a part of Bruce’s life beyond what was needed to recover from injuries.

Bruce had even changed his training routine to accommodate working, sparring and spending time together. Alfred had declared the intractable, controlling Bat had been replaced by a body snatcher because changing training was unheard of. ‘Heaven forbid’.

Bruce’s words fizzed in his brain, my Kryptonian. Clark’s body throbbed with need, frisson blazed through him like a firestorm. Every nerve ending in his body seemed to sing in a symphonic high.

“Yours” the word lurched from his throat. He stood up quickly and pulled Bruce from the chair, kissing those plush lips.

Clark and Bruce moved with singular unspoken purpose, not separating from each other for longer than absolutely necessary. Clark always knew Bruce was flexible and strong. They k issed in the hallway, Clark nearly knocking over a vase, constantly touching. Bruce walked backwards and hands wandered when they climbed the stairs.

Untucked shirts made it easy to slip his hands inside, and needy words were whispered between them, as Clark pressed Bruce up against the wall of the upstairs hallway.  Clark was trying to get Bruce’s belt undone, but there was no room for his hands, with them rutting against each other frantically. Bruce kept tugging him on, pushing or pulling where necessary, to direct them to the last door.

Bruce stopped Clark at the bedroom entryway. A hand locked onto the back of his neck and Bruce was licking into his mouth, lips parting when the human needed to breathe. Bruce fumbled the handle and they nearly fell over the threshold, panting and grinning like idiots.

Bruce moved inside the room, the first break in physical contact when Clark turned to close the door. Clark’s back thumped against the back of the door and is overwhelmed by desire beyond just the physical.

Bruce’s enormous bed filled the room, and Clark noted the sheets and duvet folded back over the end of the bed, dimmed lamps added warm contrast to the cool moonlight flooding through the floor to ceiling glass.

“I see Alfred’s efforts have extended beyond the dining room,” Clark grinned.

“You would think he knew what was going to happen tonight,” Bruce stated with sparkling eyes.

“Did you, know this would happen?” Clark asked, he couldn’t resist asking because if Bruce planned this? Rao have mercy, because he was not going to refuse this gift.

Bruce merely stepped back to stand framed by the sliding door to the balcony, face in shadow, silvery lunar light haloing behind ebony hair. Bruce was dishevelled, lips kiss swollen, a hickey poking out from the open collar, shirt untucked, belt partially undone. The man was positively gorgeous.

“Delicious,” Clark whispered.

“You need to be naked, now,” Bruce husked. “So I can get my teeth into you.”

Clark’s cock twitched in his pants and his breath caught in his throat. His hands went to the buttons on his shirt, fumbling to undo them quickly without popping them from the material.

“Slowly this time,” Bruce growled. “Unless you’d like me to....”

“Only if I can return the favour,” Clark sassed, feeling confident. The thought of unwrapping Bruce, like a treasured gift solely for Clark, had him getting harder in his underwear.

Bruce grabbed the fabric of his shirt and ripped it open, flinging the buttons to all corners of the room. Clark narrowed his eyes at the smirking man before doing to same to a shirt that probably cost a month’s rent on his apartment.

Bruce raised The Eyebrow, as if to dare him to continue. Clark wasn’t going to back down from the challenge he saw glinting at him. He put his hands on Bruce’s waist and pulled them together, chest to chest, skin to skin. Clark hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Bruce’s pants and parted the fabric like tissue paper, revealing a distinct lack of underwear. Bruce grunted into his mouth and they were kissing again. Bruce began to undo the top button of his jeans but Clark batted the hands away to undo it himself. Denim pooled at his feet as Bruce’s tongue invaded his mouth over and over again, while long dexterous fingers wriggled his boxers down over his hips.

Clark broke their lips apart and shimmied, the cotton shorts falling to join his pants. Bruce paced back a measured step and stared at Clark, seemed to drink him in, and sighed.

“You are ridiculously hot, Kal,” Bruce’s voice dropped several octaves, coming out deep and rich, like velvet.

Clark could do nothing to stop the blush that began at the tips of his ears, heated his neck, and travelled across his chest. His confidence faltered, and he was momentarily mortified, until he saw Bruce’s blown pupils.

“I wonder how many times I can make you do that tonight?” Bruce’s voice wrapped around him like liquid honey, clinging and skittering across his senses. A shudder curled up his spine in anticipation.

“With a line like that?” Clark lifted his eyebrow to deflect all the attention back onto Bruce. A lifted chin, like an acceptance of a challenge, was the only response the Gothamite would give him.

Clark’s gaze roamed across Bruce’s, now very familiar, physique. Scars criss crossed the landscape of pale flesh before him. The most recent wounds were thin, red slashes, amongst the multitude that littered the surface. Clark wanted to explore each one, to offset the pain of creation with affection, to read the runes embedded in the skin, with his tongue.

The planes of Bruce’s muscles, the hills and valleys highlighted, under the moonlight pouring in the window and warm glowing bedside lamps, slowly shifted with restrained tension. They took each other in, looking beyond the masks.

Clark took a step forward at the same time Bruce did. It didn’t bring them into full body contact, yet. He leaned forwards to brush his nose against the side of Bruce’s, stroking gently. When he stared into the depths of those steely blue eyes, thin rings around an ocean of black desire, he let himself drown. Lips brushed against each other and his fingertips stroked down Bruce’s flanks. He felt the skin goosebumple under his touch with mounting awe.

Clark felt himself touched too. Hands, that had nearly been ruined, slid over his biceps, up to his shoulders, down over his pecs. Clark began to mimic the playboy, exploring that braille landscape.

“You are ridiculously hot because of what’s beneath the surface, Kal,” Bruce’s breath fluttered against his skin as he whispered. “The packaging is a bonus.”

It happened again. Clark felt the flush across his skin and Bruce huffed a light laugh against his lips, flattening both palms against his chest directly over the blazing blush.

“That’s two,” Bruce didn’t get to finish the statement.

Clark lunged forward and took Bruce’s mouth in a fierce kiss. The pressure was bruising, not to a Kryptonian, to any lesser being than Batman. Two bodies came together and Clark was dizzy with want. He wrapped his arms around Bruce and zipped them over to the luxurious oversized bed with super speed.

“You really are ridiculously hot, Kal,” Bruce snorted, still bouncing against the sheet.

Clark fought a war within himself to contain his natural reaction when he heard Bruce’s laughter. It sounded happy, real, completely unmasked. Poor Clark only barely managed to contain a giggle and maintain an expression of scientific detachment.

“That is not three,” he managed to blurt out before dissolving into an instant of giddy delirium.

“I can think of better things to count,” Bruce breathed.

Clark squeezed his arms around Bruce lying wrapped within his embrace, and joined their lips once more, smiling deeply into the kiss.

This was more of an exploration, a tentative give and take, mapping each other. [expand kissing?]

Teeth and tongue moving together, he kissed along Bruce’s now healed jaw and nibbled at a spot behind Bruce’s ear. Clark’s lips dragged down the arched neck, stopping to give attention where Bruce’s collar bone began. Clark sucked a mark to the heated skin and Bruce’s moan reverberated throughout his body. He lapped at Bruce’s clavicle, laid kisses across defined pectorals until he found himself with a nipple in his mouth. He swiped his thumb across the other, while licking and worrying the one between his teeth. He felt the man flex under him, muscles straining to their limit. Bruce’s back curved up from the bed, hands gripping Clark’s hair, rattling apart at the seams.

Clark put a hand on Bruce’s cock, a spark like electricity zinged through him, and he drew his thumb along the slicked head. He steadily squeezed and stroked the hard length. He could feel the throbbing pulse, filling and thundering through the veins. Bruce’s fingernails dug into Clark’s shoulders, and bodily arced up from the bed, hips thrusting into his fist.

Bruce pulled Clark’s head back up and kissed him hard. Clark’s mouth opened and he felt Bruce’s tongue sweep inside, licking at the back of his teeth, and the slick slide of their lips moving frantically. They were breathing the same air, panting into each other with broken groans.

Clark’s own erection was being nudged into the meat of Bruce’s thigh. Bruce threw his head back onto the pillow and Clark’s mouth continued it’s southward journey, using his tongue to press between each muscle as he traversed the expanse of Bruce’s abdominals.

When his path crossed a scar, he peppered kisses around the area. His hand slid over taut skin, down the side of Bruce’s waist, pausing to press his fingers over prominent hip bones, until he was brushing down the outside of muscular thighs. He continued to move his hand until it swept up the inside of Bruce’s legs, spreading them apart a little more on each pass.

Clark’s lips played with the dark trail of hair below Bruce’s navel and Bruce began a series of aborted jerks of hips, trying to get Clark to do more with the hand still wrapped around Bruce’s dick.

“Please, Kal?” Bruce’s choked off words only spurred Clark on.

One hand slipped up to fondle Bruce’s balls, while the other held the man’s penis at the root, as he began to tease the slit with his tongue. Bruce moaned, long and loud.

“Kal,” Bruce tried to shout, voice hoarse.

Clark wrapped his lips around the head of Bruce’s cock and hollowed his cheeks, applying steady suction. His tongue flickered all over the flesh in his mouth, tasting Bruce’s salty precome. Clark groaned in appreciation and Bruce nearly wailed in response to the vibrations. Clark twirled his tongue around the shaft as he took in more of Bruce. He was torn between swallowing the whole delicious thing, or drawing out the pleasure as slowly as he could.

“Stop… I’m going to…“ Bruce hissed through gritted teeth, head twisting from side to side.

Clark squeezed his hand at the base of Bruce’s cock and eased his lips back.

“Want me to stop?” he asked, voice wracked with desire.

“Want you in me, second drawer,” Bruce hissed and flopped his arm towards one of the bedside cabinets.

Clark reached over Bruce to fumble for the tube, earning him a bite to the chest. In retaliation, Clark moved his hand, pressed his thumb behind Bruce’s balls and vibrated against the skin until he found the lube. Bruce called his name in a hoarse shout as he flipped open the tube one handed and drizzled the slick liquid onto Bruce’s scrotum. Rivulets ran over and around his barely moving thumb pressed up against the prerenium, until it consolidated into the crack of Bruce’s ass. Clark watched Bruce’s glutes clench around the feeling. It was easy to slip a finger past the ring of muscle just inside Bruce’s entrance. The man moaned again.

“Fuck, Kal, more,” the Gothamite demanded.

Clark let more lube spill into his hand while he sank his finger deeper into Bruce. Bruce practically snarled at him until Clark found the prostate. Bruce let out a wordless cry and Clark backed off. A sob escaped Bruce and Clark kissed deeply, swallowing down the cry. He slipped a second finger into Bruce as his arms were raked by blunt nails, it would have scored and bled if he was nearly anyone else on the planet.

Clark was patient, Bruce was not. Clark wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t change his pace, despite Bruce’s tugging, pulling, twisting and flexing. He scissored his fingers and by the time he added a third, Bruce was cursing him. Clark got more turned on, based solely on the responses he was eliciting. Bruce was passionate, challenging and complicated, but he was also Clark’s.

“Yours,” he whispered against Bruce’s mouth, his three fingers pumping into the shivering mess the billionaire had become.

Clark devoured Bruce’s mouth, and moved over the straining body until they were chest to chest. Bruce undulated beneath him, pressing and rubbing every piece of skin available.

His hands wrapped around Bruce’s thighs, and he pushed until the bent knees were canted on an angle, that allowed him to rub his slick cock along the cleft of Bruce’s ass and press his head into the back of Bruce’s balls.

“Kal,” Bruce moaned wantonly.

Clark lined himself up against Bruce, adding his precome to the slick oozing out of Bruce’s hole. He felt Bruce’s body quaking as the tip centred in the puckered muscles and pushed. The tightness around the head of his cock was mind blowing.

“Bruce,” Clark whimpered. He was overwhelmed with sensation, their hearts drumming in tandem, and Bruce groaned.

Pressure, wet, and fire wrapped around his cock. Clark released a rumbling growl from deep in his chest. Bruce’s legs were locked around his waist, leveraging for maximum penetration. Clark still denied the Gothamite’s cries to move , revelling in the sensations he was eliciting from the vigilante.

Clark drew out every single second, driving forward at the slowest pace he could hold himself to. Sinking, piece by piece, into this amazing man, Clark wanted to linger and experience this down to his core. The clenching of Bruce’s muscles danced, wanting more so very badly.

Clark finally moved.

Clark’s heart raced in synchronicity with Bruce’s, the cadence urging him on. His hips steadily increased their pace, wanting to join the rhythm that thundered all around him, until Bruce shattered into pieces for him, with him. That honey sweet voice from earlier in the evening was wrecked, and the billionaire gasped. The sound waves and vibrations in the air dipped into his chest where they harmonised with the existing beat.

Clark lifted his mouth away from Bruce’s and shifted his knees in closer. He kept his grip on Bruce’s hips and lifted, holding the man in place, and thrust in and out of that delicious heat.

“Fuck, there, yes, Kal, please?” Bruce’s words tumbled out breathlessly, stretched out before him, looking messy and sexy as hell.

Clark increased his pace, using his strength to move Bruce in counterpoint. Wet smacking sounds accompanied Bruce’s now incoherent rambling. Clark felt himself sliding in and out, moving until he pulled nearly all the way out before clenching all his muscles and thrusting forward in long smooth strokes. He could feel his orgasm building, he threw his head back and scrunched his eyes shut, white hot heat sizzled down his spine until it lodged in his balls. He felt them tighten as he wrapped one hand around Bruce’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. Bruce’s body spasmed, curling around itself, and clenched down on the coiling spike that shot through Clark. The Last Son of Krypton was coming in long waves of hazy pleasure, black spots dancing before his eyes, and he felt Bruce’s release spill into his fist.

When he could crack his eyes open again, Bruce was nearly passed out on the bed beneath him and glistened with a sheen of moisture. Clark wanted to begin licking the billionaire again, from head to toe, but he was still reeling from one of the most intense experiences of his life.

Bruce was still panting, eyes closed and limbs splayed loosely, one arm drawn up above the wild coal hair, but otherwise motionless. He heard Bruce’s heart racing like an athlete, catalogued the minute twitches of muscle still spasming with aftershocks.

The deep satiated sigh that escaped kiss swollen lips compelled him to nuzzle under Bruce’s jaw. He could feel the smile that crossed Bruce’s face. He snickered to himself as he watched Bruce drop into post coital bliss.

Eventually he rolled off Bruce, after carefully withdrawing his softening cock, and took a few steadying breaths. A hand in his hair grounded him completely, no longer alone, made him feel safe and warm. Bruce’s fingers combed through the strands, calloused tips gentle on his scalp.

Clark looked up to see crystal blue eyes staring with such affection, that his throat tried to close up. Words weren’t needed anymore, not when Clark had learnt to read meaning into a look or raised eyebrow.

Clark couldn’t help but smile, he poured all of his acceptance and joy into it. The hand in his hair reeled him in and Bruce kissed him, lingering and long sweeps against his lips. He was connected in a way that went beyond sex, to a place that felt like home.

“I’ll be right back,” Clark whispered against Bruce’s skin. “Just going to get us both cleaned up.”

Bruce just stared at him in a daze, lips pulled into a small grin.

Earlier at dinner, Bruce had said ‘ one night could never be enough’ , and Clark hoped this was just the beginning of a new learning curve between them. He didn’t need to say the words, Clark knew so much more about Bruce than he did mere months ago. How much more would he discover as their future progressed together? It was an exciting prospect.

How many more layers could Clark peel back from this amazing man? A vigilante, he’d once thought abrasive and hostile, had revealed hidden depths that had surprised Clark. Beyond that, Clark admired so much about Bruce’s dedication and drive. This new development, this continued growth between them, was the creation of a bond .

Clark entered the ensuite bathroom and easily found what he needed, and every size towel imaginable. He cleaned himself up and ran a couple of washcloths under warm water, not that he couldn’t keep them warm, and returned to the bedroom with an armful of towels.

Splayed diagonally across the bed was a very wrecked Bruce Wayne. Clark paused long enough to imprint the image into his memory. It was so perfect. He had to check if he was floating because he felt so light and pleased.

Clark started wiping down the drying moisture from Bruce’s chest, shoulders, and arms. He cleaned the worst of the come from Bruce’s stomach and between Bruce’s legs but the man was laughing at him.

“You didn’t clean this much of me up on the WatchTower,” Bruce added the Eyebrow to his smug sounding statement.

“What would you have done if I did?” Clark shot back, understanding full well that Bruce was referring to the times they got very up close and personal.

“You give an excellent shave, Clark,” Bruce smirked. “And a very good with moisturiser, a great facial. What other services would you like to provide?”

“I tender my performance this evening as for your consideration.” Clark actively smouldered at Bruce as he spoke. “With the caveat that it is not limited to this one instance. There are some things I have to keep in reserve.”

“You are ridiculously hot, Kal” Bruce snorted.

Clark laughed loudly, a comfortable feeling settling in his belly, relaxed and open. He finished removing the worst of the sticky fluids from Bruce when the billionaire grabbed the towel and threw it over the wet spot.

“Get in here, Clark,” Bruce demanded.

“Good thing you’re so gosh darned seductive there, Batman,” Clark said sardonically.

Bruce curled into his pillow and looked back over at Clark.

“You’ve been spending too much time around Alfred,” Bruce murmured flatly.

“He’ll be glad you think so, B,” Clark stated as he went to the hamper to drop in the used bathroom linens.

Bruce turned away and snorted.

Clark pulled up the sheet and blanket, now that Bruce had stopped  snickering at his fussing, and curled up against Bruce’s spine. He slid one arm underneath Bruce’s pillow and the other wrapped around __ waist. Clark’s knees curled up behind Bruce’s and their legs tangled together. Bruce bent one elbow up, joined their hands under the pillow, fingers curled into his own. Bruce’s other hand was resting on his forearm, stroking small circles into the skin. Clark grinned against Bruce’s neck as he thought, he was spooning Batman.

“Clark,” Bruce murmured, wriggling deeper into Clark’s arms. “Does Kryptonian physiology have increased body temperature compared to baseline homosapien?” Bruce asked.

Clark was at a loss as to why Bruce would ask a scientific question as they were about to fall asleep. It was as if thinking the name, had summoned the Bat.

“Yes,” he managed to mutter into the back of Bruce’s hair.

“You are ridiculously hot, Kal” Bruce deadpanned.

Clark snorted before he drifted off to sleep, hugging Bruce closer to his chest.

*~*~*~*~*

FIN