Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bruce Wayne met Superman as most civilians do: being rescued by him.

It was a lovely spring day, the type where rain has softened the brittle winter ground and warm breezes sweep up the last of the cold frosts, and Bruce was in Metropolis for a Wayne Enterprises event.

The gala was being held at the city hall of Metropolis, the white marble of the columns sparkling in the sun. Once the grandest building in the city, its presence was slightly damped by the forest of skyscrapers that had sprung up around it. Bruce sighed as he ripped his eyes away from the eyesore of the LexCorp logo that was hovering sixty stories above the city hall now, conveniently hiding the sun and casting a cold shadow over the event. Bruce let out a dry chuckle at the irony of the situation and returned his focus to the gala.

Wayne Enterprises were extending across the bay due to investments in green energy, in which Metropolis was currently a world leader. Bruce, currently being set up to take over from his father as CEO in the coming years, was expected to show face and make his own connections aside from his parents. Plus this had been his idea in the first place. Not that schmoozing with the elite was a hardship for Bruce – it was always his fate to take over the family company – but he had hoped for a few years of freedom before he was jailed into high society forever. Nevertheless, he was only twenty-six and sure his parents would let him run off to… Tibet if he so wished, so he didn’t feel trapped quite yet. They certainly didn’t bat an eye at the many paramours he was sighted with, and even caught with at the manor.

The event itself had been ploughing on for the last two hours and Bruce was tired of making inane chatter with people who obviously just saw him as ‘the Wayne’s’ boy. He was irritable today, having woken early due to a bad dream. At least that's what he thought, although he couldn’t recount it. Only that it was dark and painful and that he had woken up in a sweat. But the nightmare was over and the fear it had induced on him faded. Now he was just wishing for a way to exit the gala without causing a scene. He could possibly try to manoeuvre himself around one group of guests and manage to hide his face from an investor in Wayne Enterprises pharmaceuticals, who seemed to think they were a bank and wanted a loan, saving himself thirty minutes of forced smiles and gentle parenting. It seemed like the quickest and most seamless way to exit, and so Bruce steeled himself as he started to move through the crowds.

He was halfway through the room when something crashed through the windows into the hall, ending up in a smoking heap on the other side of the floor. Thankfully it had missed hitting any people, but only a few seconds later it was moving again. Before it could rise to its full height, a blur of red and blue streaked in and carried the thing away.

Bruce leapt into action immediately, almost as if it was second nature guiding people out of the nearest exits and into the street. Once he had helped clear everyone out the building, Bruce froze. It felt as if he needed to do something else. To help more. But how?

In his moment of hesitation, the blue and red blur was hurled into the clock tower on top of city hall above him. It cracked and slipped off its pediment, and started to plummet straight towards where Bruce was standing. Before Bruce could even think about moving, he was swept off his feet and carried off into the air. Adrenaline was pumping through him as he tightened his grip around whoever had saved him and looked up. He had almost died. He had almost died, but this thing had saved him. Through his slightly blurred vision Bruce realised his arms were wrapped around a man. A very handsome man in fact; with a perfectly chiselled face, gorgeous dark hair, and those eyes.

It was only a few seconds before Bruce noticed they were slowing down, the man looking towards something in the distance, not having even spared a glance at Bruce yet, before their feet hit solid ground. Bruce loosened his arms and stepped back as the man finally looked at Bruce, worry gracing his eyes and brows.

“Are you alright Mr Wayne?” He spoke, warm blue eyes piercing through Bruce. And what a voice. Smooth and deep and concerned. Bruce was weak in the knees.

“Oh please,” Bruce smirked, trying to hide most of his swooning behind bravado, “Mr Wayne is my father - call me Bruce.” And in his incessant manners, held out a hand for the man to shake, whilst properly taking in his saviour for this first time. He was wearing a bright blue and red get up, with a large ‘S’ plastered over his chest. It was a bit garish, but Bruce could see the outline of his muscles through the tight suit, so he wasn’t complaining.

The man looked surprised at Bruce’s comment before smiling timidly and shaking the outheld hand. “Superman,” he replied.

Bruce’s couldn't think straight, not when faced with such a handsome and lovely. “Is that what the ‘S’ stands for?” He gestured to Superman’s chest with his eyes.

Superman flushed, flushed, and he nodded. “Uh, you could say that. Well, stay safe mister… Bruce.” He cri=ouched down slightly to take off again.

“If I don’t,” Bruce interjected, mouth moving faster than his brain, “will you be here to save me again?”

Superman was hovering above Bruce by a few feet, having been stopped by the question. “Of course,” He answered, and Bruce was nearly bowled over by the assurity in his voice.

“Then I can’t promise that unfortunately,” Bruce winked as a booming sound ricocheted around them. Superman would have to leave to save the city unfortunately. “See you soon, Superman."

Superman’s ears were tinged with red as he nodded his response at Bruce and shot off, as if he had never been there.

Bruce finally registered that he was standing on a low rooftop of the outskirts of Metropolis, down by the bay where he could see Gotham. He turned away from where Superman had been and smiled softly to himself.

Superman.

“Alfred?”

“Yes Sir?” Bruce was thankful the butler always happened to be near a phone.

“The Gala for Wayne Enterprises’ Pursuit Into Green Energy has ended prematurely due to unforeseen events, if you could send a car round for me please? I’m in downtown Metropolis.”

“Very well Sir.”

Bruce sat on the fire escape and thought about Superman until the car showed up, and then all the way back to Gotham. Even while his parents hugged him and checked him over, he couldn’t push the man out of his mind. Perhaps he could still have a bit of fun before being confined to oblivion.

…- - -...

Bruce clapped his hands together once as he took in all the glory of his new apartment. Well, if you could call it that. It was a penthouse in the centre of Metropolis, two storeys, lots of glass, a balcony with a swimming pool, and all black and white.

What could he say, he had a brand.

It had taken a lot of convincing to get his parents to agree to this. Bruce had argued that since he was heading Wayne Enterprise’s push into green energy, that he should be ‘closer to the action’ and take up residence in Metropolis. Oh course, it was all bullshit on Bruce’s half – he really just wanted to be closer to Superman. It had been a couple of months since Superman had saved him, and Bruce, despite holding out all hopes, had not seen him since. It seems the boy in blue doesn’t go to Gotham, though for what reason Bruce couldn’t understand as he saved practically every other city in the world. So if Superman wasn’t going to come to him, Bruce would go to Superman.

Hence, the shiny new Metropolis penthouse. Bruce felt weird of course, being away from Gotham. It was pulling at his gut to go back, to stay with his parents in Wayne Manor. But he had to grow up sometime, and it was probably time he moved out and showed to the company he was independent from his CEO father. At least the apartment had a view across the bay to Gotham, which eased Bruce’s worry every time he was idle enough to start thinking about his home.

Well, there’s one remedy to his homesickness: distraction. And who better to distract Bruce than Superman?

…- - -...

Bruce is falling.

Literally. He’s falling off a building.

Someone had fired a drone strike into the side of the Wayne Enterprises Metropolis building. Directly into a meeting room where Bruce was negotiating a deal with Roland Daggett. Well, Daggett wasn’t actually there, he was being represented by some lawyers and occasionally making comments over the phone. Bruce had had an uneasy feeling about the meeting, and told Lucius such before they entered the room, but Fox had just laughed and asked Bruce that if he wanted to expand the pharmaceuticals side of the company, then Daggett was their best shot. Still, throughout the meeting, Bruce had wanted to shut down the deal and turn Daggett away, for no particular reason except the feeling in his gut.

Well, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about that now. All he was worrying about was what his parents' faces would look like as they scraped what was left of Bruce Wayne off the pavement. He was probably screaming, but all Bruce's senses seemed to have shot themselves as his eyes finally closed and he braced for impact.

Except, there was none.

Well there was one. One against a hard chest and a pair of arms. Bruce's eyes flew open as he gasped in air, taking in the sight of Superman. The other man was looking at Bruce with concern, but once he saw Bruce breathing normally again, he felt the iron grip of his arms loosen around him slightly.

The trip was quick, and Bruce was surprised to see Superman had landed him on the balcony of his penthouse. Superman had set him down gently, but Bruce still grabbed onto the railings as Superman hovered on the other side nervously. His heart was still racing, the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he composed himself quickly. This was his chance, and it could well be his last one for a while.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Bruce smirked, hoping he came across more confident than he felt.

The frown lines around Superman’s brow did not subdue, “Are you alright Mr… Bruce.”

“Hmm, it’s better than Mr Wayne, but I insist Superman – it's just Bruce for you,” Bruce couldn’t help the flirtatious edge to his tone. “And I’m still in one piece, thanks to you.”

“I’m glad I could be of service,” Superman’s flush was once again creeping up his neck. “I suggest getting yourself checked out by a doctor when you’ve got time, just… just in case.”

“Your concern is touching, but I feel fine,” Bruce smiled. “Unless you want to give me a thorough checkup?”

“I don't-” Superman looked adorable, mouth gaping like a fish as he scrabbled for words, “I mean, I should be going…” He started to look back towards the city centre.

Oh he was not getting out of it this easily.

“So you know where I live hmm?” Bruce smiled, as he draped himself further onto the railings, propping his head up with one hand.

Superman whipped his head back round to Bruce, eyes wide, “Well it is- um.”

“Have you been watching me, Superman? Following me?” Bruce made sure to keep his voice coy as he continued to grin.

“No! I promise I’m not stalking you or anything, it’s just…” Superman trailed off, a hand reaching out to rub at the back of his neck as he glanced away from Bruce.

“Just…?” Bruce prompted, his smile turning shark-like.

“Just, you know, after the attack on your gala, in this city by the way I don’t know why you moved out here after that, I’ve been… checking on you,” Superman rushed out, again refusing to make eye contact but not flying away.

Bruce lifted his head at that, very pleased, “Checking on me?”

“Well not often, just… when I have time.” Superman finally meeting Bruce’s eyes, with a flash of worry, “But I’ll stop now-”

“Oh, don’t stop on my account.” Bruce raked his eyes down Superman’s body, not trying to be discreet at all. “In fact, maybe some nights you could check inside my place? Perhaps the bedroom?”

Superman choked on air. Bruce laughed as he watched the man fumble over words, the bright red of his neck overtaking his entire face.

“I’m sure you have great security here, M- Bruce, I wouldn’t be needed.”

Bruce cocked an eyebrow at that. “So all those checks were just because?”

He tried to stop himself from laughing again as Superman stumbled over a variety of excuses, trying to dig himself out of his hole before deciding to just clamp his mouth shut.

“I really should go,” He finally decided on, turning to leave.

“It was because of you,” Bruce felt the answer pulled out of him. Anything to make Superman stay even just a second longer.

“... what?”

“Why I moved to this city.” Bruce made sure his gaze was heavy, the mirth lifted from his face as he gave Superman an earnest look. “Well that and the whole green energy deal. You’ve… captivated me.” Bruce felt the air around them, the tension, suddenly becoming heavy, weighing down on him. “I- Thank you for saving my life Superman. Twice.” Bruce added with a small chuckle.

He could see Superman visibly swallow, but for the first time in this conversation, he didn’t try to avert his eyes from Bruce’s.

“Any time,” he replied breathlessly.

Bruce couldn’t help but smile, “I’m counting on it.” Which brought a small smile out on Superman’s face as well. “See you soon.” He joked, and Superman just nodded his response, raising his arm to take off. Just as he shot away, Bruce called after him “And don’t stop ‘checking’ on me!”

Bruce cackled as he saw Superman fall a few feet before disappearing into the city. He rested his arms back on the railings of his balcony, and sighed happily to himself as he realised what was happening.

He was falling for Superman.

…- - -...

Bruce forced a smile on his face as he greeted yet another group of people. He was currently attending (see: stuck) at a charity gala in Metropolis. One of his first since he had taken up residence in the city. It was very different to Gotham’s style; more new money, modern styles, and different customs. Bruce was gawked at when he went to kiss an elderly lady’s hand, such is tradition in Gotham, and had it tugged away. He managed to smooth out the situation, and it in turn endeared the elders of the group towards his ‘nice, traditional manners, something the youth these days have forgotten.’ Bruce didn’t care to remark that they were the ones raising the ‘youth,’ eager to avoid any scandals.

He had actually been excited to come tonight however, as there was a guest of honour speaking.

Superman.

Unfortunately, Bruce had been quickly disappointed when all his efforts to get close to the man failed. Superman had arrived only minutes after Bruce, yet for the past two hours Bruce had not been able to get within ten metres of him. He was constantly hounded by the press, the organisers of the event, and then just shameless socialites throwing themselves at him. Bruce was also trying to avoid running into Veronica Vreeland, an heiress who wouldn’t stop her pursuit of Bruce despite several rejections and had seemingly never strayed more than an arms length from Superman all night.

Now Bruce had given up hope of speaking to the boy in blue at all tonight, and had resigned himself to the outskirts of the ballroom, with easy access to drinks, food, and a good view of Superman. The only reason he hadn’t left yet was because Superman was due to give a speech soon, and if he couldn’t get close to the man, he could at least get to hear that rich, deep voice again, and, hopefully, catch Superman’s eye at some point.

He was politely laughing at a thinly disguised insult one of the millionaires in the group had thrown at another, when Superman suddenly disappeared from where he had been surrounded. Strange. Everyone who had been near him just seemed to shrug and turn to gossiping between themselves.

Bruce navigated his way through the crowd to a french door on the opposite side of the room, where he was sure no one else had noticed a flash of red disappear through. And his hunch was correct. Looking through the foggy glass of the door, he could see a silhouette standing outside on the balcony.

Bruce slipped through the small crack Superman had left as quietly as he could, planning to sneak up on the man, when he abruptly stopped. Superman seemed, well, human. His shoulders were slumped, head hung as he rested against the railing of the balcony, gazing across his city. It gave Bruce pause. Superman was obviously not this omnipotent god the people of Metropolis, hell, even the world had made him out to be. He may not be human, according to that one reporter from the Daily Planet, but he was still just a man. Bruce leant backwards slightly, resting his own weight against a column next to the door, conveniently draped with shadows. He lingered, drinking in the sight of Superman and coming to conclusions that Superman was much more complex than he allowed the rest of the world to see.

The man in question hadn’t moved a muscle since Bruce had snuck out here, just quietly contemplating something. It… attracted Bruce, for lack of a better word, to the man much more than his heroism had. He was intrigued rather than just fascinated about Superman. About how much he was hiding from the world: to protect himself or them Bruce wasn’t sure. About his past, and why he was sacrificing himself everyday for people who aren’t even his species. He wondered what Superman really felt about this whole ‘hero’ business, aside from the positive interviews and comments he had given. Bruce brought himself back from his thoughts as Superman sighed softly, and an unintentional smile emerged on Bruce’s face.

“Well this is a nice change,” Bruce spoke into the silence as he finally stepped forward into the light, alerting Superman to his presence.

The boy in blue turned with a small smile on his face, as if he knew Bruce had been there. “I hope you’re not about to fling yourself off this balcony just to get my attention.”

“Please, I would never be so reckless.”

Superman’s only reply was a huff of a laugh as he looked back out across the city. Bruce couldn’t shake the look of tiredness from the man.

“Long day?” He asked instead of what he wanted to, settling himself in next to Superman by leaning backwards against the railing. It gave him a better view of the other man's face if he arched his back slightly. Like two polar opposites they stood.

Superman just chuckled again as he turned to face Bruce, “Long week more like.” Then upon noticing Bruce’s laissez faire position his face dropped and a hand shot out to somewhere behind Bruce. “Bruce! You could fall!”

“Wait, what? Oh God, if only there were someone close by who could catch me in time!” Bruce feigned exaggerated shock as he whipped his head around to look down at the street below. It was a fair few storeys up but nothing frightening. Come to think of it, Bruce had never been afraid of heights. Just bats. But it’s not like there were many of them at the Manor.

“You trust me too much.” Superman smiled as he shook his head, resting back against the railing.

“And you need to lighten up. You’re a guest of honour at one of the most prestigious events of the year!” Bruce shot back with a teasing grin, just glad to see Superman’s smile back and his posture relaxed.

Superman groaned as he placed his head in his hands, “Don’t remind me. I have to give a speech in fifteen minutes and I came out here to forget.”

“Oh? Is the Man of Steel actually a Man of Nerves?”

Superman looked up, confusion mixing with his tired expression, “What did you just call me?”

“Haven’t you heard? It’s your new nickname,” Bruce raised an eyebrow, “I think even the press are calling you it now.”

“You read the news?”

“Only if it’s about you.”

Superman flushed that pretty red colour. Bruce smiled to himself knowing he’d temporarily raised Superman’s spirits.

“But hey, if you need any help on the speech, god knows I’ve done my fair share.” Bruce offered, seeing the nervousness behind the strong facade.

Superman laughed quietly again as he turned his body to face Bruce, “What, are you going to tell me to picture everyone naked?”

“Well, you could picture a certain someone if that helps you,” Bruce lowered his voice as he raked his eyes down Superman. It was only fair he propose the idea to Superman, since Bruce had dreamt about seeing under the blue-and-red get up for months. Superman swallowed heavily, as his eyes dropped to Bruce’s lips. Bruce noticed the hesitation in Superman’s eyes. That wasn’t the reaction he wanted; he didn’t want to make the man feel uncomfortable, so he pulled back slightly.

“But,” Bruce broke the tension, waving a limp hand in the air, “If you want some actual tips just know that nobody is going to remember this speech by the end of the night, let alone a week.” It was true. Unless someone did something incredibly embarrassing, even the most rousing speech would go over the heads of everyone indoors. And even then, the embarrassing incidents were usually overshadowed by the next week's headlines anyway.

“What a vote of confidence,” Superman laughed, “You really think I’m that boring?”

Bruce tilted his head as a smile emerged on his own face. “Never. But unfortunately everyone in there doesn’t care. They’re only here to be seen, not to see others.”

“Don’t I know it,” He muttered lightly, glancing over Bruce’s shoulder to the doors leading onto the balcony.

Bruce chuckled, remembering the crowds around Superman and the uncomfortable expression on his face. “I assumed you’d come out here to escape the flock of people around you.”

“You’d be correct,” Superman said as he turned back to look at Bruce with an unreadable face. Bruce felt a prickle of guilt down his spine as he realised was technically one of the snobby socialites Superman was trying to avoid.

He sighed, turning to leave, “Well, sorry to interrupt your peace.”

“You didn’t. In fact, you’ve made this evening a whole lot better.” Superman smiled gently at Bruce, who had to fight his own blush off under that stare. Before he could get an answer out, Superman was glaring at the party behind Bruce again, his smile turning into a hard line.

“I don’t know how you do it. They’re vultures.”

Bruce turned to look at the doors himself, noting the smooth jazz music and diffused golden light that was seeping outside. “Oh it’s a lot of fake smiles and false pleasantries, but it’s the only life I've known so unfortunately it comes naturally to me. Not exactly the biggest hardship I could face.” Bruce laughed, thankful for his life in the upper class, despite how snobby everyone may be.

“But they’re not like you.” Bruce turned from looking at the party back to Superman, who was gazing at him intently. “You’re so much more. You’re the only one of them I actually like.”

Bruce brushed off that statement, unsure how to take it with the strange air around them. “I could be an evil supervillain for all you know, and this is a ploy to get you to trust me and reveal your weaknesses so I can destroy you.” He joked instead, aiming to get a smile out of the other man again.

Superman laughed, the twinkle in his eye like starlight.

“Come on Bruce, you’re one of the nicest, most generous people out of them. I don’t think there’s a bad bone in your body.” He chuckled, bumping his shoulder against Bruce’s playfully.

“Well maybe you just don’t know me well enough, because I can assure you there are many, what my parents might call… unsavoury acts I am willing to do. In the right setting of course.”

Bruce realised after that comment how close they were, how close their faces were, as Superman looked at him. Bruce saw his adam’s apple bob and his eyes darken. That was the look he wanted in Superman’s eyes. One of lust.

“And what setting would that be?” The question was almost a whisper.

Bruce leant in closer, his breath mingling with Superman’s, “The bedroom. Or any other private place I suppose… like,” He smirked, glancing down at Superman’s lips, “a balcony?”

Superman released a shaky breath, “Bruce-”

“Superman! There you are!”

Bruce leapt back from Superman, privately cursing the intruder. He laughed as if he and Superman were sharing an inside joke and turned to face their uninvited guest.

Veronica Vreeland.

God this was going to be everywhere by tomorrow.

“Ronnie, how are you darling?”

“Oh hello Brucie!” Veronica wandered over and brushed an air kiss against Bruce’s cheek. He caught Superman’s attention during it and shot him a wide-eyed look, considering how they’d just been slagging off everyone inside. Superman brought a hand up to his mouth to stop from laughing out loud. Bruce found the action adorable. “I heard you’re a Metropolis resident now, but I didn’t expect to see you here.” Veronica pulled back, a hand on each of Bruce’s arms, trapping him.

“Duty calls, as they say,” Bruce slapped on his most charming smile as Veronica’s attention slid back to the man she originally came out here to find, who was currently trying to compose himself back into his infallible appearance. “And why are you here? Last I heard you were still a Gothamite.”

“Oh yes of course, but I managed to wrangle a special invite tonight as soon as I found out about the guest of honour,” She leant in conspiratorially, “which reminds me… Superman!” She crooned, releasing Bruce as she slunk over to the hero, “I’m Veronica Vreeland, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“I’m sure,” Superman trailed off as Veronica ignored him, instead running her hands up his arms. Bruce felt something flare up in him at the small action.

“Gosh you’re so tall! And you’ve got the good looks to go with it too,” She flirted, leeching onto Superman’s arm and dragging him back into the gala, still throwing meaningless compliments at him. Superman shot a panicked look over his shoulder at Bruce who in turn tried not to laugh, and instead just sent a pitying shrug back.

“You’ll do great,” Bruce mouthed at Superman, who gave him a hopeful smile before he disappeared into the crowd.

Bruce shook his head and turned to look back over the city once more. Composing himself, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. This Superman ‘crush’ was turning into something more devastating.

…- - -...

“So why a life of crime?” Bruce dared to ask, glad his kidnappers hadn’t gagged him this time.

He had just walked out of a Wayne Enterprises building, on a visit to the cosmetics factory in Gotham, when a white van screeched up next to him and suddenly five men with guns leapt out, grabbing Bruce and firing whole clips into the air to stop anyone from getting near. They managed to shove Bruce into the van face first and before Bruce knew what was happening, he was bound and thrown against a wall of the vehicle.

There were no seats, so Bruce was sitting with his legs crossed and his arms digging into his back painfully from where they’d been tied together. Four of the gunmen were sitting in the back with him, trying to look menacing by cleaning their guns and knives. Bruce felt calm though. He wasn’t in any real danger. Probably. If this was a hit he would’ve been killed already, so he assumed it was for a ransom, and to get the money you typically needed the person back alive. He’d been in this situation multiple times before - sometimes his parents paid, and sometimes the police would get involved to rescue Bruce. Every time he had felt this same calm, as if he knew he would get out of it alive, that he could deal with it. It was more of a nuisance now.

This time he was just looking at the masked men around him, pointedly not talking to one another. Two of the four looked very scrawny to Bruce’s eyes, either very young or underfed he wasn’t sure. In the silence, he started to really think about the kidnappers, instead of their potential boss or claim. Usually they would try to intimidate Bruce, to scare him so they could have a shaken, desperate figure to film a video, but it never worked. Sure Bruce had played it up a few times but by this point it was almost boring to wait for something to happen.

These guys were different. Maybe. Maybe Bruce was just noticing for the first time. And it got him thinking. He pointed his question at the two possible teenagers to try and glean some answers.

“What?” One of the bigger guys grunted out. Well, it was better than silence.

“Just wondering why you’re doing this instead of working.” Bruce answered as casually as he could, “Is it more lucrative? Do you enjoy it?”

One of the young lads snorted at that. “I don’t think anyone does this because they enjoy it.” He sneered out, “It’s a way to pay the bills.”

“Okay, but why not get a job?” Bruce questioned, which earned him a roar of laughter from most people in the van.

“You think we haven’t tried?” The first man said, disgust dripping from every word. “Just because you’ve had your job promised to you since birth doesn’t mean the rest of us are that lucky.”

It shouldn’t have, but the statement shocked Bruce. He realised he really did never have to worry about job security or income. Sure he’d complained about it a lot, and he’d been groomed into the workplace through his education, which he detested, but actually being in front of these people forced Bruce to start to possibly understand.

“But even supermarkets or restaurants or-”

“Those jobs don’t pay shit,” One of the skinnier men interjected, Bruce noticing how young his voice was. “You pigs don’t understand how the world below you works. How much money you actually need to survive on, because you have too much of it for your own good.” The hatred in a voice barely out of puberty struck Bruce.

“Surely any job should pay enough for a house and such?”

That earned him another round of mocking laughter.

“Yeah right,” One of the big guys spoke again, “You're lucky if a job pays for your food for a week, let alone a roof over your family’s head.”

Bruce really didn’t know the first thing about his own city. He was disgusted at himself for parading around, dolling out money as if it were nobody's business. He had started the Wayne Foundation last year, but that was mostly working on improving the public transport network around the city at the moment. He had a duty to do something more, to help the lives of these people through his own means. His family, like every other in their social circle, just turned their nose up at criminals and gossiped about how silly they were to involve themselves in illegal activities. But if it was the only way for these people to make themselves a living, then no wonder they were. The Gotham elite had failed their own city.

“I’m… sorry,” Bruce didn’t know how to respond to that, revelations rocketing round his mind. Ideas on what he, one man, could possibly do to help.

“Yeah well, we don’t want your pity. We want your money.”

“Okay.”

“What?”

Bruce looked at all of the men individually, “Once I’m out of this, I promise to help you all out. I’ll pay for whatever you need, education, medical bills, apprenticeships. Anything to help you get on your feet and be able to support yourselves without putting your lives in danger.”

“Thats…”

“An idiotic idea. So what, we’ll be in debt to you for the rest of our lives?” It was one of the older men who had said that, and Bruce realised they’d probably all been promised something like that before, only to have the rug swept from under their feet and locked in a deal they never asked for.

Bruce sighed, “Not at all. I think… I think I’m starting to understand better. I want to help you, I want to try to help everyone in your predicament. But if I can start by ensuring a good life for you folks, then I’d know I could start to do some good with my situation.”

“Really?” It was the young man again, the one who had called Bruce a pig, except all the malice in his voice was gone, replaced with… hope?

“Yes. I promise to all of you here, and I hope you hold me to it.”

“We’re not giving you our names so you can turn around and throw us in jail.” The other young man spoke up, nervous but with an edge of something else.

“Ah yes, I can see how you wouldn’t like that. And I suppose it would be even worse to suggest a loved one's details. Let me think…” Bruce closed his eyes as he tried to figure out how to get money to these men through legal loopholes.

With his eyes closed, he could hear the rattle of the van as it plowed along, the engine spluttering now and again. And then there was something else, like a sonic boom, as if something were breaking the sound barrier. Something like-

The car crashed into something, or rather, something crashed into the car. The engine immediately failed and Bruce was sure the front axle was obliterated. His eyes flew open as he was tossed towards the front of the van, crashing into the gunman as they all flailed about trying to find their footing. His kidnappers started shouting as soon as they had recovered, and Bruce tried to see through to the front. The car hadn’t veered off course, nor had either of the drivers panicked about running into something. It was as if the object had appeared out of thin air.

Then, the back doors of the vehicle were torn off. And standing there was:

“Superman!” Bruce beamed at his hero, savouring the moment before he realised his kidnappers reaching for their guns.

“Wait wait! Don’t shoot, he's good! We can-”

Too late. The sound of rapid gunfire exploded around Bruce as he ducked down to avoid any stray bullets. Superman punched into the van, his expression dark and full of anger. Bruce tried to call out, to get both sides to stop but before he could all six men were unconscious and Superman had grabbed Bruce, shooting away into the sky.

Everything about the last ten minutes was ricocheting through Bruce’s head as he clung onto Superman. He would have to try to find the men, to check if they were okay and didn’t need any medical attention. Luckily he had escaped without so much as a bruise, well maybe one from the car crashing, but Superman-

“Bruce!” He was shaken from his thoughts by a very concerned Superman, who was setting them down on the grounds of Wayne Manor, although the house itself was barely visible. Bruce recognised it as the pavilion where his mother would go when she needed to be alone.

“Bruce!” Superman called again, hands on Bruce’s arms. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? What about you!” Bruce yelled, hands flying to Superman now slightly tattered costume, riddled with bullet holes, “Holy fuck, you got shot!”

Superman surprisingly flushed at that, as Bruce’s hand slid down his chest, “I went to medical school, let me check over you.” Bruce was panicking now.

“It’s fine-”

“It is certainly not fine, I…” Bruce trailed off as he realised there was no blood. None on his costume, on his skin, on Bruce’s hands. “What?” He looked back up to meet Superman’s eyes who gazed back sheepishly.

“I’m invulnerable.” He offered as an explanation, though the way he said it sounded like more of a question to Bruce’s ears.

Bruce was sure his face was a painting of confusion and awe as he looked back down at Superman’s body. Instead of answering, he dragged his hands around Superman, manhandling in a way he was sure the other man was not conscious of. Bruce snaked round Superman to have a look at his back and sure enough, it was the same story there. No exit wounds, no blood, nothing. Incredible. Not even a bruise. His fingers skimmed over Superman’s back lightly, and he saw the muscles feather under his touch, twitching involuntarily. His skin still felt soft and supple, nothing like the stony exterior Bruce had been expecting to find on someone who was invulnerable. Superman’s shoulders rolled back slightly as Bruce brought his hands up.

Superman’s voice was no louder than a whisper. “Please stop touching me like that Bruce,” He pleaded.

“Why?” Bruce replied breathlessly, as he trailed his hand around Superman’s waist to stand face to face once more.

Superman’s mouth was open, and he was breathing heavily. His eyes were dark and trained on Bruce’s. Bruce shivered under the intense gaze. “Because I might have to kiss you.”

Bruce was sure he had stopped breathing, that he was dreaming, because there was no way this was real.

“What’s stopping you?” Bruce asked, a tongue darting out to wet his lips, his hand on Superman’s waist tightening as he moved the other one up to mirror it.

Superman’s eyes dipped to Bruce’s mouth, as his own hand came up to cup Bruce’s jaw. He leant in, so close Bruce was sure they were just exchanging the same air as Superman continually glanced between Bruce's eyes and his mouth. Superman was the one who closed the distance, pressing his soft lips to Bruce’s. Bruce sighed happily as his hands moved to Superman’s back and he pulled him in closer. It only lasted a moment; a wonderful, unforgettable moment, before Superman pulled away.

Superman.

Bruce just kissed Superman.

“Kal,” Superman murmurs.

“What?” Came Bruce’s eloquent response, and he kicked himself for forgetting his manners. But the man in front of him made him forget a lot of things.

“My… name,” Superman breathed out, still only inches away from Bruce and holding his face. “Call me Kal.”

Bruce smiled and leant in to kiss Kal again, his hands moving up to grab Kal by the neck and pull him in closer. He didn’t ever want to stop. He doesn’t need to stop.

And because he has been described as ‘a little shit’ by many, his first utterance of Kal’s name slips out as an exaggerated moan a few minutes later, which earns him a small slap on the arm and a very pink faced Superman.

…- - -...

Bruce couldn’t be happier. He was dating Superman.

After their first kiss, Kal had checked Bruce over for injuries again, which is where Bruce learnt that along with the invulnerability he also had x-ray vision, before shooting off to whatever he calls home with a bashful smile. Bruce’s parents were incredibly relieved that Bruce had made it out of yet another kidnapping unharmed, and Bruce was reminded of just why he was kidnapped in the first place.

Since his enlightening conversation, Bruce started plans to set up initiatives. Schemes that would benefit the whole working class throughout Gotham, not just the select few. He may not be living there anymore, but Gotham was his home and he had to look out for her. Unfortunately, he was never able to track down the men who had kidnapped him; the van being stolen and their faces covered meant they couldn’t trace anything back. Though Bruce felt as though he could, if he had some other type of technology, one his fingertips were aching for. Anyway, Bruce had tried his best, for now all he could do to help them was to get his initiatives up and running and hope they would find what they needed through those.

Surprisingly, he had one other confidant who was just as enthusiastic as him.

“Harv, I’m telling you we need to double these supplies!” Bruce tried not to yell into the phone as he paced his office, “Half of Gotham’s citizens are under the poverty line and if we want to make a difference we need to make sure everyone gets equal access. I’m willing to sacrifice as much as possible to help.”

“Okay Bruce,” Harvey Dent’s voice crackled through the line, “I believe you. It’s just pitching this to stock and shareholders in Wayne Enterprises will be considerably more difficult the more we raise the number.”

“Well we’ll do it through the Foundation then,” Bruce ran a hand through his hair. He wondered briefly if he would have been adverse to his own plans before his latest kidnapping experience. But he didn’t want to linger on that now.

“The Foundation?” Harvey asked, sounding like he was trying to keep the shock out his voice.

“My father may be chairman and CEO of Wayne Enterprises, but last I checked the Foundation was headed by me,” Bruce dropped into his chair at his desk. “I started it to help change in Gotham, and if this isn’t change then god help me.”

“Okay, okay Bruce,” Harvey soothed through the phone, “Here, why don’t we discuss this over drinks? If I’m going to be the main backer of this, I need to know everything you’re thinking. How’s this weekend?”

“I can do Friday at seven?”

“Works great, I’ll have our usual table.” Harvey replied, pausing before he continued. “And try to get some sleep Bruce, you sound exhausted.”

Bruce chuckled at that, “You know me too well. See you soon, Harv.”

Bruce ran his hand over his face as he thought about the last half year. Fall had come sweeping in, changing the bright hues of Metropolis to a golden wash. He smiled as he looked over the city that reminded him of Kal so much.

Kal.

Bruce’s life had been a dream since their first kiss. Kal had insisted on going on proper dates, while Bruce was perfectly content with stealing moments in his penthouse. He had been flown around the world to the most spectacular places Bruce had always wanted to visit. Rome, Tokyo, Rio de Janeiro. Kal would dress up in ‘normal’ clothes (Bruce had insisted on buying him some nicer ones but Kal always refused them), and they could meander through streets as if they were a normal couple, and not a prolific billionaire and his super-powered alien boyfriend. It was wonderful. And seeing the more ‘human’ side of Kal, the one Bruce had had a glimpse into that night on the balcony, only served to endear Bruce to the man even more. The way Kal ate ice creams with his teeth ‘cause the cold didn’t affect him; his polite manners with everyone they met, different to Bruce's in the sense that they seemed to come out of a place of genuine respect for people, rather than just standards for high society; that he loved physical touch, such as an arm over Bruce’s shoulders or hand holding or even a delicate touch on Bruce’s back. The small things that made Kal who he was. And in the anonymity of foreign countries or the privacy of the penthouse, they didn’t have to hold back. It felt like Bruce, for once in his life, was in a normal relationship, even with the strange juxtaposition that Kal had flown them out there in the first place or that they were relaxing in the most expensive apartment block in Metropolis.

It was a mutual agreement to keep the relationship under wraps; partly because Kal didn’t want his enemies using Bruce against him, and partly because Bruce didn’t need this aspect of his life publicised. Every other part of him was an open book for people to read about in the local newspaper, but Kal? Kal was his.

They had a date planned for tonight actually. Bruce smiled to himself as heaved himself out of his chair, making his way to his reception. He snagged the chocolates he had got them to share before he left his office.

“That’s me out for the day Dana,” Bruce smiled at his receptionist, “You should clock out too.”

“Thank you Mr Wayne,” Dana beamed back at him. “I’ll sign you out and finish up here.”

“You’re a star, have a good weekend,” Bruce said in lieu of a goodbye and stepped into the elevator. Instead of clicking the button down to the lobby however, he pressed the top floor. Once there he made his way over to the nearest fire stair and up to the roof.

Superman was already standing there with a bouquet of flowers, poppies this time. Bruce grinned as he practically ran over to his boyfriend and swept him into a kiss.

Kal pulled back with a smile, “You’re in a good mood.”

“I’m always in a good mood when you’re here,” Bruce threaded his hand into Kal’s hair, pulling him back down. He hadn’t seen Kal in two weeks and already it felt like a limb being ripped from his body. He could feel Kal smiling into the kiss.

Eventually Bruce pulled away. “So, where to today, boy scout?”

“That’s a new one, got it from the press again?”

“Hmm no, it just came to me.”

Kal laughed, “I…” He trailed off, a soft but guarded look in his eyes. Bruce knew it was hard for Kal to open up. He was scared for Bruce, possibly scared of Bruce. But Bruce had been trying his hardest over the last four months to prove to Kal that he didn’t care about all his secrets, that he loved him for the man he had proven himself to be in front of Bruce. Bruce was so in over his head that he had realised one night, after a mindblowing round of sex, that he would be perfectly content if this was all they did. If Bruce could never show Kal off to the world. If everyone never knew Superman was Bruce’s. If they could only meet through stolen moments in dark corners.

God, Bruce almost considered that he might actually be falling in love, but there was something holding him back, a niggling feeling in the back of his mind not to let Kal in. To stop this all and protect himself, to protect Kal from him. He swallowed the feeling every time it arose but sometimes it caught up to him. When he was alone, when he hadn’t seen Kal in a while, it cropped up more often. He couldn’t afford to fall in love but… but why? What was he defending himself from by not letting Kal in? Right now, in Kal’s arms with a bunch of flowers on one side and gourmet chocolates on the other, that feeling couldn’t be farther from his mind, and Bruce wondered why he ever felt that way.

“I have a special place to take you tonight, but it might get a little cold.”

Bruce cocked his head at Kal. “How cold?”

“Have you ever been to the Arctic?”

Which is how Bruce ended up wrapped in three different coats, two pairs of trousers, and Kal’s cape while being carried bridal style to the middle of a frozen desert. Not that he minded, just it wasn’t exactly how most of his past dates had gone. And Kal was being very cryptic about why they were even heading here in the first place.

Once they reached the icy tundra of the arctic circle, Kal nudged Bruce slightly, “There, do you see it?”

Bruce squinted his eyes at the landscape, focussing on anything that could possibly look interesting, or just… not white. After a minute his eyes adjusted and caught on something colourful. Or, at least he thought it was, but looking in the direction he’d seen it yielded nothing. Then it happened again. As if the sun were passing through a prism and casting a rainbow of colours onto the ground. Bruce followed the shadow up and saw it. Kal seemed to catch on.

“It’s called the Fortress of Solitude,” Kal blushed as he brought the two of them into land in front of what Bruce could only describe as the door to a castle. Faintly engraved into the ice was a huge emblem, exactly the same as the one Kal wore on his chest. Bruce unraveled himself from Kal’s cape and walked forward, placing a hand on the door just to check this was all real. The snow crunched under his feet as he moved through it, and Bruce wondered how many others had walked this path.

“Did you carve your logo into a door?” Bruce turned around laughing at his boyfriend.

Kal’s flush crept higher as he rubbed the back of his neck, “Not exactly… There’s a lot I need to tell you Bruce.”

Bruce’s mind started running through everything that could be wrong with this situation. Why Kal was so nervous, why he had brought him here, what this door led into. He started to freeze up, and Kal obviously noticed his face becoming stony.

“Not, not bad!” Kal placated, “Just a bit strange for you, I guess. I’m a bit worried that you… that all this will be-”

Bruce felt himself breathe easy again and shook his head. “Kal, I knew what I was getting into when I started dating you. I know you’re an alien. And to be honest,” Bruce walked up and grabbed Kal’s hands, “I’m a bit surprised there isn’t much difference in your appearance.” He faked a disappointed sigh, looking down at Kal’s bright red trunks, or rather, what they were hiding. “Could’ve been fun.”

That brought a shocked smile out on Kal’s face, “Bruce! You’re appalling." He laughed as Bruce dragged him in for a kiss, both of them laughing and smiling too much for it really.

“Now come on,” Bruce pulled away, “What are you so nervous to show me?”

And so Bruce learnt all about Krypton, and the desolation of its people, how Kal was sent away. Kal skipped over his childhood, but Bruce wasn’t going to push when Kal had trusted him with so much information already. He was the only other person in the world to step foot inside the Fortress, which resulted in a lot of kissing from Bruce. Kal gave him a tour of the fortress, and Bruce was immediately enamoured by the super computer, hands skimming over the controls as Kal watched on. He was introduced to the hologram of Kal’s dad, Jor-El. He learnt that the ‘S’ on Superman’s suit didn’t stand for ‘Superman’ but rather his family crest. By the end of the night, Bruce’s brain was overloaded with discoveries and information, but he didn’t care.

As he and Kal lounged on Kal’s bed, sharing the chocolates Bruce had specially ordered, Bruce just reveled in the fact that he was the luckiest man on Earth. He was the one Superman trusted most, he was the one dating him. But surprisingly, none of the information was that shocking. It felt… natural. Correct. Bruce was more intrigued in the computer anyway, feeling like he had been missing out on one his entire life.

“Bruce.”

“Hm?”

“Tell me these are not the chocolates from Odermatt’s.” Kal was staring at the chocolates lying in front of him, gaping at the box.

Bruce just smiled coyly and picked up another chocolate instead of answering.

“But how?” Kal turned his shock on Bruce, “They told us they don’t deliver outside of Switzerland!"

“You’re dating one of the richest men in the country, Kal. I have my ways,” Bruce couldn’t help the smug expression that took over his face. Kal rolled his eyes and he crawled over towards Bruce.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Ooh that's a big word! Where did you learn-”

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” Bruce smirked.

Kal crushed his mouth onto Bruce’s, and to his credit, it was a very effective way to get Bruce to stop talking. Bruce smiled into the kiss. Kal tasted like chocolate, almonds and dreams.

…- - -...

“I can’t believe this,” Bruce gaped at his boyfriend, “I can’t believe you.”

They were at the Temple of Artemis in Ephesus, one of Bruce’s all time bucket-list destinations. His mother, a lover and curator of history, had instilled in Bruce a great respect for Greek heritage and the foundations of the ‘modern world.’ This temple, once a wonder of the world, was Martha’s favourite, and one she had visited many times over her life. It was unfortunate that his mother had never been able to take Bruce herself, their schedules and holidays never quite aligning.

Being here now however, seeing the history for itself after only hearing stories, was overwhelming. Bruce felt the tears rise as he walked amongst the foundations, still standing after millennia, after pillages and robbers and fires. He could practically touch the stone. He was walking the same paths hundreds of thousands of people had over the years, that his mother had walked herself. There was a tightness in his throat that had been slowly building since they arrived. A strange… grief almost. An unexplainable ache in his heart. They had visited many other wondrous sites on his trip but this temple was different. Bruce could feel it in his bones. He had a sudden urge to see his mother again.

Bruce felt his heart pick up, and he automatically started counting in his head. Breathe in, five counts, breathe out, seven counts. He needed something to ground him, and that something was currently reading facts out loud off a tourist pamphlet he had picked up. It might be overwhelming to Bruce. But Kal had done this for him. He had booked a hotel room, he had bought Bruce tickets, and now he was looking over to Bruce with a small frown.

He was perfect.

“Hey, are you okay?” Kal asked not-so-subtly scanning Bruce.

Bruce was slightly taken aback. He had calmed the anxiety in him quickly and kept a neutral face so Kal wouldn’t do exactly this: worry over Bruce. Bruce wanted to be an escape for Kal, not another burden in his life so he fought to contain his darker emotions when they were on international dates.

“Why do you ask?” Bruce looked at his boyfriend with innocent eyes, keeping his voice light as his heart started to race again with panic. Except this time it was Kal flushing, his ears tinged with red as he avoided meeting Bruce’s eyes.

“I um… I can hear your heartbeat.”

It was said so quickly and so quietly Bruce almost missed it.

“You listen to my heartbeat?”

The flush crept down Kal’s face to his cheeks. “Yeah, it’s- you have a very steady heartbeat and I’ve unintentionally, kinda… honed in to it? I didn’t mean to but it’s very grounding to me and I also use it to make sure you’re not in danger but I can stop if you want because it’s an invasion of privacy for you and-”

Bruce cut Kal off with a hand across his mouth and a laugh. “I cannot believe one of your powers is being able to listen to people's hearts.”

“Well it’s just part of the super-hearing really…”

Bruce couldn’t stop smiling at the coyness of Kal. “You know, learning about all your superpowers as they become relevant is fun and all, but are there any others you want to tell me about before this relationship goes any further?”

“Well, I think you know about all of them except… I also have heightened olfactory receptors.”

Bruce took a second to decipher what exactly Kal was telling him. “So you smell more than regular people?”

“I- yes I guess if you put it like that… but you always smell really good so you don’t have to worry.”

Bruce just laughed again at Kal’s ramblings and instead of replying, reached up to cup Kal’s face and kissed him. “Thank you for taking me here Kal. It’s just a bit overwhelming, but in a good way so don’t worry.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Kal beamed back, his cap casting a shadow on his face. Bruce had mirrored Kal’s wardrobe for once, having bought a pair of jeans for the first time (and probably last) in his life. Snatching one of Kal’s horrendously ugly plaid shirts he insisted on wearing everywhere, Bruce looked every part the ‘clueless American tourist,’ and not a bit like Billionaire Bruce Wayne, who could have probably booked Kal and himself on a private tour round the hill. But it was better this way. It was the thought and the care that Kal had poured into this trip, especially since Bruce was sure he had only mentioned his desire to visit once.

“Like it?” Bruce grabbed Kal by the waist, pulling him in for a quick peck, “I love it.”

I love you were the unspoken words Bruce wanted to say. But there was always something holding him back.

“It’s a lot more interesting than I thought,” Kal slung his arm round Bruce’s shoulders, Bruce settling one hand on Kal’s hip, as they started walking towards the singular column. “I mean, one hundred and twenty years of construction… Kal went off on a spiel, excited to analyse the importance of the different architects and figures surrounding the temple, and Bruce found himself just admiring his boyfriend and his analytical brain. He had been noticing it more and more recently, the instinctual way Kal dissected scenarios. It happened with historical sites most often, but also during particular films (usually crime as those were Bruce’s favourite), people watching while eating at roadside cafes, and even commenting on whatever was in the news at the time. Bruce was exceptionally pleased by this development as Kal opened up more and more to him with every date. After the revelations at the fortress, Bruce felt their bond had only grown deeper and more complex, and Bruce found himself telling Kal secrets he swore to take to his grave. About his feelings of inadequacy, his fear of failing to live up to his parents immense legacies, his strange reluctance to let people get close to him. How Kal had broken down nearly every wall Bruce was hiding his true self behind.

Bruce pushed that to the back of his mind as he allowed himself to be enraptured by Kal, looking up at him fondly as Kal continued to examine the Amazonian influences of the decorative frieze in the temple. Facts Bruce already knew but he was always fascinated by Kal’s point of view on subjects. It was one of his favourite things about their relationship: their ability to disagree and debate their way into compromises. Bruce was loath to admit that he had been swayed round to Kal’s optimistic outlook on life more times than he cared for.

“-but Diana is going to be so jealous we got here first.”

That brought Bruce back. Kal had never mentioned anyone else in his life aside from his parents. He looked at Kal with a raised brow, “Who?”

“Oh, she’s just a… coworker?” Kal sounded unsure, as his own brows furrowed and he glanced away from Bruce.

“You don’t sound so sure about that.” Bruce laughed, before stopping abruptly as it hit him, “Wait, coworker?”

Kal looked away, a faint red tinging his ears, “Yeah, I’m sorry I didn't tell you sooner Bruce.” Bruce hated how worried he looked, as if he were afraid of Bruce knowing. “I wanted to tell you, but it never came up naturally, and I can get away with being just Kal with you, but I want to tell you, to show you everything I just… I’m-”

“Kal, hey,” Bruce detached himself from Kal’s side and brought his hands up to cup the other man's face. “You don’t ever have to worry about what I think, not when it comes to you.” Bruce smiled softly. “Not to sound insensitive but I don’t care, all I care about is the man already standing in front of me - what you’ve proved yourself to be to me. And you having a civilian identity won’t change that.”

The tension dissipated from Kal’s face and his eyes watered, “You’re too good to me Bruce…” It seemed as if he were going to say something else, so Bruce just waited and stroked Kal’s cheekbone softly, as his other hand went to grab Kal’s.

“I want to tell you just… just not yet,” Kal’s face fell. Bruce couldn’t help but smile at his boyfriend. For whatever reason Kal was nervous, Bruce would prove him otherwise. It would take time, and Bruce was content that Kal might never tell him, but he wanted to show to Kal that Bruce was trustworthy, that he could depend on him, that he could… could love him.

“That’s fine Kal,” Bruce replied, “But now I know you have one, a job that is, maybe you can be a bit more open about your life? Nothing explicit, but perhaps things like talking about your coworkers?”

And there was Kal’s beautiful smile as he took a deep breath and seemed to compose himself, “That would… I would actually love to tell you about them. It’s been so hard to not mention them, especially since they know about you.”

“What?” Bruce’s heart dropped.

“Not you you, but they know I’m dating someone,” Kal’s flush reached up his neck, “I’m afraid I wasn't very good at pretending I wasn’t seeing someone. They picked up on it almost immediately.”

“Are you telling me you fancy me so much that you were going into work like a lovestruck fool?” Bruce grinned, using the hand cupping Kal’s face to direct it back at Bruce, grinning at his boyfriend.

“Well that’s probably how Lois would describe it.”

“Lois?”

“One of my coworkers, and also my best friend,” Kal smiled. “You two would get on like a house on fire.”

“I’m not sure if you mean that in a good or bad way.”

“Let’s go with both.”

Which is how Bruce and Kal ended up in a hole in the wall, or rather an alley in the wall, restaurant chatting about Kal’s coworkers and his job. Kal was still cagey about what exactly it was he did, but Bruce gleaned it was something to do with writing, considering how much he talked about trying to translate Lois’ handwritten notes, and media, as Jimmy was taking photographs for something. He also connected Kal’s analytical brain as probably a consequence of his job. But Bruce respected Kal too much to pry further, to connect the many dots Kal was accidentally laying down, to use his influence to find where a Lois and Jimmy could work. He allowed himself to be enraptured by Kal instead, relaxing for the first time in weeks, in the way only Kal could get him to do.

One day he might find out who Kal really was, but for now he was content in just basking in his boyfriend’s presence and trying not to fall so deeply in love.

…- - -...

Bruce’s heart was hammering. Not for the obvious reasons. In fact, for most people, this would probably be a lovely and relaxing date. But Bruce had not been raised by most people. And although he usually didn’t feel like his upbringing had hindered him, quite the opposite in fact, this was one aspect he wished he could go back and change.

Baking.

Kal had suggested it casually one night as they were lounging in Bruce’s flat watching a cooking show, and the excitement in his boyfriend's eyes somehow persuaded Bruce into agreeing (very begrudgingly) to make a pie.

Bruce had a personal chef for the penthouse who batch-made Bruce gourmet meals to toss in the oven or eat cold after getting back from the office, and had only ever watched Alfred putter about in the kitchen in the manor. The oven was probably the only piece of equipment that he knew how to work aside from his coffee machine, and even then, Bruce didn’t have an inkling on how to actually cook something with it.

Which is why the thought of baking something in his kitchen was not only horrifying, but Bruce was sure it was going to be mortally embarrassing for him.

He had just found everything he thought was needed for baking, when the tell-tale rush of wind danced around him and he looked towards the balcony door to see Kal standing there.

“You look like you’re about to face the gallows.”

“I am.”

Kal laughed, stepping into the flat and brushing a kiss against Bruce’s temple. His arms were full of the ingredients they needed and he dumped them unceremoniously onto the kitchen island. It was quite a sight seeing Superman step into your flat with two shopping bags of groceries. Bruce felt his stomach clench, at the image he was seeing or upcoming baking he wasn’t quite sure.

“It’s just baking a pie Bruce! The easiest one ever by the way,” Kal turned to look at the counters, which were already a mess, what with the ingredients combined with every machine Bruce thought might help with the process. “What are those?”

Bruce flushed red. He had already messed this up. “Stuff to bake with?” It was a question rather than a statement. “They looked like the things they use on tv so I bought them.”

Kal laughed incredulously. “You bought them?”

Bruce wanted to disappear into the shadows as Kal moved around the island to look at the new tech. They hadn’t cost much, well to Bruce anyway, and Bruce was now planning on gifting them to Alfred in exchange for some of his cookies given Kal's apparent hatred of them.

“I don’t think I know what half of these even do,” Kal spoke after Bruce didn’t reply, glancing up at the billionaire with a fond smile. “How about we try it the old fashioned way? Do you have a couple of bowls and a rolling pin?”

Bruce hesitated. “Maybe?”

“How do you not know?”

Bruce leveled his boyfriend with a glare, “You of all people know about my atrocious eating habits Kal. And the fact that someone else does all my cooking.”

“Yeah but…” Kal trailed off, shaking his head. “Why did you buy a flat with a kitchen if you’re only ever going to use an oven and a fridge,” he joked as he leaned in to kiss Bruce, earning him another unamused glare. “Well, we’ll just have to learn together.” And with that Kal turned and started opening every cupboard and drawer in the kitchen with an unreasonably happy grin.

A few minutes later of mostly Kal looking and Bruce watching, still unsure of what they were actually looking for, Kal was satisfied with his new hoard.

“So… what now?”

Kal just laughed at Bruce’s genuine question. “Get over here,” He cocked his head as he walked over towards the sink. Bruce joined him begrudgingly as they washed their hands in comfortable silence, Kal trying not to laugh at Bruce’s obvious discomfort at the situation.

“I’ll be right back,” Kal pressed a kiss to Bruce’s temple and disappeared in a flash of red and blue. He emerged from Bruce’s bedroom a moment later in a pair of (very) worn-in jeans and a horrendous Superman t-shirt. Bruce had bought it for Kal as a joke, but the man was obsessed with it, wearing it every time they were alone in Bruce’s penthouse. The only reason why Bruce hadn’t incinerated it after the first couple instances was because it was practically a second skin, hugging every contour of Kal’s impeccable frame.

So Kal might get a kick out of thinking it annoyed Bruce, but really Bruce was thankful every time the shirt made an appearance (and even more grateful when he was able to rip it off).

What made the ensemble worse was what Kal was wearing on top of the shirt.

“What. Is. That.”

“An apron!”

“And why does it say ‘Darth Baker’ on it?” Bruce sighed at his boyfriend’s terrible sense of humour.

“I got one for you too!” Kal held up another apron, this time in red instead of black which read: ‘HOT STUFF COMING THROUGH (and I don’t mean the food)’

Bruce stifled an eye-roll. “I am not wearing that.”

Kal had one more super-power he hadn’t told Bruce about in Greece: Puppy Eyes. And they were effective night-nine percent of the time.

“Fine,” Bruce huffed out. “Hand it over.”

Kal’s face lit up as he bounded over and slung the apron over Bruce’s head, tying it in the back for him.

“Have I ever told you you’re the best boyfriend ever?” Kal planted a kiss behind Bruce’s ear before moving away to set out the ingredients.

“Have I ever told you you’re the worst?” Bruce joined him at the kitchen island and put his hands on his hips. “Okay, so now what?”

Kal grinned at Bruce; a grin that told Bruce Kal was having too much fun at his expense. “We’ll start with warming the oven, think you can handle that? Or is there an instruction manual sitting about somewhere?”

That was followed by a small punch that hurt Bruce's fist more than Kal’s arm.

“Ha ha, you’re such a joker Kal-” Bruce froze, hand on an oven knob. A Joker. Why did that word send a chill up Bruce’s spine? There were no memories forming in his head, just a sense of…

Bruce shook himself out of his mind, focussing on Kal instead. “How hot?”

“Three-fifty please!” Kal looked over at him, “I hope you're not scared of getting your hands a bit dirty.”

“Depends,” Bruce sidled up next to Kal with a smirk, “What kind of mess?”

Bruce’s flirting was completely brushed off by the alien with a smile; his plan to get out of actually doing any work foiled.

“None of that mister,” Kal shoulder checked him lightly. “I brought all these ingredients from my home and we’re going to use them.”

Bruce laughed, “Ah yes, apples, most commonly found in freezing temperatures such as the arctic circle.”

Instead of the jibe Bruce thought would be slung back at him however, Kal tensed. His hands froze over the sugar he was currently sifting into a bowl.

“Kal? What’s wrong?”

The man looked guilty rather than anything else, and Bruce saw the exact moment his eyes hardened and his head jerked with a small nod. Placing the sieve down, Kal turned to face Bruce, twisting his hands together.

“Bruce I… I haven’t told you the whole truth.”

“About the fortress?”

“About my life. When I landed on earth, I didn’t spend my childhood in the fortress,” Kal paused, and Bruce remained silent, not wanting to push the alien. He had known something was off when Kal skipped over his younger years, and he had hoped Kal hadn’t spent his childhood alone in a frozen tundra, but that was Kal’s information to share. “I actually landed in Kansas, on a farm. The couple who lived there… they took me in and raised me as their own. They didn’t hide my identity from me, or the pod I came down in. They didn’t really have a choice when my powers started to reveal themselves and we all realised I was not… that I was different. They might not be my biological parents, but they're my parents nonetheless, and they gave me the best possible childhood I could’ve wished for.”

Bruce released a deep breath and smiled fondly at his boyfriend, “Thank god for that.”

“You’re not mad?”

“I should be mad you have living parents and a loving relationship with them?”

Kal laughed softly at that, the tension that had laced his shoulders slowly fading. “Mad that I didn’t tell you earlier.”

“Of course not Kal,” Bruce sighed and placed a comforting hand on Kal’s arm, stroking it slowly. “I’m honoured you’ve trusted me with this information to be honest. And very happy you didn’t raise yourself in a castle in the arctic. I was wondering how you were so well adjusted.”

“Well, I dress up in a bright blue and red costume and fly about fighting bad guys, not sure how well adjusted that comes off as.”

“If ifs and ands were pots and pans,” Bruce waved a hand in the air, chuckling internally at Kal’s confused expression, “It could be much worse, you know. You could be much worse. But you’re the living embodiment of hope for the world, Kal. You’re good and you help everyone no matter their background or morality. You work to spread the truth as a civilian as well as a superhero. It’s just… you’re just… ineffable. In a good way of course.”

Kal was flushed, slack-jawed and wide-eyed at Bruce’s almost love confession. His eyes were roaming Bruce, like he was a trivial puzzle, before a smile emerged in his face. “Well you have to thank my parents for that, they were the ones who ‘made’ Superman.”

“And I’m forever in their debt,” Bruce grinned as he snaked two hands around Kal’s neck. “Remind me to send them a gift basket.”

Kal laughed, a short shout of a laugh as his hands came to rest on Bruce’s waist, “What would it say? ‘Thanks for raising that alien you found, he’s my boyfriend now.’”

“In so many words,” Bruce shrugged, bringing Kal in for a deep kiss, who responded immediately. He felt Kal’s hands move around his waist to his back, pulling Bruce even closer as Bruce carded his hands through Kal’s hair. After a few minutes, when Kal’s hands were starting to wander further down, the other man pulled away sharply.

“If this is a plan to distract me, it’s not going to work,” He beamed at Bruce and fully stepped back, combing his hair back into place with his hand. “These apples are home grown by my ma, and they’re not going to waste!”

Bruce sighed dramatically, “Fine, but I warn you this will not end up well for either of us, or possibly my flat.”

“This is a family recipe I’ve made hundreds of times, Bruce.”

“And how many of those were without your mother?”

The silence was very telling.

“Right then, let's get this over with.” Bruce acquiesced. “I want to watch The Grey Ghost after as penance for this torture though.”

Kal pressed a happy kiss to Bruce’s temple, “Whatever you want babe.”

“Babe?”

“I’m trying it out; not a fan?”

“Well now I know you’re from Kansas, I was hoping for something a little more country,” Bruce smirked. “Or maybe something more befitting a billionaire?”

“Oh I forgot you were royalty darlin’.”

Bruce almost choked on his own spit as Kal’s country accent came out in full force. He thought he’d been joking about the country thing but god hearing Kal’s smooth voice call him that nickname, even as a joke, sent butterflies through his entire body.

His own silence was telling.

“Oh my god you liked that!” Kal burst out gleefully.

“I thought you wanted to bake?” Bruce retorted, picking up the sugar and mimicking Kal’s earlier movements of sieving.

“Oh now you’re interested,” Kal giggled. “Just so you know, I’m so using this against ya in the future.”

Now that Kal had realised Bruce liked the accent, he had slipped back into it fully, every line coming out his mouth tinged with that midwestern drawl. Bruce wondered if maybe this was how he usually sounded, and as Superman he wanted to hide any identifiable traces of his life. Maybe now he trusted Bruce so much that he was finally comfortable to let the mask slide and be himself, openly and honestly. And maybe this was just like the t-shirt: something Bruce would feign annoyance at but secretly revel in.

“Okay, okay. Anyway, how was work today?” Bruce turned to look at Kal with what he hoped was a distracting smile.

“I’ll let you off this time, just because I need to tell you about what Jimmy did today…”

As Kal re-enacted that morning’s bullpen meeting with Perry and Jimmy, they worked their way through the recipe, thankfully not cocking it up too much (and by that it meant the pastry was mostly in one piece and looked edible as it was left to cool in the fridge). Bruce relished listening to Kal’s stories, to see the more ‘human’ side of the man who had seemed like a god not even a year ago. They worked easily together, dancing around the kitchen, handing over utensils and ingredients before the other hand to ask, Kal standing behind Bruce as he showed him how to whisk – which was probably the most ridiculous part of the day, aprons aside.

So now Bruce was mixing together the wet ingredients for the filling, as Kal stood next to him chopping apples with ease as the conversation switched to Bruce’s work instead.

“Oh you don’t want to hear about my work, but what I am going to subject you to is opinions on the Wayne Foundation. The lazy, grumpy, bigoted old men don’t want to help build social housing for no reason except their own prejudice! I mean, it’s not even most of their own money going into it, they just want to stop profits from Wayne Enterprises being funnelling into schemes that actually help people! I’m glad I have my mother on my side for this, otherwise I think I would have lost it months ago.”

“That sounds horrendous B-”

“And talking about my mother,” Bruce interrupted, beating the life out of his mixture, “they’re perfectly happy sponsoring her art and history schemes, because it just means they get to attend another opening party and schmooze around for a night, and then fuck off back to their loveless marriages and empty mansions. But as soon as it comes to helping the poor? Oh that’s not as fun anymore is it! Even though she’s also the one setting up charities to help provide soup kitchens around the city. I swear nobody actually cares for the charities they ‘promote.’ At least Ronnie, as vain as she is, actually cares about helping communities in Central America after her disaster of a return trip. I mean, thank god you were here to help with those strange little doll things, but that only serves to show how little she actually cared after her ‘adventure’ as she called it, before it all blew up in her face.”

“Well you were a great help with that case! It was you who worked out that it was the dolls in the first place, but maybe you should slow-”

“Thanks Kal, but that’s just an example of how little the upper class care about anything that is happening, even after ‘first hand experiences’ as they say. It was only when it made Veronica look bad that she actually got her head out of her arse and looked. And I’m not saying that has to happen to every person in that board room with me, I’m just completely appalled at how little empathy people have if it means sacrificing even a little of their – not so hard earned – money!”

Bruce was out of puff as he stopped his rant and looked down for the first time. Only about half of the mixture had survived his fury, the counter now resembling the start of a Jackson Pollock painting. Bruce cringed at himself, turning to apologise to Kal, only to find the bastard was red with contained laughter.

“Maybe baking’s not for me,” Bruce shrugged out with an embarrassed smile as Kal finally burst. While the man was doubled over, Bruce had time to grab some wipes, those he did know where they were kept, and cleaned up his countertop. This was probably the messiest they’d ever been. Disposing of the sheets in the bin, Bruce turned and put his hands on his hips, glaring at the alien who was at least standing up again.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Kal looked up at Bruce. “I think we need to find you a more abrasive hobby.”

Bruce rolled his eyes, and was about to let the situation go when another snort of laughter started. Instead of walking back to the bowl, Bruce dropped to a crouch and swung his leg out. And even with super-senses and super-strength, Kal went flying onto his back in between the island and the oven. Bruce stood gracefully and walked to his boyfriend so he could loom over him.

“I’ve practiced both ninjitsu and escrima for twenty years among others, you dolt,” Bruce huffed with a smile, “I go to kick-boxing classes every Tuesday and Thursday. I have the irregular polo match every now and then. And now I have you. So don’t you worry, I have many different ways to exercise my pent up anger.”

Kal, who was already gaping at Bruce, probably because he just took down Superman, was now flushing a pretty pink colour. Bruce laughed as he held out a hand to help the other man up, turning to return to their original date plan as he heard a squeak. With only a small warning, two hands grabbed his waist from behind and lifted him away from the island.

“Did I hear that wrong, or did you just call me a hobby?” Kal's offended tone bled through.

“Why else would I be dating you?”

“Right, that’s it you little-” Kal was cut off by Bruce’s shout, of laughter or surprise neither could tell you, as Kal started to tickle Bruce. It was agony, and Bruce had no escape as his only points of contact were with the perpetrator himself.

“Get off, get OFF!” Bruce couldn’t help but laugh out, his plea falling flat as he heard Kal giggle behind him. In his pain, Bruce shoved an elbow back into Kal’s chest, hoping he’d at least hit his diaphragm and wind the alien slightly. Could he even get winded? Bruce was distracted from exploring that line of thought as he suddenly started crashing towards the floor, the blow not having winded Kal, but rather thrown him off balance. Unfortunately, rather than the best case scenario of simply landing on his boyfriend, Bruce was going to be acting as the pillow for the fall. In his best efforts not to get crushed in his own home, Bruce twisted in Kal’s arms, which had loosened due to Bruce’s wiggling, and managed to roll away, landing crouched and supporting himself with his arms some feet away. Kal had somehow ended up on his front and before Bruce could think, was pushing himself off the ground and flying towards Bruce.

They slammed into the sofa, Kal’s large arms boxing Bruce in and grinning. But it was not going to end that easily. Bruce couldn’t boast about his fighting skills and then immediately get pinned down and distracted by someone he happened to be fucking. Which could play into his hand in this instance, Bruce thought devilishly, as he rolled his hips up into Kal’s. The man folded immediately, a moan punctuating the air. The grip on Bruce slackened as Kal ducked down to kiss Bruce.

“Not yet,” Bruce smirked at Kal before slipping out of the restraining hands and popping up on the other side of the island before Kal realised what had happened.

“That’s not fair!” He honest-to-God whined, and got up slowly, approaching Bruce like a rabid cat.

“Since when were there rules to you assaulting me in the comfort of my kitchen?”

Kal laughed, both of them circling the kitchen island slowly, “It was an innocent tickle Bruce!”

“Innocent? Innocent? I’d like to see you defend that claim in court. Because it is a well known fact that tickling someone is the most debilitating fighting style to use.”

“Oh really?”

“Why does Superman never use it fighting enemies? Because if he did he would immediately kill his enemies, or whatever bad guy he was fighting that day.”

Kal barked out a laugh, “I need to see your sources! Because I think Superman doesn’t use it so he- HEY!”

Bruce giggled at the white powder now covering half of Kal’s face and his shirt. If Kal was going to stoop to something as childish as tickling, well then Bruce was going to retort in kind.

“Did you just throw flour on me?” Kal managed out, his eyes wide with shock, “Are you five years old?”

“Are you?”

“Ha ha, very clever B- STOP IT!”

Bruce laughed as he hit Kal with another direct attack of flour, this time almost obscuring the Darth Vader logo on his apron.

“That’s it, it's on!” Kal grabbed his own handful of flour, which missed as Bruce dropped down behind the counter. Some stray flecks landed on his shoulders as he made his way around the island, listening out for Kal’s steps. Unfortunately, Kal could fly, and before he knew it Bruce heard a voice.

“You can run but you can’t hide, darlin’,” Kal’s mocking voice came from above him. Bruce looked up at the wrong moment as Kal pelted him with flour, Bruce barely closing his eyes in time.

“You arse!” Bruce jumped and snatched another fistful of flour, rubbing into Kal’s hair and turning it white.

“You started it!” Kal yelled with a grin as he managed to avoid the second throw.

“I believe you’re the one who tickled me first?”

“I believe you're the one who slammed me into the ground first?”

Bruce and Kal were standing only feet away from each other as they tried to both hit and dodge the flour that was now creating a mini fog in the air. Both of them, though they would vehemently deny it as two grown men, were giggling all the while. They were interrupted by Bruce’s landline ringing.

“Are you going to answer that?”

Bruce rolled his eyes, “I suppose I have to. The struggles of being a businessman.”

“Oh the agony!” Kal grinned as Bruce moved away. He could see from the corner of his eye that Kal continued to bake instead of cleaning up, taking the pastry out the fridge to add the filling to.

Bruce smiled at the absurdity of the situation, Kal covered almost head to toe in flour now. Bruce was just glad neither of them had thought to pick up the bag and dump it on the other. Not that there was much left in it now.

“Hello this is Bruce Wayne speaking,” he rattled off as he picked up the handset. He noted to himself to upgrade the rotary phones with a screen or something to see who was calling.

“Brucie! It’s your mother,” A warm voice echoed down the line.

“Oh hello! How are you?” He responded with a smile he knew his mother could hear, even if she couldn’t see it.

“Well I was just talking with Richard Carlisle, you know, the grumpy old one who was blocking the proposals for the soup kitchens, and he just told me he’s planning on retiring and selling his company to Robert Queen!” Bruce could hear the giddiness in his mother's voice and grinned.

“Oh what a shame!” He replied in like, “Though I’m sure Mr Queen will fit right in, and Car-Geo Ltd will do very well as a subsidiary for Queen Industries.”

“I’m very sure about that,” Martha laughed. “Well I just wanted to ring and give you the good news myself. We’ll have these soup kitchens up and running within a month, my lovely. Oh and before you go, are you still planning on attending Saturday night's meal here at the manor?”

“Of course, who could resist Alfred’s cooking?”

His mother laughed down the phone as they said her goodbyes and Bruce placed the phone down.

“Who was that?” Kal asked as Bruce returned to his side. He was rolling out pastry and carefully weaving it across the top of the pie. It wasn’t perfect, but Bruce preferred it that way.

“My mother. One of those old farts I was complaining about earlier has decided to sell his company to one of my friends' dads.”

“And thats… good?”

“It's very good,” Bruce smiled as he helped Kal with the pleating, “Mr Queen is one of the most liberal billionaires out there, even if Ollie is still a bit unruly.”

“Ollie?”

“A friend from boarding school, and Robert Queen’s son.”

Kal smiled, “It’s a small world for you billionaires I guess.”

“Well there aren’t many of us, and you’ve managed to weasel your way into a relationship with one,” Bruce teased as he watched Kal place the pie in the oven. “I can also say I’m probably one of the first to bake a pie from scratch though, so put that on your resume.”

Kal laughed as he set the timer and immediately wrapped his hands around Bruce.

“I’d say it’s one of my greatest accomplishments,” Kal smiled as he pulled Bruce in for a kiss. Bruce hummed happily into it as he slipped his arms around Kal’s shoulders and pulled him in closer. He pulled away after moving one of his hands to Kal’s hair and feeling the coarse flour that was still intertwined with every strand.

“Let’s move this through to the bathroom,” Bruce smirked at his boyfriend, who was doing a very good impression of a ghost.

Kal agreed, although it took them some time to actually reach the shower, and then even more time to leave it. Even as the timer blared from the kitchen. Kal had rushed out, half dressed, to turn off the over and save the pie as he left Bruce still dripping on the mat.

Bruce thought, as he dug into a slightly burnt pie on the sofa, that baking may not be so bad anyway. At least not with Kal around. And with his boyfriend wrapped around him as they watched The Grey Ghost, Bruce slipped off into a happy dream filled with nothing but lazy days like this.

…- - -...

“You could not!”

“Oh I definitely could!”

“You may have influence in America Bruce, but Paris?”

“Absolutely! The Wayne name is known around the world.”

“Yeah right,” Clark scoffed.

“I am right, and I’ll prove it.”

“Okay then: two weeks from now, Valentine's day at Claude Dufour. No reservation.”

Bruce shook his head at Kal’s unbelieving face, “Oh ye of little faith, I’ll get us in.”

Bruce couldn’t help the smug expression on his face as he stared at Kal’s unbelieving face.

“You're not serious,” Clark gaped at the neon sign above the restaurant front. He knew Clark thought Bruce had forgotten, but after dragging his date around Paris for the day, Bruce had finagled his way to the eighteenth arrondissement and suggested a walk around Montmartre. They had then ambled (knowingly in Bruce’s case) onto the street where the restaurant in question was located.

It had started on a different date night. They were eating street food in Singapore when they debated what the best cuisine was, objectively and subjectively, when Kal brought up that he wanted to experience ‘proper’ french food, like how “that chef makes it on tv.” Bruce found out ‘that chef’ referred to Claude Dufour, and that Kal had wanted to go to his restaurant after seeing it featured in a cooking programme. Bruce smiled at the fact that Kal didn’t want to use his ‘Superman’ status to get a place or free food. That being said, he was also vehemently against using Bruce for his wealth and influence, and they split everything down the middle: food, small gifts, events. It was one of Kal’s traits that Bruce admired, though sometimes he did wish he could just spoil his boyfriend for an evening. Their debate about cuisines had changed to a debate about exactly that however - Bruce’s wealth and influence - and the offhanded bet Kal had made was soon forgotten by the both of them. Or so it seemed.

Now, standing outside Dufour’s, Bruce just smiled innocently at his boyfriend.

“Well would you look at that? I think we should stop here for a bite,” He grabbed Kal’s hand and tugged him towards the door where a member of staff was checking reservations. Dufour’s was bustling with life, a warm glow and sounds of light chatter emanating out the door. It was a lot smaller than Bruce anticipated, but he was Bruce Wayne, and he was not losing this bet to Kal.

The restaurant itself was a very immersive experience, with the kitchen being open to the restaurant, and customers seated along it on bar stools. There was a vague menu but if they had the ingredients and you had the money, you could ask for pretty much anything. Bruce supposed he should’ve realised it was small considering only a few chefs were cooking and making small chat at the same time. But there was nothing for it as Bruce plastered on a smile as he dragged Kal along.

“Hello,” Bruce sidled up to the door, laying on the thickest charm he could muster, “I’m really sorry but we were just passing, and my friend here told me he’d always wanted to come to this restaurant. And I know it’s Valentines, and you must be brimming, but we’re only in the city for the night and not sure when we’ll be back, so I thought I’d try my luck to see if you have any seats free?”

Bruce grinned inwardly at the look of recognition on the waitress’ face, keeping his humble facade up for Kal.

“Mr Wayne?”

“That would be I.”

“Of course! I’ll have to check with the chef quickly but I’m sure a table will be available for you soon,” And with that the waitress scurried away towards the bar, where Claude Dufour himself was serving up guests. Bruce watched them converse before Kal was hissing in his ear.

“This is ridiculous,” he grabbed Bruce’s arm, who just turned to smile at him smugly.

“What was that you were saying about me having no influence outside of the states?” Bruce winked at Clark, enjoying the high ground he was holding.

“I didn’t think-” Kal shook his head, looking at the waitress who was making her way back over with a smile, “Oh my god I’m dating royalty.”

Bruce barked out a laugh, “You’ve been reading the news too much, ‘The Prince of Gotham’ is only a title.”

“Mr Wayne!” The server returned, “We have two seats waiting for you, if you’d like to follow me.”

“Certainly,” Bruce smiled back at her, gesturing for Kal to go before him.

The restaurant was teeming inside, every chair taken up by people in expensive looking suits and dresses, accessories dripping off them. Bruce, for once in his life, felt a little underdressed. He was sure Kal was feeling worse, even though Bruce had managed to wrangle him into wearing an actual dinner jacket tonight. He grabbed Kal’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

“And thank you so much for accommodating us last second.” Bruce winked at the server as they reached their seats, “It is very generous of you.”

“Well it was very generous of you to stop by, Bruce,” A fourth voice cut in. Bruce turned enthusiastically. This would be the best part of the night.

“Claude! Ça baigne?” Bruce grinned, leaning over the counter to shake the chef’s hand.

The man smiled back at Bruce clasping his hand with the same fervour, “Boh, ça baigne!”

Bruce laughed as he pulled back and put his hand on Kal’s back, “Dufour, this is my friend Kal. He’s been dying to try your restaurant, and I thought what better night than tonight to drop in!”

“Ah, welcome! I hope I will not disappoint,” Dufour’'s strong Parisian accent shone through as he shook Kal’s hand with a smile before turning back to Bruce. The look on his face was one of teasing seriousness.

“Tu kiffes?” The chef asked, nodding his head towards Kal quickly, raising an eyebrow.

Bruce flushed a bright red at the chef's insinuation. “Ouais.”

Dufour nodded approvingly, while Kal turned to look at Bruce with a confused expression.

“Sit, sit! I will come back when you are ready for food, ah?” He went to leave before pointing a finger at Bruce. “Comment va ta mère?”

“Chouette,” Bruce smiled. “Though she’s still trying to master your lobster.” He added in English as a dig towards Clark

“Bien! I will see you both soon.” And with that Dufour was off, serving other customers down the line.

“This is cheating,” Kal gaped at Bruce, who hid his smile behind the hand he was leaning on.

“What is?” Bruce replied, putting on his best dumb act.

Kal shot an unamused look at Bruce, “When I suggested this restaurant, did you cream in your pants?”

Bruce barked out a laugh, clapping his hand over his mouth as other customers turned to look at them. “Kal? Such vulgar language in an establishment such as this! What would Claude say?”

“That you’re a cheater? I didn’t know you knew him!” Kal hissed.

Bruce smirked, “I told you, us Waynes are very influential. And Dufour also happens to be my mother’s favourite chef and catered for her fiftieth last year. Besides, you picked the restaurant.”

“That was before I knew you were on a first name basis with the owner,” Bruce laughed as Kal covered his face with both hands, “I hate you.”

“Sure you do,” Bruce patted his arm, “Now, would you prefer a white or red?”

“Also,” Kal interjected, ignoring Bruce’s question, “How do you speak one of the few languages I don’t know?”

“I went to boarding school, Kal,” Bruce smiled fondly at his boyfriend, “Speaking Latin and French were practically required to graduate, plus my parents used to summer in the French Riviera.”

“Used to summer…” Kal muttered to himself, rolling his eyes playfully at Bruce, “Sometimes I forget how different our upbringings were. I don’t think I’ve heard anyone outside of Austen novels say that they ‘summer’ anywhere.” Bruce felt a pang of something, almost like deja vu, shoot through him as the classic author was brought up. He shook it off and focussed on the man in front of him instead.

“Well, I’ll have to change that.” Bruce shot a shark-like grin at Kal, “Maybe we can ‘summer’ on the Amalfi Coast one year.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Kal smiled back, his face painfully honest.

Bruce pecked his boyfriend, brimming with happiness at Kal’s casual acceptance of their future together; the dates they could plan, the holidays they’ll take. Bruce never imagined he would find someone like Kal. Someone who brought out all the best sides of Bruce. Someone who Bruce wanted to be there for, to be good for, for them to be good to Bruce in return.

It was all he had ever dreamed of.

Chapter Text

Bruce was ready. The candles were lit, the food ready, the table set. This had to go perfectly.

It was their first anniversary. Well, the anniversary of their first meeting. Bruce couldn’t wait another couple of months for their first kiss anniversary, and this one felt more significant. Their relationship now felt like it had been a sure thing; like as soon as they had met, Bruce had known – and he knew Kal felt the same – that it was inevitable. That there was no world in which he and Kal weren’t together. Bruce couldn’t imagine even looking twice at another person now. So their first meeting, that day when fate had destined them to meet, was significantly more important to Bruce. Without that day, he would’ve never met the man he loved. And he was going to tell Kal that tonight.

It felt as though it had to be a big thing for Bruce. It wasn’t something he could just slip into conversation on a date or over the phone. No. He had never felt this way for anyone else. He had allowed himself to feel this way for Kal and that meant something to him. So tonight was the night.

Bruce was standing on the balcony, smoothing over the table cloth in his worry. The balcony of the penthouse was glowing with the light of at least sixty candles, as well as enough fairy lights to cover the Rockefeller Christmas tree. There was a small table on one side that Alfred had helped him set up with the proper cutlery and decorations (a simple sunflower as to not over do it) and on the other side of the balcony was an organised mess of comforters, pillows, and blankets where Bruce would lead Kal to after their meal and confess his deepest feelings. And hopefully have sex, but Bruce didn’t want to get ahead of himself just yet. Dinner first.

“What is this?”

Bruce whipped around as a warm rush of air brushed past him to see Kal slowly floating down onto the balcony, a startled but wide smile on his face as he took in the scene. He was positively glowing, though from the candles or just his radiant personality Bruce couldn’t tell. Kal was always like a ray of sunshine for Bruce, cutting through his inner shadows. The spring breezes were dancing around Clark, fluttering his cape in a way that made him look ethereal to Bruce.

“Happy first anniversary, boy scout,” Bruce grinned as he walked up to Kal, pulling him into a deep kiss as soon as he was in arms reach. Kal’s lips were soft as ever, a perk of the invulnerable skin Bruce thought, which was an extra treat as Bruce was allowed to bite and nip them as long as he liked. Kal eventually leant back, hands settling on Bruce’s hips.

“I thought we didn’t get together until June?” He asked with an adorably confused expression.

“One year ago today you saved my life. For the first time,” Bruce tacked on with a laugh. “I thought it was a more significant anniversary to celebrate.”

Kal caught onto Bruce’s words immediately, his eyes softening as he lifted a hand up to cup Bruce’s face ever so gently.

“Yeah,” He agreed, “It is.” And with that he pulled Bruce in for another kiss, caressing his jaw in a way he knew drove Bruce crazy. Bruce eventually had to catch his breath, and in the interlude Kal said, “Though you could’ve warned me, otherwise I would’ve worn one of my nicer suits.”

“I thought it would be better as a surprise, and your reaction was definitely worth it,” Bruce said as he leant in to whisper, “You didn’t hear it from me, but there might be a proper suit waiting in my bedroom.”

Kal was gone in a blur of blue and red before Bruce had even finished his sentence, and just as quickly was emerging back onto the balcony. Bruce couldn't help but be proud of himself. He had managed to sneak Kal’s measurements while he snored away in the penthouse one night, and although the suit never went in to be tailored to Kal specifically, it still hugged all the right curves. His shoulders and arms looked immaculate. Bruce thought the red and yellow checkered tie he had picked out was a stroke of genius.

He realised that he hadn’t actually said anything, but instead was staring almost slack jawed at his Adonis of a boyfriend.

“You look stunning,” he offered and strode up to Kal to pull him into another bruising kiss. He couldn’t help himself. Kal kissed back just as enthusiastically, like it was more important than breathing. Bruce forced himself to break away and grab one of Kal’s hands.

“Let’s not get distracted just yet,” He winked as he squeezed Kal’s hand, “Otherwise Alfred’s cooking will go to waste and then he really will murder me.”

“You know, from what I hear about Alfred, I’m not sure I want to meet your family.”

“Oh you don’t have to worry about that, they’ll love you,” Bruce laughed as he pulled out a chair for Kal. “And I don’t mean Superman you, I mean you you. Your midwestern charm will completely bowl them over, I’m sure of it.”

And although he was joking, Bruce saw a flash of something in Kal’s eyes, something akin to guilt. But as soon as it appeared, it was gone and Kal was back to his usual bubbly self. Bruce grabbed their dinner from where they were being warmed in the oven and presented it with a flourish.

Kal laughed at the dramatics as he said, “Well I can say the same for you, with my parents I mean,” He beamed at Bruce, “And thank you for this darlin’, it looks delicious.”

Bruce flushed at the compliments as he waved his hand flippantly, “As I said, food is all complimentary of Alfred. I don’t think I could even try to lie and say I made it.”

“You could’ve served me one of your infamous p, b and j’s and I still would have loved it.”

Love. There was the intimidating word. Bruce had tried to use it to describe things Kal had done for him to work himself up, but this was one barrier he had to overcome by just doing it. He could do it. Just not yet. It was a cop out, but Bruce felt it wasn’t the right time. In his silence, he noticed Kal looking endearingly confused at the many forks and knives in front of him.

“Um, which one do I use?” Kal looked up with a sheepish smile.

Right, farm boy from Kansas. A snort, followed by a light apology came out of Bruce’s mouth. “We’ll really have to get you trained up if you're ever to eat dinner with my parents. But I like to think cutlery is one of the easy ones to remember: always start from the outside and move your way in. And if you see any weird shaped fork or knife, it's probably for the weird shaped food on your plate.”

Kal laughed as he picked up the knife and fork for the starters, “You rich folks have a lot of strange rules for insignificant things. Back home, you're lucky if you get a new fork for dessert.”

“It sounds like it’s still the time of the cavemen out in middle America.”

Kal barked out a laugh, “Bruce!”

“Sorry,” Bruce chuckled, “I can only hope I won’t die of fresh air and sun when I get out there.”

“I think you’ll fit in just fine,” Kal smiled, the joking atmosphere replaced with something much more raw as the two men just looked at one another. They hadn’t even complained when the topic of meeting the parents was brought up. Like their relationship, it just seemed like it was a sure thing that would happen. Kal was the one to break the tension with another million-watt smile, “And if you’re as good at fixing tractors as you are those classic cars of yours, my pa might have to hire you to make sure he never gets caught out in the fields again.”

“What a story that would be huh,” Bruce said as he chewed, an action he would surely get berated for at home. “Billionaire socialite and heir to Wayne Enterprises Bruce Wayne leaves his life of luxury behind to become a farm hand!”

Kal laughed heartily at that, before responding, “That’s far too long a headline for the news B.”

“Oh you would know, wouldn’t you.”

“I am Superman.”

“And I’m Bruce Wayne.”

Kal’s giggling subdued as his face pinched endearingly. “I wonder which of the two of us is actually in the news more.”

Bruce sighed as he took a sip of his wine, “Unfortunately, as vain as I am, I have to surrender this one to you. Since I moved out of Gotham and ‘settled down’ my publicity had taken a nose-dive.”

“Settled down?”

“Unfortunately for you, I’m not going anywhere.”

Kal smiled at Bruce fondly, “Neither am I.”

Their conversation took a turn towards work once again as Kal complained about an assignment Perry had placed him on, and how he wished he could use his super-speed at work to fire through all the spelling mistakes he had to correct for Lois. They ate the main course Alfred had prepared – lobster, where Bruce taught Kal how to use a lobster cracker – and the dessert, before he manoeuvred them towards the pillow den.

They were both on their backs, Bruce half-draped on Kal who had his arm around Bruce’s shoulders. Bruce shifted in closer to Kal, watching the candlelight dance across the balcony. The two of them had both drabbled on for a bit more, Bruce revelling in the comfortable feeling he always felt around his boyfriend, when Kal said something that broke that easiness.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Bruce just laughed the statement off, “If anyone here doesn't deserve the other, it’s me.” He shifted so he was looking directly into Kal’s eyes, “I’m the one dating Superman.”

“Exactly,” came the incredibly honest reply, Kal looking at Bruce with a mixture of awe and uncertainty. Bruce bristled under the intense stare. “You’re dating me and you haven’t once pushed me past my boundaries. You’ve never pressured me to reveal myself or to go public together. You never get angry when I have to shoot off during dates or even cancel them completely. You’re always so understanding and sweet about it, even though I know you want more because… because I want more. You’ve made me more of a human than I could’ve hoped for Bruce. You inspire me to be better, to do better because of you.”

Bruce opened his mouth, unused to these kinds of comments. He knows how to handle the rumours and the unsavoury accusations and the speculations around him - good and bad. But no-one has ever spoken to him like… this.

“And don’t even try to deny it Bruce,” Kal cut in before Bruce could get anything out. “You’re a good person. You actively encourage change in Gotham through your donations and rallies and galas. You help people without thinking about it, like your generous tips or advocation for scholarships. I’ve seen you help old woman cross the street for crying out loud! You’re a good person, Bruce Wayne, you’re my hero. And- and I love you.”

Bruce was speechless, Kal’s words spinning round his head as he tried to get a grip on himself. Superman loves him. Superman loves him.

It all became too much. All the feelings Bruce had been harbouring for Kal, his fascination, his fondness, his own love rose to the surface. Bruce was the happiest he had ever been. He was dating his perfect man. The man in question loves Bruce and Bruce-

Bruce loves him too.

Now is the perfect time.

“I-” Bruce’s reply was cut off by Kal slapping his palm across his mouth.

“Don’t say it back yet… not until you know me properly.”

Bruce was sure his face was a picture behind Superman’s hand, the surging feelings he was about to confess replaced by a confusion.

“Which is why I want to do this.” Kal continued as he pulled out two things from his cape. The first was a pair of glasses and the second was a… badge? “You know I have my civilian identity,” he confessed, and Bruce’s eyebrows shot up. “I kept it from you until I could trust you but… I have trusted you. From the first day we met, I knew you would keep this secret until you died. I almost told you right at the start, that night at the gala.” Kal cut himself off with a smile, which faded as soon as it appeared. “But I was- I became scared that I would lose you. That the real me wouldn’t be good enough for ‘billionaire Bruce Wayne.’ And then you showed me time and time again that there was no reason to be scared. That you liked me, and- and not just Superman, so…’ Kal audibly swallowed as he removed his hand from Bruce’s face and showed him the ID.

CLARK KENT, REPORTER FOR THE DAILY PLANET.

Bruce read as he glanced at the picture on the other side. The man was Kal but he looked like a distant cousin instead. Messy curly hair, thick glasses which made his eyes slightly bigger, a shy smile. It was different to the Superman Bruce knew but at the same time, that picture was his Kal.

Bruce glanced up at Kal and saw Clark staring back at him.

He had fluffed up his hair and put on the glasses he had taken out. Bruce was rocked by the revelation of how he had changed so imperceptibly. Kal looked nervous; his posture hunched as if he were ashamed, biting his lip and struggling to keep eye contact with Bruce.

“Clark,” Bruce held out his hand and cupped Kal’s face. Clark’s face. “Clark.” He felt a smile slip onto his face while Clark still looked far too tense. “I like it,” Bruce smirked.

That brought out Clark’s wonderful smile, and Bruce brought him in for a short, sweet kiss.

“So a reporter huh? You haven’t been using your insider knowledge against me I hope.” Bruce snarked as he leant back, the mirth clear in his eyes.

Clark was serious as he replied however, “Never.” He pulled Bruce in for another kiss, “Never against you.”

Bruce thought he had known happiness but this moment recontextualised his entire life. Clark was his life.

“I love you too, Clark Kent,” he said, the words he had wanted to say for so long finally, finally tumbling out his mouth. The look Clark gave Bruce had him dragging Clark in for a more passionate kiss, tongue delving into Clark’s mouth who was just as eager. Nipping at his lips the way he knew Clark liked.

And because he has been described as ‘a little shit’ by many, he made sure to moan Clark’s name loudly when the man moved to mouth at Bruce’s neck. Instead of the embarrassment he got using Kal’s name that first time however, Clark was only invigorated by it, detaching himself from Bruce’s skin and pulling Bruce in to kiss him again, rougher and more enthused than Bruce had ever seen him.

Bruce smirked to himself as his hands danced lower. Something he’d definitely have to remember as he grabbed Clark’s thighs and pulled him in closer, the feel of the glasses knocking against his face only turning Bruce on more.

Bruce was almost so gone that he couldn’t think of anything but Clark when he realised.

Kent.

The Daily Planet.

Insider knowledge.

“Wait!” Bruce screeched as he yanked himself away from Clark, who attempted to chase his lips before registering what Bruce had yelled.

“What? What’s wrong?” He shot up, looking around, and probably listening out, for any signs of danger.

“You fucker! You interviewed me!” Bruce gasped out, “Earlier last year, you had an exclusive with me and got the full scoop into my company.”

Clark flushed deeper than he had when Bruce was flirting with him.

He thought back to the interview with Clark. It was a non-descript affair, one Bruce wouldn’t have written home about. The only stand-out part of it was how well thought out the questions were, and how handsome he thought the reporter was. How if he hadn’t been so focussed on Superman at that point, he would’ve flirted a bit more.

“That was…” Bruce blinked several times to get the timeline right in his head, “That was right after we first met!”

Clark smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck.

“For the record, it was an actual assignment, I wasn’t, um, following you.”

Bruce scoffed fondly. “You are ridiculous, Clark Kent,” He said as he pushed Clark onto his back and braced himself over the man. “But I’m willing to give you a real exclusive.”

Clark dragged Bruce down as soon as he finished his sentence, hunger in his eyes.

Bruce would get him back. One day. Just not tonight. He had other plans to do with Clark.

…- - -...

“Welcome to the Daily Planet, Mr Wayne,” Perry White called out as soon as Bruce stepped out of the elevator and into the bullpen of the newspaper's headquarters.

He had promised himself he was going to get Clark back for that interview.

“Mr White! How are you on this fine morning?” Bruce slapped on his full charm as he approached the man with an outheld hand. Perry grasped firmly, and Bruce shook it as enthusiastically as possible. He never understood the weird power dynamics in a simple handshake but the business world had silently decreed upon it and so who was Bruce to complain about them.

“I’m well, thank you. Although I’m sorry to say that my morning meeting has run over, and while I would usually be able to tie it up for someone as important as yourself, I’m afraid it concerns our owner.” The poor man looked as though he had just run a marathon with the amount of sweat he was dapping off his forehead.

“You don’t have to tell me twice about Mrs Morgan,” Bruce chuckled.

Perry visibly sagged at Bruce’s light humour, “I am very sorry Mr Wayne, but I will be with you in ten minutes tops.”

“I’m sure I can find some way to entertain myself until then,” Bruce reassured Perry, chuckling as the very stressed out man said his thanks and hurried away to deal with the shark that was Evelyn Morgan.

Bruce was in fact very pleased with this development as he started to scan the labyrinth of desks around the room. The air was tinged with the scent of coffee and sweat of very over-worked employees, something Evelyn Morgan prided herself on. The noise of rapid typing and hushed disagreements hit Bruce as he was brought out of his thoughts by a very distinct voice which had him spinning ninety degrees. A familiar mop of dark curls was peeking over a divider and arguing with someone.

“Lois, I can exactly, um, bring that up with Superman okay? After your last interview with him-”

“Clark please, Superman needs to at least release a statement on the ongoing conflict that he directly got himself involved in!”

“For a good reason, I’m sure!” Clark sighed, “Look, I’ll… talk to him but-”

“What’s this I hear about Superman?” Bruce sidled up to the two of them, eager to surprise Clark at work.

“B- Mr Wayne?” Clark jumped back so violently his chair tipped over and he went tumbling to the ground.

“Mr Wayne,” Lois Lane said smoothly, a practiced smile on her face as she ignored the peep show next to her. “What an honour it is to meet you in person.” She held out her hand for a shake as Clark jumped up behind her, bright red with glasses hanging precariously off his nose.

“And you, Miss Lane,” Bruce took her outstretched hand but instead of shaking it, brought it up for a quick kiss. “Your article exposing Lex’s tax evasion was a work of genius, remind me never to get on your bad side.” Bruce grinned at her as he released her hand.

“Well, if you’re confident in your own business practices, Mr Wayne, perhaps you could give me an exclusive?” Lois returned evenly, a glint in her eye. Bruce got the feeling she was provoking him, like a gladiator before a fight.

Bruce, and he assumed Lois too, ignored the squawk that came out of Clark. “While I’d love to, I make it a practice not to be the dumbest one in the room and unfortunately with you, I couldn’t maintain my streak.”

He saw Lois smile, though whether it was at his compliment or just to appease the billionaire was up for debate. Bruce knew Lois was a clever woman, both from her articles (which he did read), and from the way Clark talked about her. A one-on-one with her would either be the greatest PR for Bruce, or career ending.

“And you’re Clark Kent,” Bruce finally looked towards his boyfriend with a mask of innocence on his face. Clark hurriedly smoothed out his shirt and fixed his glasses.

“Oh! Yes sir, that’s me,” Clark rushed out awkwardly as he held out a hand for Bruce, “What a surprise to see you here Mr Wayne!” The look Clark shot Bruce was one that told Bruce he would not get off with this stunt easily. Bruce took Clark’s hand but, as with Lois, instead of shaking it he raised it to his lips with a smile, enjoying the flustered noise that Clark made.

“I trust you have another excuse as to why you can’t make it to dinner with me again?” Bruce raised an eyebrow cockily, starting to lay down their story for Lois, and any other onlookers. “Which is such a shame. I think you’d love this one restaurant downtown. It’s owned by a certain Claude Dufour.”

Clark clammed up again at Bruce’s flirting, and to his credit, managed not to kill Bruce with his laser eyes. Bruce saw Lois’ head whip towards Clark, and he did not feel sorry for the dressing down Clark was going to get. Payback time.

“I’m sorry Mr Wayne, it’s just-”

Bruce cut in with an exaggerated laugh, “How many times have I had to say, it’s just Bruce for you, handsome.”

Lois, the good friend she was, cut in at that point, probably to save the both of them from Clark’s stammering, “And why are you here Mr Wayne?” She asked, though it felt more like an interrogation, with a polite smile.

“Oh! I was due to have a meeting with Mr White at eleven but it seems he is having some troubles with your current owner,” Bruce smirked as he leant against what he presumed was Clark’s desk.

Lois shook her head at that, “When is he not? I’m not even sure why Mrs Morgan bought this place as she seems to despise it.”

Bruce cocked his head at that. He thought Evelyn got some gross pleasure out of seeing the mistreatment of her employees but it seems even that wasn’t enough, “Really? Well I was here to discuss a partnership with Wayne Entertainment on coverage surrounding my company’s venture into your city, but perhaps I should pitch something different.”

"Doesn't your entertainment company want all the news for itself, Mr Wayne?” Lois shot back quickly.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at that, “Trying to finagle a comment out of me Miss Lane? Because if so, I applaud your strategy but alas, my lips are sealed. I believe I came over here because you two were talking about Superman? Now that’s the type of news I can get behind.”

Lois and Clark exchanged a brief look, Lois obviously cautious about bringing up Clark’s other identity. Clark had actually told Lois before he had told Bruce, which Bruce wasn’t bitter about. The two were close friends before Bruce had even met Superman, and it was good Clark had someone looking out for him at work. But Lois didn’t know about Bruce and Clark, and that Bruce knew, so she was right to be wary. Bruce was nothing if not an instigator for drama though.

“Actually,” He said, turning to Clark with an innocent smile, “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Superman?”

“Yes Mr Wayne,” Clark choked out, “You have. Several times.”

“Oh yes,” Bruce bit his lip, trying to stop the predatory smile on his face, as he leant in closer to stage whisper, “But between you and me, you’re much more handsome.”

He leant back slightly to see the blushing expression on Clark’s face. Instead of the shocked flush that he had expected however, Clark’s eyes were dark and he was glancing between Bruce’s eyes and his mouth. Bruce couldn’t stop the smile now, winking at Clark as Lois stepped in to defend her friend.

“We keep telling Clark to dress up as the big man for Halloween but he refuses,” She laughed, and Bruce admired her protectiveness. Clark was right, Lois and Bruce were almost like two sides of the same coin. Clever. Quick on their feet. Protective, not just of Superman, but Clark Kent. Up-front. Not to mention dark haired and blue eyed. Clark had a type obviously.

Bruce chuckled as his eyes slid back to Clark, “Well I think you would look very fetching in a Superman costume, Mr Kent. Be sure to send over a picture if you ever decide to dress up.” And he dropped one of his business cards into Clark’s jacket pockets.

“Oh um, thank you? Mr Wayne,” Clark stuttered out as Bruce retreated from his (very) personal space.

At that moment he heard Perry’s voice echo through the room, asking someone, Jimmy, where Bruce had disappeared off to.

“Ah, off to talk business once more. It was a pleasure to meet you Miss Lane,” Bruce nodded at Lois who returned the gesture with a calculating look in her eyes. Well, Bruce had just slipped his number to her coworker and best mate, who wouldn’t? To smooth over the situation, he added, “I promise you the first exclusive when I eventually take over Wayne Enterprises, but hopefully that’s still a few years away yet and I can hold onto my dignity for a while longer.” Bruce shot a charming smile at her, and this time she let her mouth quirk upwards. Success.

“I’ll hold you to that Mr Wayne, make sure to note it in your calendar.”

“I promise,” Bruce chuckled as he turned to look at Clark, brazenly raking his eyes down his partner’s body. “And I hope I’ll see you again soon Mr Kent. Specifically in a Superman costume. Have a lovely day, the two of you.”

And with that, Bruce left his boyfriend – who was gaping at Bruce and frozen to the spot, the red finally starting to fade from his face – and his boyfriend’s best friend – who was doing a very good job at keeping her composure, despite the frantic motions of her fingers against her desk. When she thought Bruce was out of earshot, he caught Lois hiss out. “Bruce Wayne just flirted with you? Bruce Wayne just gave you his number?!”

Of course, it wasn’t actually his number, Clark already had that. It was instead a confirmation for their date that night. But Lois didn’t need to know that. Bruce laughed to himself as he reached Perry and they headed into a meeting room.

Little did Bruce know Clark wasn’t as flustered as he had seemed.

A few hours later, Bruce was reclining on his sofa as he replied to the final emails of his day when a blue blur floated into his periphery.

“I believe you were saying something about Clark Kent and a Superman costume?”

Bruce looked over and couldn’t help the laugh that was forced out of him. Clark was dressed in a very ill-fitting Superman costume, complete with fake muscles in all the wrong places and a split zipper. He still had his messy hair and glasses on with a dopey smile, and it was such a ridiculous image that it hit Bruce that this was how Clark's disguise worked. The man in front of him couldn’t be farther from the composed, reassuring figure that was Superman.

“Mr Kent,” Bruce played along as he set aside his laptop and stood. “What an unexpected treat this is.”

Clark set his feet on the ground, walking inside through the open glass door, “As unexpected as Bruce Wayne dropping by the Daily Planet?”

Bruce grinned as he sauntered up to Clark, “That was for a business meeting. This, I hope, is for something far more personal?”

“I seem to remember something about a dinner date… and you implied a more exclusive type of interview?” Clark smiled back, “So Mr Wayne, what do you think now?”

“I think Clark Kent makes an excellent Superman,” Bruce laid on his thickest charm, the one usually reserved for wooing old business men and young socialites, as he reached up and gently removed Clark’s glasses. “Though these may be distracting the look.”

“I can be as distracting as you need.”

...- - -...

“Do you know what Perry said in front of everyone during the assignments?”

“No?”

“He said, and I quote,” Clark cleared his throat and pitched it into his boss's register, “‘Kent! You’re to interview Wayne. All the details will be sent in an email.’ So I said, appropriately might I add, ‘Why me?’ cause I don’t cover those types of things usually, and he said ‘Wayne asked for ‘the pretty one from the Planet’ and Lois told me he meant you. I don’t know what you did to attract his attention but keep doing it and we might get more Wayne exclusives than the Gazette!’ which is why I hate you now.”

Bruce laughed at Clark over the phone, only upset he couldn’t see the man face-to-face.

“I think you mean to say you love me. Besides, aren’t you happy? You get to interview your lovely and doting boyfriend and I get to plant some more seeds.”

“So you’re really doing this? We’re really doing this?” Clark’s breath hitched.

Bruce swallowed down the lump in his throat. He couldn’t discern if Clark sounded happy or anxious at the revelation. “Yes love, unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“No! No, not at all. I can’t wait actually,” Bruce could hear Clark’s smile down the line, which set off one on Bruce’s own face.

“You remember what I said about the publicity?” Bruce warned, nervous himself about their plan. “And how we’ll need to be extra careful about the Superman stuff?”

Clark huffed out a laugh, having had this lecture from Bruce about a hundred times in about a half as many days. “Of course I do B. Besides, it’s like you also said: this will hopefully blow over in a couple of weeks, maybe a few months, and then it’ll be back to normal, except we don’t need to hide.”

“I know,” Bruce sighed, “I just worry for you.”

“Yeah well, I think we do enough worrying about the other to last a lifetime,” Clark chuckled.

“You can say that again.”

“I think we-”

“It’s not funny when you do that Clark,” Bruce huffed. Clark had the type of jokes that would fuel another three Airplane movies. “Now, are you going to get your pretty behind over to my office or not?”

“Well, it is my job…” Clark played coy as Bruce rolled his eyes.

“And it took me a lot of planning to do it, so don’t pass this offer up.”

“Oh yeah, what are you going to do if I don’t?”

“Sweetheart, we can either have phone sex while you sit in your office, or you can fly over here as fast as you can and I’ll show you an even better experience.”

The line dropped dead and Clark was being let in through the office doors three minutes later.

“Ah, Mr Kent!” Bruce stood and made his way over to Clark, “How lovely to see you again.”

Clark cocked his head with an exasperated expression as he decided to play along.

“My Wayne, thank you for this opportunity!” He shook Bruce’s outheld hand firmly, giving it a small squeeze before they let go. Bruce couldn’t lie that he got very turned on by the reporter front.

“Please, have a seat. Can I interest you in anything to drink?” Bruce quirked an eyebrow at Clark as he reached for his decanter.

Clark shrugged softly, “I shouldn’t, I'm on the job technically.”

“Your loss,” Bruce sighed as he joined Clark on the sofas. The office housed his desk to one side and a small seating area with two art-deco couches, a couple armchairs (with no actual arms) and a glass top coffee table. Clark had his notepad and recorder out already. “Now I believe I still haven’t received any pictures of you in a Superman costume.”

“Maybe in a few more interviews Mr Wayne.”

“Is that a way to coerce me into more of these?”

“Every little helps,” Clark shot back as he picked up his notepad and pen, the recorder left for show.

Bruce laughed as he reclined into the white sofa, arms coming to rest along the top. “So, what did you want to ask me, Mr Kent?” he relaxed as he lazily took in his boyfriend. The sun was positioned right behind Clark, causing a warm glow to emanate around him. His glasses were slightly askew and Bruce resisted the urge to lean across the table and straighten them.

“You recently brokered a deal with the Daily Planet, allowing them exclusive access into your venture into Metropolis.”

“That is correct,” Bruce nodded. Clark, of course, already knew all the details but Bruce had to give him something to quote in the article that wasn't just blatant flirting.

“So I’d like to start at the beginning, this foray started last year with the opening of the Wayne Enterprises Metropolis office. The one we are currently seated in. Your commitment to making the building ‘energy efficient’ was at the forefront of the construction A year in, is the building still operating up to standards as the flagship for your green energy model?”

Bruce smiled as he took a sip of his whisky. He had been heavily involved in the design and maintenance of the office, and he hoped to implement some of the successful practices they’d employed into their buildings over in Gotham. Hopefully they could reduce some of the smog that constantly hung over the city, or at the very least stop contributing to it.

“Well, we tried some very experimental projects in the office, and like experiments some have failed. However most of the building is performing above expectations. The implementation of the newly developed Wayne Enterprises Solar Glass has skyrocketed the amount of energy we’ve gained from the sun, something Metropolis has a lot more of than Gotham. With more development, we are planning on adapting it for Gotham, and other places around the world, at a much more cost efficient rate. Our figures are all displayed and available to anyone who wishes to seek them out, and we pride ourselves on the transparency of this operation. Perhaps Luthor could take some notes,” Bruce winked at Clark, unsure if his dig would make it into the article itself, but it was always fun to belittle Lex.

“That’s a great achievement, well done Mr Wayne.”

“Oh don’t thank me, most of the credit goes to the hard working team in our factories, who tirelessly developed numerous prototypes and our current model. I was lucky enough to be able to work with them and see how these were produced.”

“Of course. And you mentioned some failures?”

Bruce shrugged, “The Solar Glass was our main focus, but we tried to spearhead some other new projects. Most of which worked, however need to be properly analysed and developed over a longer time span. The importance of these projects, such as a new type of wind funnel and adaptive insulation will be the next in line. We hope to get these rolled out as quickly as possible, but we also need to make sure they are actually helping the situation and not harming our world.”

“That is very understandable Mr Wayne, you’re- Wayne Enterprises commitment to sustainability is commendable…”

Clark was intently focussed on his questions, the teasing nature Bruce heard over the phone gone. The seriousness and competency Clark was displaying, the professionalism, was having the exact opposite effect on Bruce however. He was acutely aware of every movement Clark made, of every note he scribbled down. The intense way his eyes locked with Bruce’s, and his enthusiastic nodding along. It only took about fifteen minutes for Bruce to break.

“Your glasses are squint.”

“Pardon?” Clark looked up from where he had been noting down Bruce’s last answer. He had enough quotable material, and all the insider knowledge anyway, that Bruce decided now was the right time.

“Your glasses,” Bruce smirked as he stood up and settled next to Clark instead. Clark’s breathing was shallow as Bruce leaned in and corrected them, much closer than was necessary. From here, he could smell Clark’s cologne, one Bruce had bought them after a date. It always made Bruce smile when Clark wore it. Clark’s eyes flicked between Bruce’s eyes and his lips, Bruce’s tongue darting out to wet them.

“Mr Wayne-”

“Please,” Bruce cocked his head, “call me Bruce. Mr Wayne is my father." A mimic of their first conversation. The memory had Bruce pressing closer as Clark glanced nervously towards the door, backing away slightly.

“What if…”

“Dana knows not to interrupt when I’m having an interview, although that hasn’t happened in well over two years.”

“Oh,” Clark squeaked out, his back now pressed against the armrest of the sofa as Bruce continued to move closer.

Bruce smirked, “Are you okay Mr Kent?”

“Clark.”

“Clark… you know this whole reporter shtick is really doing it for me. I don’t usually go for members of the press but I think I can make an exception for someone as handsome as yourself.”

That brought a laugh out of Clark as the whole ‘foreplay’ scenario, or whatever the interview could be counted as, was broken.

“If I knew you liked this so much maybe I would’ve told you earlier,” Clark grinned as his hands wormed their way into Bruce’s hair, massaging slightly. Bruce moaned from the pleasure. He always went limp for Clark’s head massages.

“Well, we can make up for lost time now,” Bruce blinked himself back into the room and closed the gap between their lips, groaning as Clark immediately pushed into Bruce’s mouth and kissed him deeply.

Clark emerged an hour later from Bruce’s office, thoroughly dishevelled and beaming happily. Bruce watched him disappear into the lifts from where he stood in his doorway before making eye contact with his secretary. Dana just cocked an eyebrow at him before raising her hands in a surrendering pose.

“I didn’t see anything.”

“Remind me to give you a raise.”

…- - -...

“You’re in love!”

Bruce nearly choked on his champagne as Selina sidled up behind him, dragging her hand up his arm. It had been a few months since Bruce and Clark’s interview, and it was time to enact the final part tomorrow. But tonight, Bruce was stuck at a charity gala Bruce’s parents were hosting for Gotham Hospital. It was being held at Wayne Manor, and for the last three hours Bruce had debated just wandering off and going to bed. He’d had all of one glass of champagne and had to talk to practically everybody in attendance. If it wasn’t for his plan he would be making his excuses right now.

“What makes you say that?” Bruce tried to compose himself and slip back into the easy back and forth he usually had with Selina, though their conversations didn’t usually start like this.

“I know that look on your face,” She slid her arm into Bruce’s, holding tightly, “it’s the same one you had when you were chasing me.”

“I wasn’t chasing you-”

Selina gave him a look at that comment, a look which had Bruce squirming. “I rejected you four times Bruce.”

“In the span of one month, I wasn’t exactly pining.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night. Anyway, I know that look, so… who's the lucky person?” She purred, her brows arching gracefully. They’d been friends for too many years for Bruce to try to lie to her now. Plus Selina was smart; if Bruce didn’t tell her then she’d manage to find out on her own. He wondered if he could test her to see if she would figure it out before they went public, but that seemed too cruel. Now that Selina had asked though, she would crucify Bruce if he didn’t tell her before the drop.

“Fine, but you can’t tell anyone, Selina. Even Isis,” Bruce acquiesced, taking a long sip of his champagne, “He’s a reporter.”

Selina’s eyes lit up, “A journo? Now this is good, all the other poshos here are going to be livid you know. One of us dating below our pay-grade. And Bruce Wayne out of all of them.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Bruce started to look around nervously before realising that he was in fact the only one in the room who wasn’t dating at least a millionaire.

“Oh it is! Which one? Wait! Is he here tonight?” She gripped Bruce's arm, mirroring him by scanning the room like a predator. “Is it that one? Or him?”

Bruce’s eyes locked with who he was looking for, an easy smile sliding across his face before he could tame it.

“Mr Kent!” Bruce called out, Clark walking towards the two of them with his eyes lasered onto Selina’s grip. “How wonderful to see you again. Your article was very generous towards me – I’ll have to thank you later in private.” Selina's head whipped towards Clark with an evil smile.

“Mr Wayne, I’m glad you liked it,” Clark quirked his lips up into a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was split between looking at Bruce’s face, and his intertwined arms with Selina. Wait, Bruce realised, no… was he- was he jealous?

“Kent,” Bruce grinned, at the absurdity of the situation, “this is my friend Selina Kyle. We were just chatting about her new start-up in Zimbabwe to help endangered lions.”

“Best friend. And excellent secret keeper might I add,” Selina held her hand out and Clark shook it gently, his eyes flickering towards Bruce.

She knows? They said.

Bruce shrugged slightly, Yes, but she’s trustworthy.

A small smile.

“Miss Kyle, what an honour to meet you. I follow your projects closely actually, one of my coworkers is a big fan of your work,” Clark immediately brightened up, seemingly no longer bothered by the touching between Bruce and Selina.

“Oh really?” Selina perked up as the two of them started discussing her work in zoos in the area, cat-shelters, and international projects. Bruce chipped in every so often but mostly sat back (metaphorically) and watched his two different lives interact. Selina looked stunning, as always, in a dark green dress. She was decked out in jewellery, all gold and all ostentatious. Selina always did have a penchant for glitz and glamour. Bruce noticed one of the rings she was wearing was one he had given her during his pursuit.

Clark on the other hand, was the epitome of normal. He had on a suit one size too big and un-tailored – that would be changing as soon as they started attending these galas as a couple – and it was the most unassuming colour of brown. His hair was slightly more tamed than it usually was, though not the slicked back style he preferred as Superman.

Selina’s comments were nagging at the back of his head. Here, standing amongst Bruce's peers, Clark really did stand out like a sore thumb. Not that that was bad, it was just different. An unpleasant feeling churned in Bruce’s stomach.

Was he really doing the right thing? For him and for Clark? Bruce wanted nothing more than to show Clark off on his arm, to take him out to lavish restaurants in Gotham, or to just walk around the streets in Metropolis. He didn’t want to hide to others who he was dating, the fact that he was dating someone. He wanted to have Clark, openly and freely, without any restraint. To be able to hold Clark’s hand like he was holding Selina’s. For nobody to actually care, just to acknowledge that Bruce and Clark were together.

But was it the right decision? Bruce was going to force Clark into a life of, albeit relatively minor, fame. He would get harassed by the very people he works with for any exclusive, the press immediately betraying one another for that big scoop. People will stop him on the street, ask for photos though God knows why unless they're a fan of his work. He’ll be talked about behind his back by the very people Bruce has been schmoozing with his entire life. Every gala they attend, every event will be scrutinized. Could Bruce really do that to Clark?

Clark, whose whole safety net was being unassuming, forgetful. Who’s biggest secret could ruin his life even more so than dating Bruce publicly. Who doesn’t deserve any of the shit that is about to get dumped on his head. Maybe this is a bad idea. No, this is a terrible idea.

“Clark,” Bruce managed to get out, his heart hammering in his chest. Since Selina knew, he didn’t have to keep up the pretense. “I think we should have that talk in private now.”

It should’ve been flirtatious, it should’ve been an innuendo. But Bruce really needed to talk Clark out of this plan, to stop Bruce from ruining Clark’s life. Clark noticed the serious expression on Bruce’s face, well Bruce thinks it’s serious but it probably looks a lot more like panic, and immediately agreed. His boyfriend made the excuses for them, Selina untangling her arm with a wink before stalking into the crowd for her next victim.

Bruce grabbed Clark’s hand, and made sure to plaster a sleezy, drunk smile on his face as he led them off into the east wing past the kitchens. He’s not sure if people notice Bruce Wayne dragging a reporter off into his house, his tunnel vision obscuring everything but the warmth of Clark’s hand and the door he’s intending to escape out of. He could feel Clark giving his hand a squeeze every few seconds, which grounded him. They finally made it into a small study, one not often used by the family, which only housed a desk, two decorative sofas sitting opposite one another, and ornate art covering the walls.

As soon as the door closed, and the faint murmur of the gala locked away, Bruce crushed his hands into Clark’s jacket and slumped his head onto his shoulder.

“This is a bad idea, I don’t- you don’t deserve this, or me, I mean, there’s so many… so many others better than me and it’s all just my selfishness that’s fueling it- Clark you don’t understand- they eat you alive… they’ll pick your bones- you said it yourself! They’re vultures and I can’t- I can’t allow-”

“Woah woah woah, hey Bruce. You’re okay,” Clark’s hands rubbed up and down Bruce’s sides, a soothing pressure that grounded Bruce. “Breathe for me please darlin’? Seven in, five out. Breathe with me. Deep breaths now.”

Bruce’s panicked ramblings faded out slowly as he was able to fully focus on his boyfriend. His hands on Clark’s chest rose and fell with each breath, and Bruce found himself copying the pattern, Clark counting the beats for them quietly. After a few minutes, Bruce felt he had his mind back under control.

“I’m sorry it’s just-”

“I deserve you Bruce.”

“What?”

Clark sighed with a sad smile, “One of the phrases you kept repeating. ‘You don’t deserve me.’ I do. You’re not an evil person Bruce. You’re one of the main reasons I’m able to fly out of my flat everyday and help people, no matter what. You keep me alive. We’ve both had reservations, we’ve both felt inferior to the other. I mean the Superman thing with me, and jeez, you’re Bruce Wayne! How a farmer’s kid from Kansas managed to catch you baffles me every day. But this is a good thing we got going darlin’, and I want to be with you. Forever and always, ‘kay?”

Bruce stopped himself from crying at Clark's speech, his hands loosening only slightly on Clark’s shirt. “That’s the problem.”

Clark’s face fell, “What is?”

“You’re just an innocent guy from Kansas working as a reporter and I’m dragging you into the spotlight with this announcement! You may think you deserve me Clark but you don’t deserve all the fuckery that is going to follow. I don’t want you to have to endure that-”

Clark smiled then, pure and radiant as sunlight, “That’s what you’re worried about? I know what I’m getting into Bruce. I’m Superman, I can deal with the press. And I’ll let you in on a secret: I’m one of them.”

Bruce cracked a smile at Clark’s corny joke before remembering where they were. “But everyone out there, they’ll talk and say the nastiest things behind your back...” Bruce trailed off, moving one of his hands to the back of Clark’s neck.

“I already get that as a reporter, Bruce, and besides, they say the darndest things about your reputation too, so we’ll weather it together huh? You and me?”

“It’s ‘You and I’,” Bruce chuckled at Clark immediately rolling his eyes, “What were you just saying about being a reporter?”

Clark pouted, “Some of us weren’t raised by an English butler. And I thought you liked the accent?”

“Oh I still like the accent,” Bruce smirked, angling his head and leaning in close enough to where he could feel Clark’s breath on his lips. Something was still nagging at him. “Are you one hundred percent sure you’re ready for this?”

“Absolutely,” Clark replied with no hesitation, “I love you Bruce. I want to be able to take you on picnic dates and hold your hand in the street and pick you up from work okay? I want it all with you. And when you’re beside me, I feel like I can take on the world.”

“You might have to after the announcement," Bruce huffed out. “I want all of that too Clark. And more. But what I especially want… is to buy you a new suit, please god let me, I can't have you turning up to galas with me dressed like that.”

Clark laughed, the sound filling Bruce with genuine hope for their future, “Fine, fine. One new suit.”

“Three?”

“Two.”

“Deal.” And Bruce signed that contract by closing the small distance between them and kissing, more like devouring, Clark. Clark responded immediately, hands grabbing at Bruce’s waist, hips, thighs. Bruce felt himself get lifted and his back hit a wall somewhere with a loud thud. The door. He instinctively wrapped his legs around Clark’s waist, and tightened them with a moan from Clark.

Clark was licking into Bruce’s mouth enthusiastically and Bruce ever wondered how he could be nervous about announcing to the world that Clark was his. He slipped his hands under Clark’s suit jacket desperate to feel Clark properly as he clawed at his shoulders. When Clark removed his hands from Bruce’s thighs to take off the jacket, Bruce slid down a few inches and his dick rubbed against Clark’s gloriously. Their kiss was broken by Bruce pulling away to gasp for air and grind slowly into Clark’s erection. He couldn’t take off his own jacket being pinned against the door, so instead Clark unceremoniously untucked his shirt and shoved his hands up. They glossed over Bruce’s faint abs before reaching his nipples, Clark tweaking one harshly. Bruce’s head fell forward into the crook of Clark’s neck, and he bit on it to suppress a moan from the pleasure.

“Clark, please…”

“What do you want darlin’?”

Bruce moaned again at the use of the nickname in Clark’s low voice, the one that only came out for serious Superman business, or in Bruce’s bed.

“Down,” Bruce managed, “Put me down.”

Clark obeyed immediately, and as soon as Bruce’s feet hit the floor he was pushing his boyfriend towards one of the couches. Clark hit the armrest, Bruce crowding into his space as he buried one of his hands into Clark’s hair and dragged him in for another kiss. His other hand went straight to cup Clark through his trousers, massaging slowly. Clark moaned Bruce’s name loudly into the kiss, and Bruce greedily swallowed every noise up. Hands moved around Bruce’s waist and up his shirt once again, the smooth pads of Clark’s fingers kneading into his skin. They were heading lower, gracing Bruce’s belt when the two of them were interrupted by a flash.

Vicki Vale was standing at the door, a junior intern next to her. The young associate was the one holding the camera and as the two men looked over, she vanished, Vicki chasing after her.

Bruce stared at the empty space where they had been for a few more seconds before turning back to Clark with a dumb-founded look on his face. Clark was bright red and mirrored Bruce’s look of shock. The silence of the room was only disturbed by their heavy breathing. Bruce huffed out an incredulous laugh, because what else was there to do in this situation, as he pressed his forehead to Clark’s shoulder.

“This is going to be everywhere by tomorrow. Actually, scratch that. Selina’s at this party. This is going to be everywhere in less than an hour,” Bruce groaned. This was not the plan. Their official first sighting as a couple was supposed to happen tomorrow at a restaurant, where one lucky pap was going to catch a chaste goodbye kiss between them.

Clark stayed quiet for another minute, and Bruce started to worry after a while. He picked his head up to assess his boyfriend. Clark was still gaping, but unlike Bruce, it looked like there were actually thoughts forming.

“Clark?”

Clark’s mouth shut quickly as he looked at Bruce with a sheepish smile. “Are we still on for that date tomorrow or…?”

Bruce barked out a laugh at the complete state of them, and the ridiculousness of Clark’s question. “Yes love, we can still go on our ‘first date’ tomorrow.”

“Well then, tonight's not been a total failure. At least we can leave now and not set off any more rumours?” Clark smiled, while Bruce’s stomach dropped. The party.

Fuck. “Actually we might have to.” Bruce felt his face heating up as Clark shot him a questioning look, “I need to avoid seeing my parents or Alfred for the rest of the night.”

“Oh,” Clark laughed out, “Well, I can see a window right there, and the fact you have no outdoor lighting or,” Clark’s vision glazed over, his eyes turning a slight milky colour before returning to normal which indicated he was done using his x-ray vision, “surveillance cameras on this side of the house.”

“Lead the way,” Bruce grinned as Clark grabbed his hand and practically ran to open the window, standing on the sill. Bruce joined him a moment later, wrapping his hands around Clark’s shoulders. “C’mon Peter Pan, let's leave this place.”

Clark laughed, short and sweet, “Your wish is my command.”

If any guests did happen to see a strange bird that night, they chalked it up to the drinks. Besides, someone was going round saying Bruce Wayne was caught pants down with a nobody, and that was much more interesting.

…- - -...

“I thought you’d be happy?” Bruce smiled innocently at his (now public) boyfriend, who was pacing through the living room of Bruce’s apartment. “You came out of it looking pretty good.”

“I mean, I am- of course! I just didn’t think this was what you had planned,” Clark ran his hands through his hair as he took a few deep breaths. Bruce looked over to the newspaper that was sitting on the coffee table from where Clark had thrown it down earlier. The front page of the Gotham Gazette was emblazoned with the sneaky photo of Bruce and Clark necking. It was taken from partly behind Clark, so his face was half-obscured. They were mid-kiss, Bruce’s hand visibly tugging on Clark’s hair while the other was thankfully hidden behind Clark’s body. Bruce’s shirt was hiked up and Clark’s hand was skating the top of his waistband. There was no denying what was happening, or that it was Bruce in the photo. Bruce was rather proud of it actually.

In a smaller picture beneath it was Clark and Bruce at their planned dinner date the day after, laughing and smiling at their table.

Clark wasn’t identified on the night, but after their date it was obvious who the man in the picture was. Bruce had received a scolding from his parents when he arrived for Sunday night’s dinner; mostly because they expected to be introduced to the boyfriend before the press. But all in all, they were more accepting about Clark than Bruce thought they would be. His mother in particular was very pleased he wasn’t going for one of his many peers.

And talking about accepting, although everyone wanted their own picture of ‘Gotham’s hottest new couple’ (courtesy of Vicki Vale), there had been no outcry over Bruce dating a man, or that that man was a lowly reporter. The press surrounding them was pretty positive, especially after their dinner date where people realised it was more than just a fling. That Bruce Wayne may actually be settling down.

It wasn’t what he had intended, but a week later the headlines had calmed down and the press trying to catch a glimpse of Clark had slunk away from the penthouse. Clark had been given a hefty amount of work by Perry to complete while he was on imposed house arrest by Bruce, and Bruce managed to distract the paps whenever Superman was needed. It was pretty nice having Clark all to himself for this many days, though Bruce still had to run out to the company building to do his work. He was used to the paparazzi however, and it wasn’t him they wanted to see, unless there was a certain someone with him.

“I’m still ‘Bruce Wayne’ sweetheart,” Bruce joked as he started to stand, “and everything I do has to be accompanied with the appropriate dramatics.”

Clark scoffed, “Including me?”

“Well I’d use some more eloquent words than saying I was ‘doing you’ but the point-”

“Bruce that’s not what I meant,” Clark sighed as he took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Bruce sauntered up to him and placed his hands on Clark’s arms, massaging his biceps gently. “The press would want this golden picture of us snogging eventually. It’s a good thing we got it out the way now, so it’ll all blow over quicker. They won’t be following us everywhere for the first scoop anymore.”

“I know, you’ve explained that to me… it’s just-” Clark cut himself off, a deep red tinging his ears.

Bruce was viciously intrigued, “Just what?”

Clark murmured out something, refusing to make eye contact with Bruce.

“I’m sorry love, not all of us have super-hearing, what did you say?”

“They don’t get to see you like that, only I do,” Clark burst out, immediately covering his mouth with his hands.

Bruce’s mouth curved into an evil smile, “What was that?”

Clark shook his head, eyes wide.

“Are you…” Bruce laughed in shock as Clark's face turned beet red behind his hands. “Clark Joseph Kent. Are you jealous?”

Clark’s eyes closed as he slumped forward into Bruce, “No?”

Bruce yelped gleefully, petting the baby hairs at the top of Clark’s neck. “You are!”

Clark said nothing as he jabbed his hands into the side of Bruce, keeping his head firmly where it was settled on Bruce’s shoulder.

“I knew it!” Bruce was delighted, “That night we got caught I thought you looked like you wanted to chop Selina’s arm off for touching me. And I was right.”

“Can we go back ten minutes so I never have to have this conversation?” Clark groaned, biting Bruce’s neck lightly.

“I believe that not one of your powers, Superman. Oh my God. Superman is jealous over Bruce Wayne.” Bruce cackled, “This is too good.”

“Bruce,” Clark warned.

“Clark,” Bruce mocked Clark’s serious tone as he used his hold on Clark’s hair to pull his head up so they were eye to eye.

“Is it too early to break up?”

Bruce grinned at his boyfriend’s mortified face, “Absolutely. You have to date me for at least another nine years before even thinking about breaking up with me.”

“Nine?”

“Well I think by the time we get to our ten year anniversary I’ll have properly enraptured you once again.”

Clark laughed, the red fading from his face a little as Bruce moved the topic away from his jealousy. He was done with the teasing today but by God was he going to use this against Clark. Either in the Superman costume or not he still needed to figure out.

...- - -...

Wayne Manor was a quietly glowing island amongst seas of green grass. An old estate house built in the eighteenth century, its neo-gothic look clawed its way out of the ground; the manor a tapestry of gargoyles, spires, and ornamentation. Bruce loved it. Although many outsiders were wary of the more vicious style of architecture, it was the Wayne’s – along with the four other founding families – that built Gotham back up into her current glory. The gothic movement was vital to the city: it was a symbol of their strength, of their resistance. It was the physical embodiment of resurgence. And Wayne Manor, which sat on the outskirts of Gotham, its grounds kissing the water which separated them, was the Wayne’s stamp on the city. His city.

The main hall of Wayne Manor was washed aglow with the dim light of the chandeliers. Bruce’s footsteps echoed loudly through the silence. He was pacing, a bad habit, but tonight was horrendously important. It was proper for the housestaff, particularly Alfred, to greet guests at the door, however Bruce needed to see Clark before the man was overwhelmed by his parents. For Clark’s sake or his, he wasn't sure. Bruce checked the old grandfather clock in the corner again. Clark should be here any minute.

His parents were reclining in the drawing room, having ushered Bruce out the room due to his nervous energy. Alfred was currently helping out in the kitchen and probably checking the dining room set up once again. Nothing was ever perfect for his standards.

Three booming knocks lurched Bruce from his thoughts as he hurried towards the door. Opening it revealed a very nervous looking Clark holding a bunch of flowers and a plate of food. Bruce immediately calmed now Clark was here.

Clark smiled sheepishly at him as he held out the flowers, “These are for you.” It was a bouquet of warm orange lilies, Bruce’s mother’s favourite flowers.

“They’re perfect, thank you,” Bruce smiled softly as he gestured for Clark to enter and closed the door behind him. A warm august breeze followed Clark in, and Bruce hoped they would be able to explore the grounds before the sun dipped below the horizon. If not, they had plenty of other opportunities.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asked Clark as he took his outer jacket to hang up. Thankfully, Clark was wearing the suit Bruce had bought him for their first anniversary, except this time it was actually tailored. He stopped dead at seeing Clark in the get up, sans outer wear. He was stunning. His dark hair was more tamed than Clark’s usual mop, but nowhere near slicked back. His sun-kissed skin stood out radiantly against the cool white of his shirt. The line from his shoulders to his waist was enticing Bruce more than if the man had been naked, and yet all Bruce wanted to do was rip those clothes off.

“A little bit, well, very nervous, I’m not going to lie. But I helped my ma bake a pie for dessert,” Clark lifted the plate slightly as Bruce was still admiring him, “so I hope that’ll go down well and- why aren’t you doing anything.”

“You are so beautiful,” Bruce smiled as he finally walked back towards Clark.

“Oh!” Clark flushed red, “You look gorgeous too. The blue really brings out your eyes.”

Bruce chuckled, reaching out to straighten Clark’s tie, “Thanks love. And you have no reason to be nervous. As long as you remember what fork to use and greet my mother first, you’ll do fine.”

“Right, and don’t talk to your father about politics.”

“Please god no, unless you want to leave here in tears. Of boredom by the way,” Bruce groaned as he started to lead them towards the kitchen.

Clark laughed, “Plus I’ve not exactly been the most positive of the wealthy in my articles.”

“Yes,” Bruce agreed fondly, “but you have written a glowing article about my father’s only child and his achievements at the Wayne Foundation a year before you started dating him, which definitely gave you a few extra brownie points.”

“You mean scout points?”

“Very funny,” Bruce shot him an unamused glare as they reached the kitchen, Bruce gently calling Alfred over to the door so they wouldn't get in the way of the cooking. Bruce used to come here all the time as a child to watch Alfred cook, and get lots of samples of whatever was being made until he got too old to sit on the countertops.

“Alfred, I would like to properly introduce you to my boyfriend. This is Clark Kent,” Bruce introduced.

“It’s an honour to finally meet you Alfred,” Clark swapped the pie between hands so he could shake the butler's hand. Alfred instead just bowed with a smile. Bruce mentally hit himself for not telling Clark about the different rules for the butler.

“And you as well, Mister Kent. Allow me to formally welcome you to this house, as Master Bruce insisted on greeting you himself,” Alfred replied. At least Clark had remembered not to ask Alfred to call him Clark, something Alfred would’ve taken great offense to.

“For the only time. I promise you can greet him next time,” Bruce sighed. It had taken a lot of convincing to keep Alfred away from the door, but Bruce’s sacrifice had been worth it.

Clark let out a small “Oh!” before presenting the pie to Alfred, “My ma made this for our dessert today and I was wondering if you could possibly stick it in a fridge, or somewhere cool…”

“Of course Mister Kent,” Alfred smiled as he took the pie, “This looks delicious, send your mother our compliments. How did your parents react, Master Bruce?” Alfred turned a raised eyebrow to Bruce, who felt himself heat up.

“We, um, actually haven’t seen my parents yet,” Bruce murmured out.

Alfred’s gaze was steel. “Are you meaning to tell me you introduced Mister Kent to myself before your own parents?”

“Yes?” Bruce suddenly found it very hard to keep eye contact with the old butler.

Alfred turned back to Clark with softer eyes, “I apologise for Master Bruce’s behaviour, I shall store this in the fridge and then bring you to the Master and Mistress of the house immediately.”

“Oh there’s no need to-” Clark tried to say, but Alfred was gone before he could explain. Bruce sighed lovingly at the butler’s behaviour.

“Do you see where I get my odd quirks from now?” Bruce sighed, “That’s who I was raised by.”

“He’s nice!” Clark beamed back at him as Bruce shook his head fondly. “Though I do wish I could ask him to call me Clark. I don’t like all this ‘Mister’ malarkey. Where I’m from, that’s what you called your friends dads. Or the shopkeeper. Not me.”

“You and your midwestern charm are going to go down a treat with my mother,” Bruce chuckled.

Alfred returned quickly, Bruce stepping aside so he could lead them to the drawing room. Bruce’s parents weren’t complete sticklers for the rules of old, the rules from the day of Alfred’s youth, but Alfred was determined to run the house like an army regiment.

“Please follow me young sirs,” Alfred nodded once before floating towards the drawing room gracefully. Bruce reached out to grab Clark’s hand, noticing the man tense up next to them.

“You’re Superman,” Bruce whispered in his ear as encouragement, “Superman isn’t scared of anything.”

“Actually Superman is scared all the time,” Clark whispered back, hand massaging Bruce’s in an attempt to calm himself, “And right now, he is especially scared of meeting the in-laws.”

Bruce whipped his head round with a shocked smile, “In-laws? Thinking that far ahead are we?”

Clark flushed as he purposely avoided looking Bruce in the eye.

Though he made fun of it, Bruce had felt his heart flutter at that moment. Clark really thought that they were it. That of course the Waynes would be his in-laws. It sparked something in Bruce, some kind of… flame. Of hope. That he and Clark were in this for the long run. Bruce and Clark growing old together. Bruce and Clark getting married. Bruce fought off the beast inside him that told him he wasn’t good enough for Clark, the one that had clawed at his heart as he fell in love with Superman. It was dark and vicious and yet, it couldn’t be fueled. Not anymore. Not for the past year. Not when Bruce had someone who could light that spark and help him fight it off, hand in hand. He just had to keep holding on to Clark tightly.

And that’s how they walked into the drawing room; hand in hand, tightly – Clark gripping onto Bruce with the same amount of fervour. Bruce couldn’t imagine what Clark was feeling, well, he probably would in a couple months when they went to visit the Kents, but right now all he could do for Clark was be his spark. The one thing to hold on to, the one thing that encourages him through life.

“Master Thomas, Mistress Martha, may I present Master Bruce and Mister Clark Kent,” Alfred announced them as Bruce smiled at his parents. He had seen them less than fifteen minutes ago and yet, standing here with Clark it felt as though he was walking into something completely new.

Bruce’s parents stood immediately from their reclining positions, Thomas having been reading the newspaper while Martha was scribbling down some ideas her and Bruce had been discussing. Martha reached Clark first, pulling him in for enthusiastic cheek kisses before grasping his arms with a wide smile.

“My, look at you!” She took in Clark, “You’re so handsome! I’m Martha Wayne, Bruce’s mother.”

Clark laughed awkwardly, Bruce picking up on the stiltedness of it, knowing it was because Clark was still unsure of how to act properly. “Mrs Wayne, It’s so lovely to meet you. Bruce talks about you all the time, and I can’t lie that I’m fascinated by the work you two do for your city together.”

Martha’s smile, if it was possible, widened further as she patted one of his arms, “Thank you! But for you Mr Kent, I insist you call me Martha.”

“Well then I insist you call me Clark,” he returned with a genuine smile, “I feel far too young to be called ‘mister’ anything.”

Martha laughed good-naturedly as she moved aside for Bruce’s father to introduce himself. Bruce had been watching from the sidelines, his father just giving him one nod, not approving or disapproving, just a nod of acknowledgement as he waited his turn. Now though, his mother linked their arms together as she moved them over to the sofas.

“What a delightful young man Brucie!” She gushed. Just like Bruce had predicted, she had fallen for his midwestern charm, “Where on earth did you find him? And why didn’t you tell us?”

Bruce ducked his head bashfully as he told his mother of their revised relationship: the story they carefully released to the press. Of how Bruce had fallen for Clark immediately at their first interview (not far from the truth), how Clark had rejected the playboy at first, how Bruce had pursued the poor reporter for a year, giving up on his salacious reputation for just one date. How Clark had finally succumbed after the second interview (as to not discredit his journalistic integrity) and granted him one date. How they were now three months into a relationship and head-over-heels in love with one another.

“You haven’t read all about us in the news already?” Bruce joked with his mother. While she completely hated all the two-faced socialites she had to interact with, Martha Wayne was not immune to gossip.

Martha shot Bruce a look that told him to stop stalling, “Well, I thought my own son might tell me his version of events?” She cooed. Bruce looked up to see his father deep in conversation with Clark, a hand on Clark’s shoulder telling Bruce his father was very interested in whatever they were discussing. That was good. That was very good. And though Clark wasn’t smiling, his shoulders were slumped, his hands were waving around energetically as he debated with Thomas. He was comfortable. The smile overtook Bruce’s face before he could even think to stop it, and he heard his mother sigh happily.

“I felt the same when I met your father you know,” She squeezed Bruce’s knee affectionately, “Now tell me everything, vespertilio.”

Bruce laughed at the use of the nickname, one he hadn’t heard in a while as he divulged everything to his mother. He tried to tell her as much of the truth as possible, maybe with some dates changed or omittance of Clark’s powers, but underneath it all, it was the same story, the same feelings he had for Clark.

Eventually they were called through for dinner, where thankfully Bruce was seated next to Clark so he could sneakily help him with cutlery. However his father opted to sit opposite Bruce, rather than at the head of the table as was usual. Martha, having heard about Clark’s adoration of Dufour and their recent dinner date, immediately delved into conversation with him across the table about his food and recipes.

Bruce knew it was coming, but there was still a knot of anxiety in his stomach as his father turned to him.

Another nod, except this one was one of approval.

Bruce fought not to physically slump back into his seat at the confirmation. His father liked Clark. His father liked Clark.

“Well done chum,” Thomas’s lips quirked up into a small smile, “He’s a good lad.”

“Thanks,” Bruce struggled not to make the statement seem like a question as he distracted himself with their starter. “I’m glad you like him.”

Thomas huffed out a small laugh as he followed suit, “He’s very… different to whom you’ve brought round before.”

Bruce managed to stop the sigh from passing his lips. He knew his father didn’t mean it in a mean way, he was simply observing the results and comparing them. The experiment being Bruce’s love life. He was a doctor after all. Bruce smiled inwardly at how different Clark really was, considering he wasn’t even human.

“I know. I can’t believe he’s actually dating me some days,” he opted for instead, trying to keep the conversation in safe waters.

Thomas stopped at that as he pointed an amused look at Bruce, “Well, at least we know he isn’t after your money if he put you off for a year.”

Bruce chuckled, “He definitely isn't after the money, father. He actually insists on splitting every date if you can believe it.”

Thomas cocked a brow at that, glancing over to Clark and obviously reassessing him. “Good, good,” He murmured out, “Very knowledgeable too. We had a good chat about the upcoming DA elections in Gotham.”

Bruce groaned. Politics talk. At least Clark had been saved by the dinner.

“We’ve agreed to continue the conversation in the parlour after dessert.”

Now Bruce couldn’t feel sorry for Clark. He suspected his boyfriend had only been able to talk that much after Gotham’s politics because of Bruce ranting to him every so often about Harvey. He was running next year, and if he succeeded, he would become the youngest district attorney on the east coast ever. With Bruce and Wayne Enterprises bankrolling his campaign, but also Harvey endorsing the work being done at the Foundation, there was a lot of higglety-pigglety concerning stakeholders and what they thought. Bruce was just glad Clark was the subject of his fathers political ramblings tonight instead of Bruce now.

And that’s exactly what happened. Bruce's parents took turns ‘interrogating’ Clark over dinner, although that was interrupted to sing his praises as the pie came out. Clark even offered to send Martha the recipe so the staff could make it without bothering Clark’s mother. Though ‘I’m sure it won’t be half as good without your mothers love and attention’ Martha had replied. As they moved through to the parlour, Clark was roped back into politics talk by Thomas, with Bruce and Martha interjecting every so often to try and save Clark (to no avail). Bruce knew his father was glad he could actually talk to one of Bruce’s dates properly, usually socialites cared for nothing except their good looks and how much money they had. Maybe Clark would get a better grip on the whole upper-class thing than Bruce had expected.

Eventually, Bruce’s parents decided to retire for the night, leaving Bruce and Clark alone in the parlour, the warm fire crackling from the hearth as moonlight shone through the windows. Too late to take a stroll through the grounds then, Bruce thought forlornly, although…

“Want a tour of the house?” Bruce smirked at Clark as he stood.

“Do I,” Clark accepted Bruce’s outstretched hand happily, “I tried not to say anything but we walked past literal suits of armour like it was nothing.”

“Oh those are nothing, I need to show you my mothers art collection.”

So Bruce dragged Clark around his childhood home, hand in hand. They started on the ground floor, where Martha had a separate room for each type of collection. Modern art; medieval tapestries; ancient Greek artifacts; Tang dynasty poetry. The west wing of the house was practically a museum, and Bruce loved it. The rest of the manor, a result of Bruce’s unruly childhood, was brimming with less expensive, but no less important, items. Vases and sculptures lined hallways. Paintings stared down at you in the stairwells. The carpets were hand spun in Iran specifically to fit each room. Bruce pulled Clark through time, and then upstairs to the private rooms.

Wayne Manor had three floors: the ground for more public rooms such as the dining hall and the ballroom. The first floor however, was reserved for intimate guests. Smaller sitting rooms, studies and guest rooms were situated there. No less extravagant, but less seen. Here, away from the prying eyes of the servants, Bruce pulled Clark close to him, kissing him in every room they discovered. Against doorways, against sofas, pressed up against art. Both giggling at each other the whole way as one of them would pull away before hands got too low and run off into a different room. Clark got to see all the hidden doors and secret passages between rooms, while Bruce would try to distract him by mouthing at the back of his neck. Bruce revealed every hiding place he used as a child, and then shoved Clark into a dark eave to feel those soft lips once again.

Finally, out of puff and smiles hurting their faces, they reached the top floor. This was reserved for family only. The entire west wing was an apartment of a bedroom, reserved for the owners of the house. It featured a study, a sewing room, a walk-in closet that was bigger than Bruce’s bedroom in the penthouse, two bathrooms, and the main bedroom. Bruce’s parents' bedroom. The rest of the floor consisted of about five or six more bedrooms (Bruce had never really counted them), an array of bathrooms, and the final sitting room of the house.

Immediately dragging Clark away from the door leading into the west wing, they stumbled through the hallways, too busy kissing to care where they were going, as they fell into a room. Not Bruce’s bedroom, which was what he had been aiming for, but one of the more unused rooms. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw someone, a young boy jumping on the bed, but as he jolted back from Clark to take a proper look, there was no one there. The room was as untouched as it had been in years.

“Are you okay?” Clark asked, the hands on Bruce’s waist tightening.

“Yeah just,” Bruce shook his head, remembering. This used to be where his cousins would stay. God he needed to see them again, it had been too long. “Deja vu I guess. I haven’t been in this room since I was a young boy.”

“To think you can avoid entire rooms in your house for decades astounds me,” Clark laughed. “I don’t think there’s even been a day where I don’t place a foot in every one of mine.”

Bruce smirked, “Well this place will be yours someday, you know. Are you going to run around everyday making sure to enter every room?”

Clark’s face froze, Bruce’s words sinking in. He had really just said to Clark that they would move into Wayne Manor together. Well, Clark had called the Waynes his in-laws earlier so Bruce supposed this wasn’t too bad.

“Gosh darn, I really am dating a billionaire aren’t I?” Clark shook his head unbelievingly with a soft smile.

“You better believe it my love,” Bruce reached up to cup Clark’s face, “Because I am not staying in Metropolis for the rest of my life, and I figure you have the easier commute.”

Clark cocked his head, “Because I can fly?”

“Becuase you can fly,” Bruce agreed, bringing Clark in for another kiss. Bruce’s hands soon moved from Clark’s face to trail down his body. They’d abandoned their suit jackets downstairs in the parlour, so Bruce was able to grab and sooth Clark’s body through the thin shirt he was wearing. Clark kissed Bruce deeper, pushing into Bruce for more contact as he gripped at Bruce’s waist and hips. Bruce’s hands eventually made their way down to Clark’s belt, and successfully opened it without breaking away from Clark, ready to sink to his knees when Clark jumped back, his face bright red.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked, concerned. Clark had never had this reaction before. Clark, on the other hand, was buckling himself back up and tucking his shirt back in, face as red as a tomato.

“I love you darlin’, but I am not… you know, while your parents are down the hall,” He explained, biting his lip in a way that was not helping Bruce.

Bruce laughed at his coyness though, the boy scout nature really coming out in full force. He hadn’t expected to fuck Clark tonight, and he didn’t want to coerce him into something the other man definitely didn’t want to do, so Bruce let up with a happy sigh.

“Fine,” he relented, leaning in for one more chaste kiss, “but just so you know they wouldn’t have heard anything.

“Yeah but, I don’t know,” Clark grabbed Bruce’s hand, “they might walk in on us?”

“You silly oaf of a man,” Bruce shook his head fondly. “C’mon then, I’ll show you to the door.”

Clark lightened up considerably at that, as they took their time retracing their steps, with a lot less kissing this time however, just the two of them drabbling on. It was mostly Clark being amazed by everything he missed the first time, and Bruce explaining the history with a smile.

Eventually, unfortunately, they made it to the front door. Once again, it was just Bruce and Clark standing in the foyer.

“Thank you for tonight, sweetheart,” Bruce handed Clark his overcoat with a smile, “My parents loved you, you know?”

“They were really lovely, I’m glad we did this.” Clark shrugged it on and immediately brought Bruce in for one final kiss. “You’re up next,” He grinned as he leant back.

Bruce sighed, “Don’t remind me.” Another kiss. “Now get going before I change my mind about letting you leave.”

Clark beamed at him, “Okay.” Another kiss. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

“I can’t wait.” Another kiss.

The taxi had been waiting outside for sometime now, so Bruce let Clark go with one final kiss, and watched from the doorway as Clark climbed into the back, with a last smile thrown over his shoulder, and the cab tore off down the drive.

“He’s a very nice young man, Master Bruce," Alfred’s voice rang out from behind him, “We are all very pleased with your choice.”

Bruce had jumped at the old man, turning to face him with an embarrassed smile.

“Thanks Alfred. He’s like a dream, isn’t he?”

...- - -...

The plane landed just before dinner time on the dusty tarmac. Bruce swore he could see a tumbleweed roll across the landing strip. The heat had hit Bruce like a wall as soon as they stepped out the door, a barrier forming between the interior of the plane and the outside. Bruce immediately regretted wearing a black shirt as they crossed over to the low building acting as the airport. It was all so… different to what Bruce was used to.

“The car should be in the parking lot, we’re looking for a red Ford,” Clark frowned at his phone, his bag slung over his shoulder. Bruce has opted for a suitcase and was now regretting that decision. His clothes, his luggage, coming here in the first place. He was so different to the Kents in every way. He represented everything they weren’t, and the guilt and shame was gnawing at his stomach. But it was more than that. Bruce had teased Clark about his country up-bringing for months, but actually being here now, it must be how Clark felt in Metropolis. Bruce was so out of his depth; he didn’t know the customs or what was polite. If something he said off-handedly might be taken in great offence. If the Kents laughed at Bruce’s situation the same way he mocked Clark’s. And then, maybe, there was the fear that he wouldn’t be liked. That he wouldn’t be good enough for Clark because, in truth, he wasn’t.

Clark represented everything good and hopeful in the world, as Superman yes, but also as Clark. He was a genuinely kind person. Someone who didn’t- couldn’t swear, who held doors open for strangers, who let people cut in line if they were in a rush or had less in their arms or if they didn’t look well. He faced everything with a smile, all the criticism running off his back like water off a duck. He loved Bruce so openly and adoringly that it made Bruce feel like the only man in the world, that nothing else mattered at that moment except Clark. And Bruce couldn't live up to that. With his moods and the stress from his job, with his ranting about the upper class at Galas, with his inability to even cook for himself. Clark treated him like Bruce was his own personal saviour, but Bruce had done nothing to deserve that.

Clark must’ve sensed something was wrong, either the slight up-tick of Bruce’s heart, or his sudden shallow breathing because he stopped and grabbed Bruce’s hand reassuringly.

“Bruce, I know that face. You’re stressed but you have absolutely nothing to worry ‘bout!” Clark smiled, the warmth of it seeping into Bruce’s bones. “I told you they’ll love you, I promise.”

Bruce just nodded tightly as Clark sighed, used to Bruce’s moods.

“I think this is our car,” He grinned triumphantly as he fished the keys out from under the wheel arch. Bruce slid his suitcase into the back besides Clark’s weekender - the worn-in bag littered with pins and patches standing out starkly beside Bruce’s black plastic case. Another reminder of how he didn’t belong. He left Clark to close the trunk as he hauled himself into the passenger side, relenting the driving to Clark for once as the other man knew the way to his own house better than Bruce.

As soon as they were on the road, a twenty minute drive in front of them, Clark reached out and grabbed Bruce’s hand once more.

“Bruce, I swear to you that it’s alright. My parents are the best of the Midwest, okay?”

Bruce cracked a smile at Clark’s corny joke and let some of the tension sitting on his shoulder’s slip away. “I know Clark, but we’re just… so different. I’m different to who your parents are used to you bringing home and I guess I’m just- just very aware of that.”

Clark barked out a laugh. “Bruce. Love of my life. I have brought back exactly one girl before you and I only dated her for three months. Plus I was sixteen when that happened, I think my parents are more thankful I’m bringing home anyone at this rate.”

“I’m glad the bar is so high,” Bruce chuckled as he squeezed Clark’s hand and focussed on his boyfriend singing cheesy country songs to mock Bruce all the way to his childhood house. Another stark contrast of their lives.

The tyres screeching to a stop on the Kent’s drive brought Bruce back as he took in the house. It was a quaint place, a bungalow with a porch wrapping around to the back of it on one side, providing some much needed shade from the sun that was beating down on them. Thankfully it was headed slowly towards the horizon, but Clark had warned Bruce that the heat didn’t let up at night. Just great. The house was painted in a bright red, though that was flaking away in some areas revealing the original dark blue colouring. It was different. It was nice. Bruce hopped out the car and accepted his suitcase from Clark, carrying it rather than trying to struggle wheeling it up the dirt drive to the front door. Clark held his hand all the while.

When they were almost there, the front door opened with a shout and a woman was standing with her arms outstretched.

“Clark!”

“Ma!” Clark slipped his hand out of Bruce's as he bounded up the few steps onto the porch and into his mother’s arms.

“How are you my boy? Looks like you’ve lost a few pounds, are you eating well?” Martha quizzed as she released him. Bruce laughed to himself, it seems like all mothers really were the same.

“Ma…” Clark threw his head back exasperatedly as Martha patted his arm lovingly. “Enough about me, I’m here because I want you to meet my boyfriend, Bruce.”

Right this was it. Time to meet Clark’s family. No backing out now.

“Hello,” Bruce stepped up beside Clark, unsure if he should put his hand out for a shake or to do nothing. In his hesitation, Martha chuckled warmly and brought him in for a hug. Her arms felt like the comfort of home.

“Hello Bruce, it’s lovely to finally meet you. Clark’s told us so much-”

“Ma…!”

“But I want to hear all these wonderful stories from you.” Martha ignored Clark’s outburst, smiling at Bruce. She was a head shorter than Bruce, but her homely presence exuded off her in waves. She may be vastly unlike his own mother in appearance and upbringing, but she didn’t seem all too different to Bruce. She smiled the same way Clark did.

Bruce found himself smiling back, “Thank you Mrs Kent-”

“Oh please Bruce, it’s just Martha for you,” Martha scoffed lightly as she patted his arm.

“Oh right… I also brought you a present. Not as good as the pie you baked my parents, which was absolutely delicious, thank you very much for it.” Bruce stumbled out. He was usually so good at being suave, at turning up the charm when he needed to be liked, so why was this so hard?

Because it actually matters, a small voice inside him taunted.

“Oh don’t worry ‘bout it, it was the least I could do. And Clark told me your mother requested the recipe so she could make it herself?” Martha smiled. Bruce could see Clark flush next to him.

“Gee ma, I didn’t say it like-”

“Yes, it went down a treat with my mother. She’s looking forward to meeting you in person and hopefully learning about how you managed to make it so delicious,” Bruce responded happily, ignoring Clark’s mutterings in the background.

“Well I’m looking forward to that,” Martha seemed delighted at that comment, so Bruce hoped he had done something right. “Now come inside! You must be melting in the sun.”

“More than you think. I’m afraid I’m not quite equipped to handle this sort of weather.” That was the understatement of the century. Bruce’s shirt was so soaked it was practically clinging to his body. Clark had told him to wear something lighter but Bruce needed to look good to meet the parents.

“Don’t worry about that dearie, if you ever feel faint just come inside or tell one of us, and we’ll help you out. I’ll have some cool water waiting in the fridge all weekend,” Martha said as she ushered them inside, Bruce following Clark’s actions as he took off his shoes on the indoor mat.

“Thank you Martha,” Bruce replied as he took in the house. They were in a small entryway decorated with beat up shoes and dusty jackets. It felt well lived in. Like a proper home. It smelled faintly of the outdoors and also partly like Clark himself. Baby pictures littered the wall and Bruce chuckled at one of Clark being held upside down by his father.

“Clark’s father is feeding the cows at the moment, but he’ll be in shortly. I’ll show you to the guest room-”

“Ma!”

“Oh Clark hush, you’ll be staying together. I know what two young adults such as yourselves get up to, but unfortunately the two of you will not be able to fit in your old single bed,” Martha chided at Clark’s outburst, which to his credit he mumbled out an apology with his head hung low. Bruce smiled at the loving relationship between the two of them.

“That’s very generous of you Martha, thank you.”

“Oh it was no problem, the room needed a spring clean anyway,” Martha stopped outside the door and gestured for the two of them to enter. It was a small room, for Bruce’s standards anyway, fitting in a double bed, good-sized wardrobe and two bedside tables. Bruce smiled as he dropped his suitcase on one side of the bed – his side of the bed.

“I’ll leave you two to get settled in. Dinner will be ready soon,” Martha chirped as she left Bruce and Clark with their privacy, closing the door as she went.

Bruce let out a sigh, releasing all the tension out of his shoulders as he was attacked from behind. “Well that went well!” Clark grinned as he hugged Bruce, “I’m proud of you, you know?”

Bruce spun and tucked his head into Clark's neck, “Thanks. Your mother is a very lovely woman. I see where you get it from.”

“Well you saw her bad side out there. She already adores you by the way, I could see it in her eyes,” Bruce felt a light press of lips to his temple as Clark released him. “Now let’s get unpacked, you can change into something better for this weather, and then you can meet my pa!”

Bruce lifted his head and kissed Clark lightly, conveying all his feelings of anxiety and relief and hope into one simple action. Being with Clark was like being in the sun: intense and very hot and leaving a cold winter over Bruce when he left, but he was also warm and comforting and vital. And Clark’s mother had proved to be as kind and accepting as Clark is. She’s probably where he learnt it from. So as Bruce kissed Clark, he realised he had never needed to worry, because of course the people who raised Clark and instilled in him his hope for humanity would be just like their son.

Still, Bruce only had one down, with one to go.

Jonathan Kent was not nearly as intimidating. Bruce met him as he and Clark emerged from their room and moved into the kitchen for dinner, finding Jonathan lounging on the couch. He had a firm handshake, much like Perry White’s, and was (what Bruce liked to think) immediately won over by Bruce’s choice of whiskey. They discussed the flavour notes of the specific one chosen for a while, and Bruce saw Clark float over to his mother, helping her set the table as they conversed between themselves. Clark and Bruce made eye contact every so often and smiled encouragingly at one another before returning to their conversations. From the pretty pink colour Clark’s ears had flushed, Bruce assumed they were probably talking about him. But he found it didn’t matter.

The Kents were wonderful people, and good parents, as they exchanged stories of Clark’s adventures as a baby and up through school. Bruce talked about whisky and, surprisingly, car racing (Wayne Enterprises sponsored a nascar team, though Bruce was much more interested in open-wheel racing) with Jonathan. He and Martha spoke about what books they were currently reading and compared running a farm to running a business. And all the while Clark sat by him, at the table and on the sofas they had migrated to afterwards, hand on his leg, a comforting presence which grounded Bruce and made him forget why he had been so nervous in the first place. The Kents made Bruce laugh and joke and smile openly for the first time outside his own family and close friends.

They were the reason Clark was Superman. Not because of his powers, or that they had pressured Clark into using them, but because they had instilled such good morals that it would’ve been surprising if Clark hadn’t decided to use his gifts to help. Bruce realised how fortunate he, and the rest of the world, were that Clark had crashlanded his way into this particular family. Bruce smiled to himself as he looked at Clark debating playfully with his father about how much is too much feed to give the cows (Clark always gave them a little more), as Bruce was looking through Clark’s old baby photos with Martha, and found he was happy, truly happy and so so grateful Clark had happened into his life about a year and a half ago.

He was starting to realise that perhaps different is not always bad.

Then Clark dragged him to a harvest festival.

It was the next day, one of the reasons Clark had chosen this weekend in particular to visit Kansas, as it coincided with a funfair also coming to one of the bigger local towns. Instead of the hire car, the four of them squeezed into Martha’s old truck, just as red and just as peeling as the house, with an engine you needed to warm up for a few minutes before driving off and bench seats. They bumped along all the way to the fair and Bruce found that he didn’t care too much, not with Clark leaning against him and pointing out all the ‘attractions’ from his childhood. His old school, the grocers in town who always slipped in an extra cheese string for him, the family who he bought his first car from. Bruce was looking at Clark more than the surroundings however. The sun was glancing off him, making Clark literally glow with happiness as he excitedly told another story that correlated to a particular building, his parents interjecting every so often. His dimples were out in full force, his hair extra curly due to the humidity, his clothes finally making sense. He was a dream to Bruce.

It was early afternoon by the time they reached the festival, and for the first hour or so, the Kents and Bruce stuck together, Bruce learning much more about Kansan farm life than he had ever thought he would. Not that that was a bad thing, just different. And nice. He and Jonathan spent a good twenty minutes analysing tractors, in which Bruce offered to take a look at the Kents own one once they got back to the farm. Martha explained all the intricacies between raising livestock and growing grains as they looked at prize-winning pumpkins. Eventually Clark made excuses for the two of them, and they were able to slip away. Clark seemed especially happy with this development, latching onto Bruce’s hand immediately as they wandered around the stalls, pointing out everything he found remotely interesting as they ate their caramel apples.

Alone, Bruce felt like he could properly relax again, the warm grip of Clark’s hand soothing. Bruce was in tan slacks (after Greece he had sworn never to wear jeans again) and a loose white shirt, much less formal than the ones he wore to work. But he also had on a Metropolis Meteors cap as he had forgotten his own Gotham one at home and Clark insisted that Bruce wear it.

Clark looked, and now sounded, every part the farm boy. Faded jeans, worn-in trainers, another hideous flannel that Bruce had never seen before. He was starting to question where Clark bought them from and if he could get him banned somehow. And being back with his parents had strengthened his accent ten-fold. Bruce was hearing words he wasn’t sure were even in the dictionary, but it only made Clark even cuter. Bruce would have to make sure they returned more often so hopefully it would stick when they returned to Metropolis.

Speaking about Metropolis, despite all the press and attention they usually got in the city, nobody here batted an eye at the two of them wandering through the fair. Even the cap wasn’t doing much to obscure Bruce’s face. Either people just didn’t care, or didn’t know. It was nice. It was different. Bruce was brought out of his happy ponderings by a gasp from Clark.

“Oh my gosh Bruce look, it's a high striker!”

Sure enough, the classic strongman stall was only ten metres away from them.

“Roll up roll up to test your strength! Are you stronger than an elephant? Think you’ve got what it takes? Then step right up and prove your strength! All you have to do is ring the bell!” A man with a ridiculous handlebar mustache was calling out. Clark looked like he had just been handed a Pulitzer prize.

“Isn’t this cheating,” Bruce grinned as Clark dragged him up to the stall. “Super strength and all? You could probably send that bell up to space.”

“For you babe, I can do anything,” Clark beamed back at him, putting on a small show as he struck a pose to show off his muscles. Bruce laughed along as the stall owner picked up on them.

“You there! Two strapping young lads such as yourself could surely ring the bell and win a prize!”

“I’d love a go!” Clark strode up and handed over a ticket in lieu of money. Bruce had made sure the Kents had had more than enough tickets to spare when they paid at the entrance. He got a lot of protests for it, but if a billionaire couldn’t slightly spoil his future in-laws then what kind of a boyfriend was he?

“Here you go sir,” the commenter held out a very humorously oversized and very bright white and green hammer for Clark to hit the button with. “One hit only!”

Before swinging, Clark pointed to Bruce and shouted “This one's for you darlin’!” which Bruce returned with a laugh. A small crowd had gathered from Clark’s initial outburst and he knew how to play them well, winding up for far longer than necessary. He managed to actually get them to count him down, and as the crowd got to one, he swung the hammer down and hit the button square on. Bruce knew Clark had control over his powers, but he also knew Clark didn’t know how much strength he actually needed to put into this. He could either break the machine, or miss the bell completely based on his judgement and Bruce, if truth be told, found himself nervous as he watched the puck climb higher and higher, slowing down with each mark it passed until finally it stopped…

…and rang the bell softly. Bruce erupted into cheers with the crowd and ran up onto the stage to Clark, the adrenaline spurring him to throw his arms around him as Clark spun them round enthusiastically. Eventually Bruce found himself set down, and a strong arm secured around his waist as Clark turned back to the stall owner.

“Very well done sir! As you managed to ring the bell, you get to choose one prize from our wall! Which shall it be?”

Clark didn’t hesitate before he was looking at Bruce with a smile, “Which one do you want B?”

Bruce just rolled his eyes at Clark’s sappiness, and to get back at him, chose the small Superman plush sitting off to one side. He turned back to Clark and slapped on the doting boyfriend act.

“You’re my personal Superman!” He said very loudly, the crowd around them dispersing with laughs.

“Anything for you,” Clark grinned back, his arm moving up to sling around Bruce’s shoulders as Bruce rested his around Clark's hips, fingers worming their way into Clark’s belt hoop and pulling them closer together as they walked away from the stall.

“Well now I have to win you something to make it even,” Bruce groaned, looking at the Superman doll properly. He held it to Clark’s face, “They didn’t quite get your eyes right, did they?”

“They never do,” Clark laughed, crossing his eyes to mimic the shabby make of the plush.

Bruce grinned back, his smile turning shark-like, “Have a lot of Superman toys do you?”

“I have this boyfriend who thinks I look like him for some reason, and keeps buying them as a joke.”

“He’s got good taste.”

“That’s what he thinks too,” Clark stumbled as Bruce stomped on his foot. Hard. Not that Clark could feel it. “Hey! Anyway, have you ever been to a fun fair before?”

Bruce looked away from Clark, this being another reminder of the stark differences between them. “Well, no, but there has to be something I’d be decently good at.”

“You’re good at everything Bruce,” Clark rolled his eyes playfully as Bruce flushed.

“No I’m not,” he protested. Clark was his boyfriend; of course he thought that. Bruce tried to think of something he’d never done. “I bet I couldn’t ride a horse half as well as you.”

“You really want to argue about riding skills?”

The laughter was shocked out of Bruce as Clark immediately flushed a deep red, “Clark! What a dirty mind, honestly.”

“I- You know I didn’t- that came out wrong! I was talking about your bike Bruce!”

“I’m sure you were,” Bruce winked as Clark was looking anywhere but at him.

“Moving on swiftly… what about that?” Clark pointed with his free hand towards a darker stall. It seemed to be a variation on the typical coconut throw but with a cowboy twist. “I’ll show you how to throw a lasso correctly huh?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at his boyfriend, “You know how to throw a lasso?”

“The farm is right next to the Lang’s ranch, I helped out there when needed,” Clark shrugged nonchalantly. “So are you up for that?”

Bruce conceded, plus it would be fun to have Clark try to teach him something. “Sure, but I’m not going to be good at this.”

Bruce was very good at it. The stall itself featured three painted cutouts of old western ‘outlaws’ against a backdrop. They were positioned about ten metres back from the front of the stall, and there was a line on the floor telling customers not to cross. After Bruce had given the stall owner two tickets – one round for Clark to teach him, and another to fail by himself – he was given a heap of rope. Clark showed him how to organise the rope across his two hands, and stood right behind him, his front pressed from shoulder to foot against Bruce’s back. He grasped Bruce's hands and slowly went through the motions of how to throw it properly. The heat of Clark’s body, slightly colder than the temperature of the sun, was very distracting as Bruce was acutely aware of every place they were touching. Clark’s hands were gentle as he guided Bruce through the motions, brushing up Bruce’s forearms and up the back of his hands. Bruce found himself not paying much attention to the instructions at all.

One round consisted of three throws, one to catch each outlaw. Bruce missed the first two, his excuse being Clark pressed up against his back and breathing softly down his neck, but on the third he managed to get half the lasso over the closest cutout, and by half Bruce had somehow managed to get the half the rope caught on the figures head so the other half just draped over one shoulder. It wasn’t deemed as good enough by the person running the stall as Bruce couldn’t pull the man down. Bruce and Clark still celebrated as though they had won.

“Okay love, I’ve got this,” Bruce pulled away from Clark and prepared the rope once more.

“Are you sure you don’t want another practice round?”

“As lovely as that was, I think it distracted me.”

Clark's laugh boomed around them, “Alright, but you don’t have that excuse this time okay,”

“I know. I would say start picking out which toy you want but don’t get your hopes up. Actually, start looking for easier stalls so I don’t lose all of my dignity.”

Another series of giggles from Clark as Bruce focused in on his targets. One foot in front of the other. He dug his back foot into the dirt slightly and bent his knees. This was serious. Without Clark behind him now, arms plastered to Bruce’s own, he felt it was more natural to get the swing of the rope, curling it around his head before aiming for the closest cutout.

The rope sailed cleanly over the figure and Bruce pulled it towards him. One down.

There was a shocked splutter behind him, though from the owner of the stall or Clark he couldn’t tell. Bruce was on a roll now. He quickly gathered the rope up again, got the momentum and threw it.

Two down.

The only one left was the farthest away cutout, and also the smallest. Bruce narrowed his vision onto the sole figure and tried to block out all external sounds. Breath in. Throw the rope. Breath out. The rope swung through the air for what seemed like an age, and yet also only a few seconds. It arced down and hit the ground-

Right around the outlaws' feet. Bruce pulled them out from beneath the cutout and the final mannequin went down. Bruce spun round to gloat at his boyfriend, who had his arms crossed and was looking at the targets with a resigned shock, and also possibly awe.

“Well gosh darn B, you really are good at everything,” Clark shook his head gently as he scoffed to himself.

“Lucky shot,” Bruce shrugged, a smug smile overtaking his face. “Three times. Now, have you chosen a stuffed animal yet?”

That shook Clark out of his awe and he grinned at Bruce, saying offhandedly to the person running the stall that he wanted “number forty one.” The plush was handed over with many thanks from Clark before he was striding up to Bruce and kissing him deeply. Bruce threw his arms around Clark’s shoulders as he felt Clark’s wind around Bruce, the stuffed animal a soft weight on his ribs. Clark kissed Bruce through smiles and teeth, spinning them round slowly yet haphazardly, so Bruce pulled away to make sure they didn’t bump into anyone.

“What did you choose?”

Clark brought up the toy, it was a small plush which could’ve been a bat or a rat depending on how you looked at it. Cute nonetheless.

“The expression reminds me of you when you’re working,”

It was scowling. “I’m glad that’s how you see me,” Bruce huffed with a smile and linked their hands together as they continued back towards the entrance. All in all, the fair had been very different to what Bruce was used to, and what he had expected, but that was a good thing. If anything, at least he and Clark now had two mementos of their first visit to Kansas together.

Two hours later, Bruce's introductory day to country living ended with a bang.

“Gosh you’re tight,” Clark panted out as he pushed into Bruce. They were in the barn. Alone, thankfully. Clark had wanted to give Bruce a tour of the farm before sunset, so they drove the truck back to the farm early, Jonathan and Martha reassuring them that they had a ride back and to go on without them. It was the drive back that started it. Clark looked unfairly hot, one hand on the wheel, one hand on Bruce’s thigh as they pulled into the drive. The lazy heat mixed with vast emptiness of the farm only spurred Bruce on.

But what really tipped him over the edge was how at home Clark was. How he explained all the different fields, and the cows, and all the machinery used on the farm. His face as he showed Bruce the few apple trees Martha had planted when Clark was a kid and uses to create her infamous pies. The barn where he talked all about the pod and crash-landing, and how lucky he felt. It had started as an innocent kiss there, a way for Bruce to show Clark just how honoured he felt to be shown this part of Clark’s life, how much he trusted Bruce with him. Now Bruce was lying on his back on the ground, underwear disregarded somewhere as Clark thrust slowly, agonisingly slowly, into him.

Bruce moaned loudly, hoping the Kents hadn’t returned just yet, as he grabbed a fistful of Clark’s hair and dragged him down for a sloppy kiss. Clark’s rhythm faltered for a second, before he shifted his angle and managed to find Bruce’s prostate, pleasure coursing through Bruce’s body. He pulled away from Clark’s mouth with a shout, hands moving from Clark's hair to his back as Bruce dug his nails in over Clark’s flannel. Not that they were going to leave any trace of Bruce for long. Clark leant in closer to mouth at Bruce’s neck, Bruce too far gone to warn him against leaving any marks of their activity. He scrambled at Clark’s shirt, the need to feel Clark’s skin against his own overpowering him. It was also scratching against Bruce’s hard cock, overstimulating the tender skin.

Finally, finally, it was off, and Bruce grabbed at Clark's free hand to move it towards his weeping cock. Clark caught on, gripping it roughly as he stroked Bruce at the same pace as he was sliding into him. It felt fantastic, well Clark always felt amazing, but the hard floor digging into Bruce’s back combined with the overwhelming smell of the farm, of Clark, was driving Bruce insane. He was demanding, or begging he wasn’t quite sure, for Clark to move faster, to go harder. Clark was panting heavily in his ear, his cold breath agitating the sensitive spot on Bruce’s neck, the sensations across his body all coming together. With one firm stroke perfectly timed with a thrust, a burst of pleasure rang through Bruce's body, and he was coming over Clark’s hand. Bruce took a few seconds to recover, still being thrust into by Clark, though at a gentler pace, before he clenched slightly and whispered “I need you to come for me,” in his ear, which had Clark moaning loudly. Bruce gasped as he felt Clark fill him up, weakly riding out the last of his high before collapsing on Bruce.

The two of them lay there, panting heavily before Clark reluctantly pulled out and rolled over next to Bruce. The sun crested the horizon, casting a low glow into the barn directly where they were laying. Bruce managed to heave himself onto one arm to look at Clark.

“So… you were against just kissing in the Manor, but you’re perfectly happy to fuck my brains out in your parents barn?”

Clark groaned as he hid his face behind his hands and tried to curl up into himself. Bruce laughed as he tried to dislodge one of the iron-clad hands, picking at Clark fingers to see his eyes.

“I’m just trying to understand what’s different this time,” Bruce grinned, managing to lift half a hand away and leaning in to press his forehead against Clark’s.

“Savour this moment darlin’ ‘cause it’s the last time I’m making love to you,” Clark mumbled, the red flush on his neck receding as he let Bruce lift his hands away from his face.

Bruce laughed, shifting closer so their bodies were pressed together.

“In your dreams sweetheart, I know you can’t resist me.”

“Unfortunately for me, you’re right,” Clark smiled, leaning over to kiss Bruce deeply.

And Bruce realised that different might not always be comfortable, but that was good. This was good.

Chapter Text

It had been eight months since they publicly announced their relationship. And it was fine.

Clark Kent was fine.

Bruce had been right. Of course he had. But it was still nicely surprising to him. After the first few months of their big reveal, after the visits to the parents and the first public dates, everything had calmed down. Clark’s coworkers had laid off him, although Clark was no longer able to cover stories dealing with Bruce. The neighbours keeping a close eye on Clark’s apartment hoping for a glimpse of him had reverted back to treating Clark like an innocent, normal man. The nosy prudes following their every move had stopped, and Clark was safe.

Everyone was none-the-wiser that billionaire Bruce Wayne was actually dating Superman.

Bruce had thought about it- worried about it daily since the outing. He was admittedly still a wee bit worried about it now, sitting on the sofa in his penthouse, using Clark as an armrest. He was always cautious of the eyes on them, that Clark’s life could be irrevocably changed even more so than just outing himself as the boyfriend of Gotham’s prince.

And speaking about that, everyone found Clark fine.

And that was perfect. Nobody was out in the press sparking hate campaigns throughout Gotham ‘for’ Bruce, talking about how he deserved someone better. None of the usual suspects at charity galas had grabbed Bruce’s arm, trying to seduce their way into his and Clark’s relationship. Nobody had dug into Clark’s background, his life back in Smallville to try and find anything that could incriminate him and prove he wasn’t worthy of the Bruce Wayne.

But, he wasn’t put up on a pedestal either. There weren’t blogs dedicated to Bruce’s paragon of a partner. He wasn’t stopped on the street for pictures or autographs. He wasn’t being interviewed by different rags for any gossip on his relationship, or how great it was dating the Bruce Wayne. His notoriety had flatlined out into being a person of very little influence.

It was all fine.

Bruce couldn’t believe their luck. His penthouse had been left well enough alone now, all the press and cameras realising they weren’t getting anything interesting from there. Bruce had noticed, last time Clark came round, that the doorman, a lovely older gentleman named James, knew Clark’s face. Knew his name aside from being Bruce’s new beau. Clark knew James’ own name and they would greet each other cheerily each time. Bruce had only seen it a couple months after the outing, after they could stop rushing into the building to avoid prying eyes.

Previously, Clark had always arrived via the balcony, most often in his Superman get up, but sometimes, if he was very quick, he would speed in in his civilian clothes and tackle Bruce into the flat without stepping foot on the balcony. Now they were public, Bruce took every opportunity to show Clark off, to arrive and leave from his penthouse with his Clark on his arm. It was mostly to protect Clark from the hoards, but Bruce did secretly revel in the knowledge, in the pictures that were taken and would be splashed across the front of newspapers. He liked that the world knew that Clark was his, and only his. And that he was only for Clark. The crowds had disappeared of course, but the feeling hadn’t left. Rather, it had changed. It had morphed from one of smug protectiveness, to one of… fondness. Bruce loved how normal it became. Now, nobody even batted an eye as they entered or left together, Bruce clinging onto Clark happily. Now it was normal, now they could walk into the lobby hand-in-hand. And well, that’s when Bruce noticed.

It was such a small thing, a kind gesture between the two men. Clark had been talking about the latest Meteors match – a baseball game they won against Central City – when he had diverted his attention to the doorman, giving him a cheery smile and a small wave along with his ‘Hiya James!’ which was returned in kind, and then was right back to passionately describing the third inning to Bruce without missing a beat. It should have been nothing: it was nothing. But it was a ‘nothing’ that showed how fine everything was.

And just how perfect Bruce’s life was. He had the perfect, loving boyfriend. He got to show off said boyfriend whenever he wanted. His boyfriend got to keep his secret identity, to keep saving the world as the most beloved superhero of all time, and then come home safe to Bruce. It was like a dream.

Bruce looked up from where he was lying on Clark, head in his lap as Clark was editing one of his articles for work. He set down the book he was trying to read. Trying, as his eyes had glazed over and he found himself reading the same line over and over; the words and sentences all a jumble to him as he pondered over their completely fine situation. Clark was deep in concentration, eyebrows furrowed slightly as he crossed out an entire sentence and started scribbling away forlornly again. His hair was perfectly rumpled, small curls tucked behind his ears. Bruce would have to remind him to get it cut again soon, though not too short this time. His glasses were still perched on his nose, slightly squint as always. Clark didn’t need them to see, but Bruce realised it had become a habit when he was working.

It was like there were three sides to Clark.

Superman: With his slicked back hair and baby curl. His permanent sunny disposition. The confidence and strength coursing through his body as he threw himself into battles, or into press conferences, or into negotiations with world leaders. The invulnerable yet kind exterior he exudes to calm people down, or soothe scared children. The alien from another planet sent to serve humanity.

Clark Kent: With his rumpled shirts and crooked glasses. Messy, unkept hair which looks like he just got out of bed. His forced clumsiness (although only Bruce can see the act behind it). His stuttering and muttering and soft voice. His hunched shoulders because he’s seemingly too large for his timid personality. His too-big suits and horrendously patterned shirts to disguise his muscular build. The reporter from Metropolis.

And then there was just Clark. Kal, Bruce supposed should be the name. But it wasn’t just Kal – the Kryptonian side of him – it was the best parts of Superman and Kent put together. It was animated smiles and flushed faces. Keeping the bathwater hot with his laser vision long after Bruce has gone wrinkly (damn Clark’s invulnerable skin). Phone calls home to his parents who ask when he’s coming home next. Inadvertently flying whenever he kisses Bruce for too long. Midwestern slang and manners as he rants about the Kansas City Chiefs. It was Kal without the lies and the hiding. It was Clark who could be openly and truly himself, without having to disguise any part of him. It was the last son of Krypton raised by two farmers from Smallville.

That was the Clark Bruce was in love with. The Clark that only Bruce knew about. The Clark that had trusted Bruce with every part of him, bearing himself open, as Bruce had done for him.

So whenever the glasses stayed on after work, Bruce knew it was Clark using them to focus him. To know he was in reporter mode and to finish whatever work had been assigned to him. He may not need them to see, but he needed them to clarify himself. And it didn’t hurt that they looked great on Clark. Bruce hadn’t been lying when he told the man he was turned on by the reporter shtick.

Bruce reached up to tuck a curl behind Clark’s ear and his boyfriend looked away from his work with a quirked eyebrow and a soft smile. Bruce saw the question hidden between the two motions.

“Nothing’s wrong love,” Bruce replied, hand staying on Clark’s face as he caressed the other man's jaw. “Just… admiring the view,”

Clark’s smile brightened ten-fold as he leant down to peck Bruce on the lips.

“Give me two minutes darlin’.”

“I think I can do that.”

“Love ya.”

Bruce hummed happily in reply as Clark returned to his work with added fervour, the crease in his brow gone and a slight upwards tilt to his mouth. Bruce just continued to stare, his hand having fallen back to his chest from Clark’s face when he pulled back from their brief kiss. Clark was practically glowing, his sun-kissed skin appearing even darker against the horribly ugly yellow plaid he was wearing. Bruce would have to remember to burn it immediately after tearing it off on Clark’s body later.

It could’ve been two minutes or twenty (Bruce didn’t really care), when Clark snapped his notebook closed and tossed it onto the coffee table, along with his glasses. One of his hands made their way into Burce’s hair and started massaging softly. Bruce melted into it immediately, his eyes closing on instinct as he soaked in the pleasure. Clark was very skilled with his hands. In every sense. Bruce drifted off into a limbo, a weird state between consciousness and sleep as the two of them basked in comfortable silence. He knew Clark was currently doing what he had just been: admiring and thinking.

Bruce could feel his boyfriend's soft smile from behind his closed eyelids. Clark’s other hand, the one that wasn’t massaging him into a peaceful coma, started to lightly trace Bruce. It started on his hairline, still thankfully holding strong as he approached his thirties. The touch then ghosted over Bruce’s brows and eyelids, tracing along his cheekbones. It followed the line of Bruce’s jaw and down the centre of his throat. Then, surprisingly for Bruce, the touch moved to his right arm; skimming over his shoulder and down his bicep over his shirt until it reached Bruce's elbow, where he had rolled his sleeves up to. It had been a nicely warm March day. There, the touch circled Bruce's elbow for a moment, almost ticklish as Bruce forced himself not to react. The hand in Bruce's hair had lessened, Clark obviously having found a new point of interest. Then, instead of the trailing line that had ghosted over the rest of him, feather-light pokes walked their way down his arm. Bruce opened an eye lazily as he watched Clark’s fingers cover every mole on his arm as they made his way down towards his hand. He relaxed again, closing his eyes now he knew why Clark was doing that. Finally, those lovely soft fingers reached Bruce’s hand. Clark stopped massaging Bruce’s head to pick it up with two hands. He deftly traced the lines of Bruce’s own fingers up the back of his hand, before flipping it over and skimming over the creases of Bruce’s palm. It was delightful as Clark’s thumb repeatedly brushed over the lower part of his hand. Well, it was lovely until-

“Ow! What are you doing Clark?”

Bruce tried to snatch his hand away from his boyfriend, but Clark just kept a light but firm grip on Bruce’s wrist.

“You’ve got a bit of dirt on your hand,” Clark mumbled, his fingers rubbing over the fleshy part of Bruce’s palm under his thumb. It immediately hit Bruce what was happening. He’d had this exact conversation many times throughout his childhood when his parents or Alfred were washing Bruce’s hands.

“That’s a mole, you muppet,” Bruce laughed. Clark stopped trying to scrape off the top layer of Bruce’s skin and instead brought the hand right up to his face to examine.

“Holy mole Bruce, it’s huge!” Clark exclaimed, a shock gracing his face.

“Hey!” Bruce squirmed, trying to win his own hand back from Clark’s grasp, “How have you never noticed it before if it's so enormously gigantic then?”

“I swear to gosh you’ve never had that before.”

“Maybe you never loved me enough to notice,” Bruce feigned hurt as he finally managed to wriggle his hand free and held it dramatically to his chest.

“I thought I knew where all your moles were! Like the one perfectly between your shoulder blades, and the cluster on your collarbone, and the one right here,” Clark leaned over and pressed his lips to a spot near Bruce’s temple. Bruce softened under the kiss and tilted his head up into the feeling.

“And here.”

Clark moved his lips to one on Bruce’s jaw.

“And here.”

A press to his left brow.

Bruce couldn’t take the teasing anymore as he moved his head to intercept Clark’s next peck, slotting their lips together instead. Clark kept it gentle and soft, his hand moving back to Bruce’s hair as he angled his head slightly. Bruce smiled into the kiss as he pushed his way into Clark’s mouth tenderly, lips opening up gladly. Clark tasted like the hot chocolate he’d been drinking. It was lazy and warm and loving. Bruce moved his hand to the back of Clark’s neck, pulling him in even closer.

Eventually though, he had to drag himself away from Clark’s lips to breathe properly, as a devious thought popped into his head.

“So you know where all my moles are?” Bruce smirked.

Clark just nodded, not pulling away even though he was bent awkwardly over Bruce.

“Why don’t you show me?”

Which is how Bruce ended up naked on his back, Clark’s lips kissing up the inside of his leg – kissing all of the moles leading up his leg. His breath turned from cold, knowing how Bruce loved the sensations, to warm as he neared Bruce’s hips. Bruce was trying to watch the show, but as Clark teased him, purposely avoiding his groin, he couldn’t help but throw his head back with a whimper.

The feel of Clark’s tongue lapping at his balls brought a fully-fledged moan out of Bruce, as he gripped at the fabric underneath him, fingernails tearing lines into it. He barely restrained himself from bucking up into the unexpected pleasure.

“Yes,” he panted out. “Keep going sweetheart.”

It had the opposite effect, disappointingly, as Clark went back to kissing at Bruce’s legs, so close- so so close to his cock. And then a sharp burst of pain.

“Clark!” Bruce gasped out, feeling himself harden even more as Clark nipped at his inner thighs. A bite, followed by a soothing kiss. Over and over. The pleasure caused Bruce to leak out pre-cum as he moaned for Clark to keep going. They went higher, and higher. So close-

The kisses stopped suddenly, the warmth of Clark’s breath disappearing from between Bruce’s thighs.

“Clark? What’s…” Bruce trailed off as he lifted his head and looked towards his boyfriend. Clark was staring at Bruce’s dick as if he’d never seen it before. Which was absurd.

“You have a mole in the middle of your penis.”

Bruce, despite himself and the situation, threw his head back and laughed.

...- - -...

Bruce’s parents were once again hosting a gala at Wayne Manor. However, instead of the focus being on a charity, the spotlight is solely shining on Bruce for his twenty-ninth birthday. He is, of course, also sponsoring a charity for the celebration, and hopefully the children's ward at Gotham hospital will receive a large amount of funding tomorrow morning.

But that didn’t mean Bruce wasn’t the main event.

He had greeted relatives he hadn’t realised were still alive, or even related to him. Socialites mixed with W.E employees mixed with reporters. He was just glad Clark was able to attend at his date rather than being on the job. Everyone wanted a piece of Bruce Wayne tonight, on the precipice of his thirties and running one of the most successful companies in Gotham. No longer one of the most eligible bachelors in the city. Still somehow making the headlines every other week for some inane reason.

His parents had insisted on a big blow out for his last year of his twenties, although Bruce really thought they should’ve saved it for next year. Unless there would be a contradictory reason as to not celebrate… but no. Bruce was forcing himself to enjoy tonight, even though he would much rather have had a small party with closer friends and then a night in with his partner.

Talking about Clark, he hadn’t seen the man for about an hour, being swept away by some new group of people every time he tried to find him. He’d lost track of time, but his face hurt from the smiles he’d had to plaster on all night, and his head was starting to spin. Not from alcohol, although Bruce had had a few glasses, but it was the familiar start of a headache, a pinprick of pain in his forehead which was slowly starting to spread. The chatter surrounding him, the constant drone of noise was filling his ears like cotton, inhibiting him from processing thoughts. The lights were unfairly bright, every single chandelier and candelabra lit in celebration where Bruce preferred the low hum of them washing over the Manor on quiet nights. The packed hall meant Bruce couldn’t take a step back without literally bumping into somebody, and then that entailed another twenty minutes of polite talk with an acquaintance he barely recognised. Bruce was exhausted from his week already, tired from performing tonight, and wishing for a small reprieve. If he couldn’t have Clark next to him, then he would do the next best thing.

Which is how Bruce ended up on the roof of Wayne Manor.

It was the complete opposite of the ballroom. Dark and empty and quiet. Bruce had been resisting the urge to just plug his ears and close his eyes but alas, that was not considered socially acceptable in these types of circles. At least out here it felt as if he could finally breathe. The fog of Gotham had trickled over onto the grounds, half of the manor’s land washed with a soft obscurity and lit by a pale moon. It was beautifully calm, not even a spring breeze disturbing the clouds. It was still cool however, the end of March never quite shirt season, so Bruce tucked his suit jacket around himself a bit tighter as he sat down on the shingles of the roof.

Twenty-nine.

A grief wracked through Bruce at the thought of that age. It felt like something significant had happened, was going to happen. A loss of something. Someone. But it wasn’t the grief that death handed to you, clean-cut and irreversible. It was a jagged knife ripping at Bruce’s soul. A slow, arduous rip. One where Bruce thinks ‘Why isn’t anyone stopping this? Why won’t someone just end the misery?’ It was long and drawn out and completely avoidable. It was-

“What are you doing up here?” It was a kind, warm voice.

Bruce looked up with a fond smile, “How did you find me? Actually don’t tell me – either you flew around at superspeed until you found me, or you used your x-ray vision.”

Clark flushed as he lowered himself onto the roof, standing in front of a lounging Bruce. “I listened to your heartbeat and followed it until I found you.”

“C’m’here farmboy,” Bruce chuckled as he grabbed Clark’s hand to haul him down next to him, Clark’s arm settling around Bruce’s shoulders as he sat down. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only because I’m so in love with you.”

“If you expect me to reply with ‘Then love has blinded you?’ then I would get up immediately and fly to your Fortress of Solitude to contemplate your actions because I am not roleplaying Star Wars with you.”

“Awe c’mon babe,” Clark laughed. “You’re the Padme to my Anakin.”

“Don’t ever call me that again, unless you intend to kill me or whatever happened at the end of that film.”

“I think it’s time to watch the prequels again,” Clark said in a sing-song voice.

Bruce groaned, dropping his head back onto Clark’s arm, “We just watched them!”

“That was nine months ago. And you can’t lie to me; I know they’re your guilty pleasure,” Clark teased.

Bruce shut the conversation down with a glare as he sank into Clark’s warmth. Clark slumped his head down, resting on Bruce’s crown. Then, surprisingly, he grabbed Bruce’s right hand and brought it up to his face.

“I love this mole, you know.”

“Why?”

“It’s just so… you. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else with a mole on their palm,” Clark murmured as he brushed his thumb over it gently.

Bruce sighed contently from the soothing pressure as he sagged further into Clark in return, “That feels nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Bruce’s hand was lowered, but Clark kept it in his hand, thumb pressing into the area in assuasive circles.

“We should go back down,” Bruce spoke into the night after a good long while.

“You don’t need to if you don’t want to darlin’,” Clark replied, his voice a low hum lulling Bruce into drowsiness.

“I know,” Bruce sighed again, this time out of annoyance, turning his head awkwardly to look at Clark, “but I need to at least make my excuses before disappearing from my own birthday party that my parents have so lovingly organised.”

“Well, I’ll follow you anywhere,” Clark’s smile faded, his face turning into a painting of guilt. “Sorry I wasn’t by your side earlier tonight…”

Bruce smirked, “It’s okay, I couldn’t escape the hoards hounding me, and you couldn’t infiltrate them. Besides, I saw you chatting to Selina and I was just glad you two were getting along.”

“She’s really nice! Though she kept eying the signet ring you gave me strangely.”

Bruce laughed at the thought of Selina seeing that ring for the first time. He wondered if she would’ve reciprocated, or well, at least accepted his feelings, for a while, all those years ago if it meant getting her hands on that piece of jewellery.

He gave it to Clark for his birthday a month ago. Well, the day before. Clark’s equivalent earth-birthday had infuriatingly been traced by the fortress’ computer to a leap year, and Clark had been born on the twenty-ninth of February. So Bruce had celebrated it on the twenty-eighth, sulking in the fact he’d have to wait until next year to celebrate it on the proper date. Martha and Jonathan celebrate Clark’s birthday on the day his ship landed, June eighteenth, but Bruce wanted to give Clark a feeling of home, of Krypton. So it had been just a small celebration between the two of them in Clark’s apartment and the gift of a family heirloom over a candle lit dinner.

Bruce’s father had given it to Bruce for his twenty-first, with the purpose of it now defunct due to the decrease in sending letters, and Bruce had given it to Clark as a promise. A promise of something much bigger, and much more legally, binding to follow.

Clark wore it on his left pinky, and on his hand the ostentatiousness of the ring lessened. The pure gold band seemed almost normal, in a way it never had on Bruce’s; always feeling too clunky and out of place. But on Clark, it was perfect.

Bruce brought the hand up to admire, halting Clark’s caresses for the while as he rubbed his fingers over the warm metal. He tried not to let the enormity of his feelings overwhelm him as Bruce distracted himself with more small talk.

“Hmn. I’m not surprised. You were lucky Harvey hadn’t tried to hunt you down and interrogate you either.”

“I can’t wait to meet Harvey! You keep making him out to be this intimidating guy B, but his work in the papers-”

“Ah, you don’t know the real Harvey Dent sweetheart,” Bruce patted Clark’s cheek, acquiescing his hand to Clark once more, “If everyone knew Harv like I did he wouldn’t even consider running for DA.”

“But you’re still sponsoring his campaign,” Clark pointed out.

“Shh, he’s my best mate.”

Clark just hummed lowly, when the soothing circles massaging Bruce’s palm stopped abruptly.

“Talking about following you anywhere – how the hay did you get up here?”

Bruce chuckled, recounting the route he’d done so many times before. “Out my bedroom window, balance on the cornicing, use the balustrades to swing onto the gargoyle and then tightrope over here.”

“How- why did you ever need to do that in the first place?” Clark spluttered.

“I got bored as a child.” Bruce shrugged, “Wanted a bit of adventure.”

“You did that as a child?”

“Is this a game of twenty questions now?”

“I’m just- you're insane.” Clark laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Please let me carry you up here from now on.”

“You fell in love with this insanity, you have to deal with it.”

Clark just sighed as he brought Bruce’s hand up for a kiss. “I suppose I did. And I hope you never, ever change.”

“I won’t, love.”

“I love you too.”

...- - -...

Bruce is sweaty, exhausted, and his ass hurts from riding for so long.

The charity match was almost over though, thank God, as they neared the end of the last chukka. Bruce was currently atop a beautiful chestnut-coloured thoroughbred called Cosmo, his favourite whom he saved until the end for a last burst of energy. She always responded beautifully to Bruce’s slight movements, and although she was on the older side for a polo horse (Bruce started training her during his years at college), he hadn’t found a better steed yet. Surveying the field, Bruce analysed the line of the ball, and moved them into a more suitable position, attempting to predict the other players moves.

The polo match was organised to raise money for social housing and community schemes in Gotham, although the event itself was taking place outwith the borders of the city, perfectly between Metropolis and Gotham. The organisers – the Van Dorn’s – had allowed anyone to step up for the cause, and so three matches had been set up over the day. The main event, however, was the last one. Bruce’s one. With the most prominent (and historically most talented) members of the rich and famous competing. It was a tournament that had high society on the edge of their seats, and lower classes struggling to see what all the fuss was about.

Bruce had been playing polo since he was a young boy at his parents' insistence, and competed through to the end of his university days. Since then, he enjoyed the odd match, keeping his skills fresh in his mind and enjoying the adrenaline that came from the fast paced game.

The other team had been playing well, but not well enough as Bruce charged up the field towards the ball. It had been a close game until the last chukka, when Bruce’s team had managed to coast into an easy lead, meaning they were all enthusiastically incentivised to play better, and mostly just playing for fun now.

Bruce grinned smugly as he brought his mallet down and thwacked the ball, which sailed between the posts and the chukka was called, ending the match. His team came galloping up to him cheering each other on excitedly as they all celebrated, Ollie bonking Bruce on the head with his mallet as they slowly made their way over to the stands. The two others on his team, a famous actress and a rather infamous heiress, hugged him as best they could from their saddles as they were engulfed by the thundering crowds. Bruce hugged Cosmo’s neck as he slipped off his horse, patting him enthusiastically.

“Congrats Bruce,” One of the opposing members approached him, a bright smile on his face despite the loss.

“Thanks Henry,” Bruce shook his hand happily, “Not to expose myself for keeping tabs, but I believe this win makes us even now?”

Henry offered him a playful eyeroll, “Yes yes, I’ll stop my gloating. For now. Though next time I’m requesting that I don't play on the same team as Elliott, the cheating bastard, even if it means being on the same team as you.”

“I don’t blame you,” Bruce laughed as he spotted a familiar face scanning through the crowd for him. “That’s me being beckoned unfortunately, I’ll catch you at the next one?”

“I’ll be counting the days by throwing darts at your face.”

“Likewise,” Bruce shot one last smirk at Henry before focussing all his attention on that mop of dark curls who was having trouble with the crowd. Bruce, after a lot of congratulatory pats and handshakes, eventually made it to his boyfriend’s side.

“Why hello again Superman,” Bruce grinned at Clark’s red and blue get up.

“Mr Wayne, it’s a pleasure to see you,” Clark held a hand out, a bit too enthusiastically for his Superman facade. “You, um- you played very well today. Congratulations.”

Bruce could see a brush of red under Clark’s collar, which could’ve been passed off as the light reflecting off his cape but Bruce knew his boyfriend too well, and he knew Clark was incredibly turned on by Bruce playing polo. He’d even admitted it a few weeks ago when Bruce had signed up, which was perhaps his biggest mistake yet.

“Oh you were watching? Which part was your favourite?" Bruce grinned viciously, biting his lip to stop it from overtaking his entire face. Unlike Clark’s blush, which was now tinging his ears and gracing his cheeks adorably.

“I hope you’re not flirting with poor Superman over here,” Oliver sauntered into the conversation with an easy smile. “You're a taken man, remember, Bruce.”

“You always ruin all the fun Ollie,” Bruce pouted dramatically, “besides, Clark’s not here today. What he doesn’t know won’t kill him, right Superman?”

The exaggerated wink might have been a bit too much, even for Bruce, but he succeeded in turning Superman as bright as a tomato which was a win in his book.

“I, um… I don’t ah, well-”

Bruce caught Oliver’s eye, which was a mistake as they both burst out laughing at the stammering Superman; like the two rich, poncy idiots they were.

“Awe Supes,” Bruce recovered, placing a teasing arm on Clark’s arm, “I could never cheat on my Clark. He gets quite… protective over me.”

“I uh, I'm sure Mr Wayne,” Superman muttered out, eyes roving around for an escape before fixing on Bruce's quickly, a look of panic in them.

“Superman!” Lex Luthor strolled up to them, inserting himself in the conversation far less smoothly than Oliver had.

“Oh hello Lexie,” Bruce intervened before Clark could reply. “I saw you had bet against us! I was wondering how you were dealing with the defeat; I thought you’d be holed up in a cupboard crying somewhere.”

Ollie snorted next to him as Lex turned to regard the two billionaires, ignoring Bruce's comment, “Bruce, Oliver. I was just talking to Princess Beatrice when I spotted our guest of honour in the crowd being harassed by the two of you. I thought I might try to save him.”

“That makes a change,” Bruce muttered under his breath, which caused Superman to have a mysterious coughing fit. “We were just discussing my riding skills,” he changed subject loudly with a pompous arched brow, “Superman was quite impressed with my performance out there.”

Superman spluttered, face now as red as his cape, “I mean-”

“I’m sure he was Bruce,” Lex cut in, offering Bruce a barely concealed sarcastic smile.

“Now boys, no fighting,” Ollie interrupted with a smirk. “This is our first reunion in what? Five years?”

“First reunion of what?”

Bruce whipped his head round to Clark, who was staring at him confused. He sure he had told him in the past that-

“We were all roommates in boarding school,” Lex supplied.

“Oh, really?” Clark's eyebrows shot up, “Wow, it really is a small world for billionaires.”

Bruce shared a small knowing smile with Clark, thinking back to baking their first pie together and the comments Clark had made. Lex caught the gesture and scowled.

“Yes we shared some wonderful memories at school, didn't we boys,” Oliver threw his arms around both Bruce and Lex, probably the only person in the world who could get away with that.

“Absolutely delightful,” Bruce copied the sickly-sweet smile Ollie had plastered on, “like the time we had that party in the dorm and Lex ended up covered in paint.”

“Or the time we set the school bell back by an hour.”

“Or the time you got expelled, but had to be brought back cause you were the lead in the school play.”

“Or the time we dyed Matron’s apron chartreuse and blamed the boys below us.”

“Or the time we shaved all Lex’s hair off in his sleep.”

“I see you decided to keep the look Lexie,” Bruce winked at the glowering man.

“Yes, yes, that’s enough of that.” Lex interrupted his and Ollie’s back and forth. “I’m sure Superman doesn’t want to hear about what we got up to in our youth.”

Clark had been giggling away at their comments the whole time, but now he tried to compose himself into a posture befitting a serious Superhero, who doesn’t laugh at others' (cough Lex Luthor's) misfortune.

“Um, well thank you for the entertainment, but I should really be going,” He nodded his goodbyes, giving Bruce one lingering look before he walked off and was immediately surrounded once more.

Bruce turned to Oliver with a teasing smile, “God I wish Clark were here. If he was, I’d tell him to come by my changing room in about ten minutes for a surprise.”

“Bruce!” Oliver laughed out while Lex rolled his eyes, “You’re horrendous.”

Bruce smirked back at him, “Well one can wish, can’t he?”

“That he can. Now where are the drinks? I’ve been gasping for one all afternoon!”

And if Superman happened to be waiting for Bruce by the time he reached his quarters to change out of his tight jodhpurs and jersey, well then no-one had to know.

...- - -...

Bruce was completely and utterly blissed out. He was shivering; he was probably trembling; his skin was horrendously oversensitive and soaked with sweat (and a few other liquids); and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sit down for a couple of days.

Clark collapsed next to him, face sinking into the pillow with a lazy smile, not nearly as dishevelled as Bruce. Damn that Kryptonian endurance. Bruce envied his ability to bounce back so quickly, to not unravel as intensely. His skin was unmarked (damn his invulnerability for not allowing Bruce to leave marks), he was only slightly flushed, and he’d barely broken a sweat.

But holy hell was that just the best sex Bruce had ever had.

“I feel like I’m still coming,” Bruce panted out, still breathless from the moans and screams Clark had punched out of him. His voice sounded absolutely ragged. “How does it feel like I’m still coming?”

Clark just chuckled in reply as he shifted onto his side, Bruce's vision blurring in and out of focus enough to see him. His dick was uncomfortably tender from where it was trapped between Bruce’s body and the bedsheets. They were in Clark’s flat for once, and the sheets were not up to Bruce’s usual thread count. He’d already complained to Clark about it, several times, but it was a nice change. It made Bruce feel more ‘normal.’

Bruce's world faded to darkness, his eyes closing on their own. Though before he could fully succumb to sleep, a cold breeze fluttered over his exposed back. His already-sensitive skin formed goosebumps as Bruce sighed into the feeling. A warmth followed soon after, the feel of Clark’s fingers skimming over the raised area. Bruce took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Clark all around; in the flat, on the bedsheets, mingled with Bruce’s skin. It was the faint smell of ozone combined with a sweetness, like a soft lavender dancing just on the edge of the scent. It was perfect.

Clark’s hand was still softly caressing Bruce’s back, moving soothing up Bruce’s spine when he spoke.

“D’y’eat yet? There's a restaurant down the street I really want to try out,” his low voice rumbled out. If they hadn’t already gone six rounds today, it would have had Bruce pulling him in for seven. But it was the topic of the sentence itself that had Bruce opening his eyes and staring at Clark in utter confusion for a minute.

The confusion soon bled onto Clark’s face as well. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Clark,” Bruce said in the most deadpan voice he could muster. “What the hell does ‘jeet’ mean?”

“Oh,” Clark flushed red which made Bruce crack a smile through his tough exterior, “Um, sorry. I meant, you know, do you want to go get something to eat?”

“Don’t apologise,” Bruce rolled his eyes playfully, reaching out a hand to intertwine theirs together. “I think it’s cute.”

“You think my accent’s cute?”

“Of course, why else would I be dating you?”

“You’ve used that joke far too many times now.”

“Well it’s still funnier than your ‘don’t call me Shirley’ one.”

Clark giggled at his own horrid sense of humour. Bruce rolled his eyes at his eight-year-old of a boyfriend.

“There’s more important things to discuss here though – you just fucked me several different ways to heaven, and now you want to get up and go out?”

Clark’s faded flush returned at full force at Bruce's word choice, sheepishly replying “Yes?” after a few seconds. His eyes captured Bruce’s, the soft and pleading look reminding him of a hurt puppy. It was impossible to deny Clark anything really.

“Fine,” Bruce sighed out, immediately regretting agreeing to this as Clark practically jumped out of the bed and started pulling on trousers. Bruce tried to hide his fond smile by smushing his face into the pillow, mumbling out, “Can you at least give me a wash cloth to clean myself up a bit?”

Clark had the decency to run it under warm water as Bruce was turned onto his back, gently but firmly, and Clark wiped all evidence of their activities off Bruce’s torso. He was rewarded with a thankful kiss from Bruce, who had no energy to take it any further, before being hauled off the bed and into a standing position.

And wow, the tremble in Bruce’s legs was no joke. He felt like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time as he pitched forward and caught himself on Clark’s wall. A snort of laughter came from behind him, and Bruce whipped his head round to glare at Clark, who had a hand over his mouth and was trying not to laugh.

“This is your fault by the way,” Bruce almost snarled out, hiding his embarrassment behind bravado.

All he received in reply was a satisfied hum as Clark left to freshen up in the bathroom, whistling happily to himself. Bruce picked his way across the room, grabbing his slacks and a fresh shirt from Clark’s wardrobe as he followed Clark into the bathroom to rinse the taste of his boyfriend out his mouth.

Eventually, and with a lot of leaning on Clark, they made it out onto the street for the short walk to the diner. Bruce might’ve complained and insisted they call a cab but he wasn’t sure he could comfortably sit down for a prolonged period, and having to suffer through it at the restaurant was going to be torture enough. He really needed to learn to say no to Clark.

It was almost dark out, the gloaming blanketing Metropolis in a dim light as the winds seemed to have carried the fog of Gotham over the bay. It almost felt like home, if not for the inordinate amounts of glass and twinkling signs everywhere. Surprisingly, there were only a few people out, adding to the dream-like calmness of the scenery. Even the traffic had eased off for the night.

Bruce relaxed into Clark, who had his arm around Bruce's waist to help hold him upright. The air was still, refusing to push out the fog now it was here, and it was like they were suspended in time. It was not yet cold enough for Bruce to see his breath, but he suspected that was only a few weeks off. And soon after that, the snow would follow. Bruce smiled to himself as he thought about their Christmas plans. Hanukkah happened to end on the twenty-third of December, and so Clark and Bruce were spending the last few days of the holiday at Wayne Manor with Bruce’s parents and immediate family. Then, Clark was going to fly the two of them over to Smallville on Christmas Eve, so they could celebrate Christmas with the Kent’s. Bruce couldn’t wait. It was their first Christmas with each other, and he was excited to introduce Clark to his cousins.

Bruce was ripped out of his happy thoughts by a flash. A camera flash.

He ducked out of Clark’s embrace, artfully avoiding a group of people passing the alley he thought he saw the flash come from as he headed towards it, intending to give the creep a piece of his mind. This was supposed to all be over by now, Bruce thought angrily.

“Hey!” He called out as he reached the shadowed backstreet, “Just what do you think you’re-” Bruce trailed off. It was a dead end, and there was no one there. Not even a fire escape to climb up.

Clark caught up with him, stumbling to a stop next to Bruce, “What happened?” He asked, panic evident in his voice.

“I thought I saw something,” Bruce was still looking down the alley. “A kid with a camera…”

“Oh, well, looks like he’s gone,” Clark noted, looking around with milky eyes. Even his x-ray vision wasn’t picking up anyone.

“Looks like it,” Bruce couldn’t ignore the funny feeling in his gut, but it disappeared as soon as Clark wrapped an arm around his hips once more. Bruce sank into it, snaking his own arm around Clark’s waist.

“I’m sure it was no big deal,” He murmurs as he presses a kiss to Bruce’s hair. “C’mon, some food will make it all better.”

Bruce smiled at his boyfriend’s insatiable hunger, “You and your stomach. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you complain about being full.”

“Well,” Clark’s eyes darkened mischievously. “I have an idea if you want to see that.”

Bruce swallowed. “Food. And then we’re definitely doing that.”

“Aye aye Cap’n,” Clark grinned as he marched them down the street. “We’re only one block away now, I think.”

Bruce hummed a reply as his thoughts returned to what he had seen. The kid must’ve escaped with the group of people. If so, he was highly stealthy, and must’ve been trained. But why he was sneaking a picture was the odd thing, especially when it was more than common for Bruce and Clark to be asked for photos and just as frequent that they agreed.

They reached the diner before Bruce knew it, sliding into the offered table with a wince. The hard seats were not doing Bruce any favours. And neither was Clark’s face, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“I thought you used to be a prolific playboy?”

“Surprisingly, I never fucked a super human before you.” Bruce managed out through his discomfort, hoping the sarcasm was evident in his voice before his head hit the table. All he heard was Clark’s chuckle as he continued talking, and Bruce revelled in the fact that this was his life now.

Casual dates with Clark, ones where they didn’t need to disguise themselves just to have a mean in their own city. The ability to just get up and walk out onto the street, hand in hand, holding tightly with no worries. Being sat in a three star restaurant with ordinary people surrounding them, not batting an eye at the odd pair. It was absolute bliss.

He allowed Clark to order for him, since Bruce didn’t really care and was struggling not to show how much pain he was in front of the nice young waitress who obviously recognised them but was polite enough to feign indifference. Plus this had been Clark’s recommendation in the first place. It was a nice place, small and homely, which was very different to most places in Metropolis. It almost felt like something you could walk into in Kansas, which Bruce supposed was why Clark wanted to come here in the first place. Low, yellow lighting; red and white striped booths; a stainless steel bar. It was a nice place.

Their food came quickly, probably because there were only three other patrons in, and it turned out Clark had ordered them burgers. Bruce was too spent to complain as he tucked in, continuing his rant about the schooling system in Gotham’s major public high school, but soon enough Clark was interrupting him.

“Okay hang on babe, two things: what are you doing and what are you doing?”

Bruce looked up innocently, “Pardon?”

Clark gestured to the food Bruce was currently picking out his burger, “I thought you liked tomatoes?"

Bruce scoffed, “I do, just not in burgers. It’s one place they don’t belong.”

“But you love caprese salads,” Clark cocked his head.

“As I said, I do like tomatoes, just not when they are placed within a burger. They’re too wet."

“Too wet?"

“Yes.”

“Okay fine, give them here,” Clark reached out across the table, spearing the vegetable with his fork, “Secondly: how in all that’s holy are you eating that burger?”

“Properly.”

“Eating a burger with a knife and fork is not proper, nor is it normal.”

Bruce just shrugged, “I’ve literally never touched one of these before dating you Clark. The upper class don’t like to eat with their hands unless it’s canapes.”

“But,” Clark spluttered out, “It’s a burger! How can you physically not pick it up with your hands?”

Bruce laughed, continuing to dissect the burger with cutlery, “Don’t hate the messenger, it’s my upbringing that’s caused this.”

“I need to have a serious word with your parents.”

“You mean the doctor who cuts things apart delicately for a living, or the socialite who’s only job is ‘philanthropist’? Or the butler who served for Her Majesty’s Armed Forces?”

Clark shook his head, an exasperated smile on his face, “On second thoughts, it's a wonder you’re so well adjusted.”

“Then we’re perfect for each other: the alien raised by farmers, and the billionaire completely detached from reality.”

That brought a laugh out of Clark who grabbed Bruce’s hand from across the table and massaged his palm softly. “We are such stuff as dreams are made on.”

“Did you just quote Shakespeare at me?”

“To you, I think is the right word.”

“You romantic sap.”

“I love you too B.”

...- - -...

The celebratory dinner was going swimmingly in Bruce’s opinion. The decorations were tasteful (Bruce was especially proud of the ice sculpture of Lady Justice holding a sword and scales), the food was delicious, and the company was, for the most part, delightful. Even Bruce’s speech had gone well.

“I want to thank you all for listening to me ramble on. I know you’ve all heard enough speeches tonight, including from our newly appointed District Attorney, but I just wanted to give a final hurrah to celebrate the man behind the new title. Harvey: congratulations on your well deserved win. Here’s to the next four years, and hopefully many more!”

Bruce stumped slightly as he stepped away from the podium, the applause for both his speech and Harvey following him. Bruce had probably had a few too many drinks, but he felt just on the right side of tipsy for the moment. The man of the hour approached him with a smile.

“Thank you for that Bruce, even though it was unexpected,” Harvey clapped a hand onto Bruce’s shoulder.

“Well you should’ve known I was going to make a speech, regardless if I was on that silly list or not,” Bruce grinned back. “You know how I love the attention.”

“And here I thought you did it because you care about me?”

“Well you, and the exquisite taste of this Dom Pérignon may have spurred me on.”

Harvey smiled lazily, “Ah the taste of good alcohol. Better than a sweet lover some nights.”

A happy laugh was brought out of Bruce. Harvey was definitely more drunk than he was letting on if he was casually spewing sentences like that. “Speaking about lovers, what happened to that girl you were going steady with? A Dr Isley if I remember from our brief meeting.”

“Oh her? We called it off,” Harvey replied, a small sneer souring his face as he hand fell from Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce startled. That was three years and an engagement down the drain then.

“What? But she was lovely! And so… passionate!” Bruce struggled for the right word. His quick encounter with Harvey’s (obviously now ex) fiance had exclusively been about ecoterrorism and grilling Bruce about what Wayne Enterprises was doing to help save the planet. At the time she had seemed a bit kooky to Bruce, but it had proved a valuable conversation and was the catalyst for the company (under Bruce’s leadership) to venture into Green Energy. And Metropolis.

“Hmm, about plants maybe,” Harvey grumbled. “Just too many differences between us. Plus I have a hunch she was just using me to push for greener initiatives in Gotham through my position. But enough about her - I hear the boyfriend is here tonight. Finally going to introduce us?”

“Actually talking spouses: I think without Miss Pamela I would’ve never met him, so at least one good thing came out of your relationship,” Bruce chuckled as he punched Harvey gently on the arm, who looked at Bruce with a confused expression. Bruce made sure to steer away from any questions about that as he and Clark met through a chance interview to the public, not through an opportune save. “And I’m not sure I want the two of you to meet - you might scare him off.”

“Ah c’mon now Bruce, I would never do that to my best bud.” Harvey laughed, “I just want to… assess him.”

“I’m sure you’d love to put him on trial but don’t worry, Alfred has already done the shovel talk for you and my parents.” It had happened after Clark’s second visit to Wayne Manor, and Bruce had been too late and only caught the tail end of it. Clark came away with a new-found respect for the butler.

A friendly shrug. “Everyone’s entitled to their own opinions.”

“And I’m sure your review of him will be glowing, right Harv?”

“Well I’ve still to meet the man,” Bruce saw Harvey scanning the crowd intently now, Clark’s face not exactly a mystery considering their very public outing and relationship detailed by the rags of their two cities. Bruce knew exactly when Harvey had spotted his prey, the shark-like features of a lawyer never leaving him.

“Mr Kent!” Harvey called over the crowd, Clark only about fifteen metres away and, obviously hearing him, turned to face a smug Harvey and a groaning Bruce, “Join us, please!”

Bruce saw Clark push his way through the crowd, not as clumsily as he used to, but with far less grace than everyone else in the room.

“Harvey Dent, new District Attorney for Gotham.” Harvey said smoothly, offering a hand to Clark. Bruce watched the interaction with a mixture of apprehension and exasperation.

“And the reason for this amazing celebration,” Clark shook the outstretched offering, the handshake lasting longer than necessary. “Congratulations on your election Mr Dent, Bruce was very involved in your campaign and I tried to help out when I could.”

“Ah good ol’ Bruce,” Harvey slung an arm around Bruce. It might’ve looked casual to anyone else, but these three men saw it for what it was: a protective gesture. “My best mate for… what? Going on ten years now?”

“Bruce mentioned you met at college,” Clark supplied, Bruce opting to stay quiet for the time being and let Harvey interrogate Clark in his own way. Best to just let it run its course.

“Did he now?” Harvey shot a smile at Bruce, with a warning tilt to his head and eyes.

“Oh yes, Bruce can’t stop gushing about you. I’m glad he found someone like you to ground him. Though from what I heard, you two didn’t exactly stay to safe activities,” Clark chuckled. Bruce felt himself heating up, regretting telling Clark about all his and Harvey’s reckless adventures during their first few years as friends. Two rich boys finding an equally impulsive ally in one another was always a recipe for disaster.

“I like to think we were equally as bad as each other,” Harvey released Bruce with a clap on his shoulder. “But we got all that out of our systems back then, and are now outstanding citizens of Gotham City, ay Bruce?”

Bruce shrugged but before he could speak, Clark was replying for him. “Well say what you will about Bruce, but coming from a reporter, your latest prosecution of Jack Napier was one for the history books! Managing to bring down two mobs and the right hand of the Valestra’s by nailing one guy? Incredible! I was following the case even before I realised it was you heading it.”

Bruce was watching Clark’s exchange like a tennis match, head swilling between his enthusiastic partner and slowly softening best mate. Somehow, whether he knew it or not, Clark was winning Harvey over in just one conversation.

“Thanks Mr Kent,” Harvey smiled at him, a cautious smile laced with confusion, but a smile nonetheless.

“Oh call me Clark please,” he beamed back, “But it was really a deserved win. I would’ve voted for ya if I could’ve.”

Bruce smirked to himself at Clark's midwestern accent slipping out.

“Well from what I hear, you’ll be living in Gotham soon,” Harvey grinned, shark-like once again, except this time his prey wasn’t Clark.

“Harvey!” Bruce interrupted the conversation for the first time, turning to hit him.

“Oh, I thought you’d discussed this?” Harvey bit out innocently, knowing full well Bruce hadn’t brought this up with Clark yet, “Well, there’s no need for coyness now is there Bruce? You did call him ‘the love of your life’ if I recall.”

It could be the alcohol encouraging Harvey to embarrass Bruce, or it could be the decade old friendship, but Bruce flushed none-the-less at the admission. He turned to explain himself to Clark, but the love-sick idiot was just looking at Bruce with a fond expression on his face. Which gave Bruce an idea. He was open with Clark about most of his doubts and worries surrounding their relationship, and even more so open about how much he was planning for their future. The humiliating part was how quickly Bruce wanted it all.

How he wanted to propose to Clark, to move into Wayne Manor together, to get married. And not just eventually. Bruce wanted it all now. It was more than a want, it was a desire, a need for him. Something curling at the back of his mind saying ‘take it all now, before it gets ripped away from you.’ And with Clark as Superman, there really was an anxious niggle at the back of Bruce's mind, reminding him everyday that Clark could be taken away from him at the drop of a hat. Bruce knew what he was getting into, encouraging a relationship with Superman, and if he was being honest he cherished every day they were together, thankful they could have at least have just one more day together. He wouldn’t change that for the world.

And Clark was, for some forsaken reason, just as gone as Bruce was. He’d heard most of it before, and was still along for the ride. But Bruce still had to get back at Harvey somehow. And he was sure Clark wouldn’t object to a small bit of teasing.

What was it Harvey had just said about breaking off a three year relationship?

“Well there’s no denying it,” Bruce pulled out his million-watt smile, curling an arm around Clark’s waist as he gazed into his boyfriend’s eyes, hoping Clark picked up on the subtext Bruce was laying down. “Clark’s made me the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“Not nearly as happy as you’ve made mine darlin’.” Clark had definitely caught on, winding his arm around Bruce and pulling him even closer. “I see the most wondrous sights every day, as a reporter I mean, and yet the most gorgeous is still your eyes.”

“Sweetheart please,” Bruce cupped his hand on Clark’s jaw bringing their face even closer together. A warm hand came to rest on Bruce’s waist turning them into one another. “I always wonder if I’m actually asleep, because you’re so perfect I must be dreaming.”

“Well how about I be your prince charming and kiss you awake?” Clark leant in with a mischievous smile so their foreheads were pressed together.

“Only if you promise to whisk me away to your castle where we can-”

“Alright, alright you can stop now,” Harvey surrendered, a horrified look on his face and an empty drink in his hand. “Please stop in fact. I don’t think I’ve seen you express this many emotions before Bruce.”

Bruce laughed as he detached himself from Clark, leaving their hands intertwined. “Awe it’s okay Harv, maybe one day you’ll find a love as pure as ours,” Bruce fluttered his eyelashes at his best mate, cringing internally at himself. Ah well, at least Harvey won’t try anything like that again.

“I hope I don’t,” Harvey muttered playfully. “At least I know you’re perfect for him Clark, seeing as you’re one of the few people willing to put up with Bruce’s antics.”

Clark giggled as he took another sip of his prosecco, “Thanks Mr Dent.”

“Call me Harvey, all my friends do,” Harvey winked. “And I suppose we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other after this, right Bruce?”

“Oh sure, now we’ve got first impressions out the way. You’ll just have to come to Metropolis to see us, Harv.”

“Yeah right, maybe you should be visiting home a little more often, get yourself reacquainted before the move back.”

“Alright enough of that, now-”

“Sorry to interrupt gentlemen,” An older woman appeared at Harvey’s side; Margot, Harvey’s campaign manager. “But Harvey, could I steal you away for a second, there’s something you should have a look at.”

Harvey offered Bruce and Clark an apologetic smile as he stepped away for a few moments.

“There you go, you finally got to meet the infamous Harvey Dent,” Bruce grinned as he turned to Clark.

“He’s nice! Not at all like the temperamental Janus you were making him out to be,” Clark smiled back “Actually I-”

“Had to?”

Harvey’s shout interrupted their conversation, and Bruce whipped his head around to see his best mate gripping onto a sheet of paper.

“But.. no- I spent three months on that raid!” Harvey crumpled the paper into one hand, “He can’t overturn!”

“I’m sorry Harvey, but I thought it was best you were told outright instead of hearing it through someone else,” Margot shrunk into herself at Harvey’s outburst. Bruce was across the room and had a hand on Harvey’s shoulder before he knew it.

“Hey, it’s okay. What’s going on?” He tried to mediate, getting the DA’s short temper onto him.

“The judge just threw out my case against Thorne’s men,” Harvey calmed down slightly, sagging under Bruce’s firm grip. “Said the warrant wasn’t complete. He just… had no other choice.”

The words tugged at Bruce’s heartstrings. Harvey had been working on this case for months, trying to bring Rupert Thorne down through the legal system.

“I’m sorry Harv,” Bruce squeezed his friend’s shoulder reassuringly.

“Let go of me you rich twit.”

The words echoed through Bruce’s mind, but Harvey’s mouth hadn’t moved. Bruce instinctively looked towards ice sculpture and back at his best mate.

“I… thanks Bruce. I think I’ll go- take a break for a while huh? If I’m not back in ten minutes, haul me out here again will you?”

Bruce hesitated at Harvey’s calm demeanour. “Sure thing,” he said as he watched Harvey leave.

Soon, a warm arm wrapped around him.

“He okay?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine,” Bruce answered distractedly.

“Are you okay?” Clark turned to look at Bruce, eyebrows furrowed at the weird change in tone.

“Yeah just… had a bit too much to drink tonight I guess,” Bruce shook himself out of his head, images of a scene that hadn’t happened fading from his head. “Let’s get some air.”

“Okay babe,” Clark pressed a reassuring kiss to Bruce’s temple, and all his worries flitted away.

...- - -...

“Bruce, look, I ain’t gonna apologise because I did what I had to!” Clark crossed his arms as he stared down Bruce from the other side of the living room.

“You shouldn’t be prioritising me over other civilians simply because we’re dating Clark!”

“You were hurt!”

Bruce’s neck twitched as he pointed at Clark, the dust still tainting his skin. “I can handle myself. You’re Superman.”

“So what? Superman can’t have feelings?”

“Your greatest strength is literally having feelings!” Bruce spluttered out in his anger, “And- and being a good person. And that means you do what's right before what's selfish.”

Clark’s face morphed into one of disgusted confusion, “Being concerned over you is selfish? Bruce-”

“Of course it is! You have a duty to the world, one you chose to take on and I won’t allow myself to get in between that. No man should have that power.”

“You were a part of the casualties Bruce! You were trapped under rubble and I couldn’t hear your heartbeat because of the stupid amount of lead Luthor designed into his building!” Clark stepped back, forcibly unclenching his hands as he took a deep breath.

Bruce set his jaw, staring at Superman harshly, “Even then, Clark. Even then you should be prioritising helping as many people as possible before me.”

“You can’t possibly ask that of me. Don’t you dare tell me what I should or shouldn’t do with my powers.” Clark’s voice was low, but his tone was dangerous.

“Your powers- you were the only thing that could get people out of that mess and to medical attention as quickly as possible. I can’t be responsible for other people's deaths because you want to save me before them.”

“And I can’t be responsible for your death Bruce. For leaving you in that rubble, bleeding out or passing out from pain or scared and calling for me-” Clark's voice cracked as he clamped his mouth shut.

Bruce shook his head irritatedly, “But you have to.”

“Fuck you Bruce.”

The worst part was that it was said gently. Clark never swears, never ‘stoops’ to such vulgar language (his own words). Bruce had never heard anything more offensive than a ‘good gosh!’ out of Clark’s mouth. But this? It sounded like it was ripped from the depths of Clark’s character.

Clark’s eyes widened as he gaped at Bruce, taking another step towards the window. Bruce had watched him gravitate towards it unconsciously throughout their… disagreement, but it was obvious Clark saw it as a comfort, that he could make an escape easily.

And that’s exactly what he did.

Bruce’s hair was ruffled as the harsh breeze swept out the window, the papers on the coffee table cascading onto the floor. The night was suddenly very quiet. No cars honking or people shouting or rain. But that was Metropolis. Bruce found himself aching for the comforts of home, of Gotham.

Of imperfectness.

Metropolis was too squeaky and shiny. Its heroes and villains exemplified that. Lex Luthor, the face of green energy sitting high up in his skyscraper made of glass. Superman, the original superhero, the boy scout in blue and red. But to Bruce, it all felt fake. Lex was using his energy initiative to hide his profiteering from oil giants. Superman was hiding between a symbol and a red cape. The people walked around everyday acting like everything was fine.

In Gotham, what you see is what you get. Nobody tries to pretend to be someone they aren’t. Nobody acts as if the city is a paragon of pioneering and good. There’s no self-righteousness. There’s no judgement. There’s just people trying to help the city, and people infecting it. And everyone knows what role they play.

Bruce loves Gotham. It’s people especially. They had all chosen Gotham as their home, and it them. They deserved to live lives without the fear of being mugged and shot in an alleyway. But at least they didn’t pretend that wasn’t going to happen every time they left their house.

That’s maybe why Bruce was so angry at Clark.

They were both the sum of their cities: two polar opposites from across the bay. Clark, the mild mannered reporter who fights for truth and justice, who was raised as a farmboy in Kansas and who doesn’t swear. And Superman, the almost-god sent to serve humanity without fail. Invulnerable and strong and unflappable.

And then there was Bruce, a ‘reformed’ playboy who squandered his money until recently and narrowly missed watching his parents die as a child. A simple man surrounded by shadows he can’t escape, no matter how hard he tries to distract himself with the living embodiment of the sun. He’s not perfect, but he doesn’t pretend to be either.

He doesn’t deserve to be saved before countless other innocent people.

Bruce released a long-suffering sigh as his legs gave out beneath him. Sitting precariously on the couch, he shoved the palms of his hands into his eyes as he thought back to the catalyst of the argument.

Bruce had been at LexCorp for a meeting concerning joint interests. He was never going to accept of course, but he had hoped the meeting might reveal some information Bruce could use to flip on Luthor. To expose him innocently, or pass off to Clark Kent to add to the growing profile. Or maybe just something to warn Superman about, even if Clark didn’t know that part.

Then the building exploded.

Luckily, if you could look at it that way, the explosion only took out the top two floors, with a smaller bomb planted in the entrance lobby, where Bruce happened to be, that mostly just blew out the windows and ceiling panels.

The dust settled from the debris falling from the top of the building and landing on the street. It had mangled a few cars and lamp-posts, but luckily Superman had swooped in to clear most people from imminent death by crushing. However there were still civilians amongst the rubble; trapped or unconscious or just scared.

Bruce had shoved his security guard out the way instinctively just as the bomb went off, leaving him alone in a makeshift cave. The roof had collapsed above him and formed an almost tent, three large slabs all propped up by one another. It was completely dark, Bruce assumed smaller debris had landed on top of them and plugged every hole, but he had enough air for a while and only a small cut on his cheek from the explosion. All-in-all, it could’ve been much worse.

It was only a few minutes later a scrabbling Superman, manic in his eyes, lifted away a panel and rescued Bruce from his small prison. And it was less than a minute after that that Bruce, deposited on the back of an ambulance, realised there were still people who needed to be rescued. People crying out for Superman’s help.

Bruce still felt the ache of it in his bones now. The revelation that Superman had wasted time digging through the rubble to find Bruce instead of getting people out who needed more immediate medical attention. They were more important than him, innocent civilians would always be more important than Bruce, and he knew as well as Superman that that was the first priority. They’d agreed this over Bruce’s kidnappings, which were unfortunately often, that Superman would deal with more catastrophic situations before rescuing Bruce. That he would only come when Bruce called.

So yes, Bruce was angry at him. Clark was allowing his personal feelings – his relationship – to interfere with his duties as Superman. And Bruce couldn’t allow that. He wouldn’t be responsible for other people possibly dying because Superman was distracted by him.

He would- he would…

He always thought he would do the same. That if, for some un-godly reason, Bruce could help people when Superman was incapacitated, he would put them first. And perhaps he would. But maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t. That when that situation arrived, he wouldn’t be able to cleave his emotions in two. To focus on the mission of helping all others before his- before Superman. It’s infinitely easier to say something rather than do it.

Perhaps he was being a hypocrite.

Bruce was reminded of another argument, though he couldn’t remember when or where it happened.

“Superman, that decision was reckless and immature.”

“Immature? Sorry for catching you as you fell off a forty storey building!”

“I had it handled.”

“You’re just a human B-”

“And you’re some benevolent god sent from another planet to save us all? An alien who decided Earth was a charity case you needed to help with? Humans survived this long without you and they sure as hell will survive perfectly fine after you’re dead.”

A clenched jaw.

“I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do.”

“And how do you judge that? How do you decide what’s right and wrong? Because in my eyes, the right thing to do would’ve been stopping Penguin before he could set off the bombs instead of catching a random person.”

“Okay first of all, the building was evacuated and nobody was in harm's way, and secondly, you’re not a random person B*$#^&! You’re-”

“Less important than civilians and potential damage.”

A sigh.

“Look, okay fine. I’m sorry. Next time I’ll let you fall to your death, and then you can lecture me about your ethics from beyond the grave.”

“Why are you so sure I’ll come back as a ghost?”

A grin.

“Because I’ll make you. And then you’ll have me annoying you for the rest of your undead life because that’s what you chose.”

A pause.

A resignation.

“Thank you for saving me, Superman. Now get out of my city.”

“It was nice seeing you too. Same time next week?”

Bruce felt nausea rise in him as the world seemed to tilt. He tried to swallow down the vertigo as his breathing picked up. It was as if the world was sliding away, becoming fuzzy at the edges almost like-

It was at that moment Clark returned, and the world was righted.

He floated in gracefully, as always, but hovered by the door to the balcony instead of stepping inside as he usually did. Bruce looked up from where he had collapsed on the sofa. His elbows were digging into his knees painfully from where he’s been holding his head in his hands. He saw that Clark’s eyes were bloodshot, though that could be from crying or using his heat vision. Bruce wasn’t sure which one he’d prefer.

“I’m sorry.” They both said at the same time, eliciting a sad smile from the two of them.

“I’m sorry Bruce," Clark cut in first, his face falling once again. “You’re right. Partly. I’m Superman, and that means that I have a responsibility to the people of earth. They trust me to save them, and I shouldn’t prioritise you over them every time but-” Clark landed and walked towards Bruce slowly. “But I thought you died today. You were in the building when it exploded and then your heartbeat stopped and I thought you died.

“My whole… I couldn’t concentrate properly. Nothing else felt important except getting to you in that moment, even just to confirm it to myself before getting others to help. It was like the world was slipping away from me. So if I know you’re alright, if I know you’re alive, I promise I will help everyone else on the scene, even squirrels, before getting to you. But if I can’t hear you; your heartbeat or your breathing or your voice telling me you’re okay, then I will find you first. Every time.”

Bruce swallowed heavily, tears welling up in his eyes as he grabbed Clark’s hands.

“I… yes. I understand.” He managed out, “I was too harsh. I shouldn’t be telling you how to feel or what to do with your emotions. I was wrong to ask that of you and… I’m sorry. I just- I couldn’t live with myself if I was the reason someone died.” Bruce sighed as he met Clark’s eyes, “But I don’t think I could live with myself if I knew I could help you and you died. So, I understand Clark. And thank you. Thank you for coming back.”

“I’ll always come back Bruce,” Clark gasped as he tugged Bruce into a fierce hug, just on the side of painful. Bruce gripped back with just as much ferocity, burying his head in Clark’s neck.

He thinks he’s crying, he thinks he hears Clark crying, feels the wet patch on his shoulder. But that doesn’t matter. As long as they’re together. Eventually, one of them pulls away, but only enough to seal their lips together. It’s messy and clumsy and wet from their tears, but Bruce finds himself smiling into it.

He managed to tear himself back to look Clark in the eyes once again, hands gravitating to tangle in his dark curls.

“I love you Clark. I don’t say it enough, but I love you.”

Clark beams back at him, eyes puffy from the tears that have stopped. “I love you too Bruce. And I will always, always come back for you.”

It wasn’t their first fight, and it certainly wouldn’t be their last. But they would come through it, every time, together.

Hand in hand; gripping tightly.

Chapter Text

Bruce realised why his parents had organised a huge party for his twenty-ninth last year. Because he wouldn’t have been able to have one for his thirtieth.

Clark had convinced him to take a break from his work, which had been ramping up steadily for the past year as his father started to take a step back from the company and prepare for his retirement. It would be a few years off yet though, as his father was only fifty-five and still loved working (or at least having something to do with his time) but he thought it appropriate for Bruce to start stepping up now. Bruce had already resolved to take him out on more golf trips to keep him active in his retirement. But it had been a busy first quarter and March seemed to be a quiet month to take a few weeks off from.

Clark himself had managed to secure two weeks off work, which was unheard of in the bullpen. Bruce wondered how on Earth he had managed to get Perry to agree to that. But never-the-less, Bruce wasn’t going to pass up on two weeks of sun and sex with his boyfriend in a tropical country. And although Clark had booked the villa and activities by himself, Bruce had insisted they take a private jet over to Seychelles instead of flying commercially, or worse, ‘Superman Airlines’. Bruce loved that Clark could fly them to the other side of the world in a minute, but less so when they arrived without passports or screening or evidence of arriving or suitcases.

What could he say, it was their first proper get-away together, and he wanted to do it in style. Which meant, private jets, ridiculous amounts of luggage, and lots of prosecco for the flight. Clark, surprisingly, put up little protest on his end.

And it had been a picture perfect holiday so far, despite the nagging in Bruce’s gut that he turn around and fly back home to Gotham. That he shouldn’t be leaving the city for this long, not… not without him properly delegating all his responsibilities. But it was only for two weeks. Gotham wouldn’t collapse in that time, not that there was much he could do to stop that descent anyway. He was just a man.

Clark had noticed Bruce’s reluctance, of course he had – he was always so attuned to Bruce’s moods – and reassured Bruce a week into their vacation as they lay in bed.

The villa was open air, the bedroom leading straight out to a large decking hosting an infinity pool. In the dim light of the bright moon, Bruce could see the small path trailing down to the quiet beach, the exclusive island ensuring they would have peace. A warm breeze fluttered through the room, sweeping the gauzy curtains into a dance. Clark was sprawled out, as usual, on his back. And while usually Bruce would either be using him as a pillow or slotting in perfectly next to him, tonight he was curled up in a ball, facing away from his boyfriend. He hadn’t slept like this since he’d met Clark.

It was homesickness. It must be. What other reason could there be for Bruce to feel so anxious on a relaxing holiday? He hasn’t been away in so long, especially for over a week, and with the sudden switch from hard work to nothingness… it was getting to his head.

“Hey, you okay darlin’?” Clark's voice was rough from sleep as Bruce felt a soft hand caress his bare shoulder.

He turned his head to look at Clark awkwardly, trying for a smile.

“Yeah love, I just uh, can’t sleep in this heat,” Bruce tried as an excuse.

It didn’t work. Clark frowned slightly as he sat up, leaning on one arm to scan Bruce. It was obvious he was literally scanning Bruce, the milky white of his eyes giving him away, but Clark seemed to find nothing wrong with him physically.

“Bruce…” The voice was so soft, so gentle that Bruce couldn’t help but roll over and tuck his face into Clark’s chest, still bundled up tightly. Two strong arms enveloped him as Clark rubbed soothing lines into Bruce’s back.

“Hey B, it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re safe, yeah?” He muttered reassurances into Bruce, whose shoulders were shaking as if he were crying, but there were no tears. His lungs refused to take in air properly, leaving Bruce on the verge of hyperventilating.

Bruce didn’t know what was wrong with him. He was in his boyfriend's arms, on a tropical island, able to love him openly and freely, and yet there was still something tugging at his heart. Something black and sharp and still there no matter how many times Bruce tried to burn it away.

Usually, being with Clark made it all better, ridded him of these feelings but even now- it had to be homesickness. A longing for Gotham in his soul; his parents. His family. Clark was so patient with Bruce whenever this happened, always understanding and caring. The shadows clawed up his neck, infecting his mind. You don’t deserve him, they jeered, he’s too good for you, and one day he’ll remember he’s Superman and simply fly away.

Bruce had had these doubts their entire relationship. Who was he to Superman? A billionaire who happened to almost die one day and seduce his way into Superman’s pants. An airhead who didn’t care for empathy until he was face-to-face with the consequences. A man with too much money for his own good, and no way to use it to help in any meaningful way.

“I deserve you Bruce,” Clark was whispering into his hair. “I want you, I can’t live without you. I love you okay? You're safe. You’re okay. I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want to go anywhere. Because I’m in love with you.”

They were mantras Clark had taken to repeating when Bruce got into one of his moods. All the insecurities Bruce had voiced over their (almost) four years as a couple. Messages Bruce needed to hear when the darkness crept up on him suddenly, on nights like these.

Eventually, Bruce’s dry sobs stopped. He was able to breathe properly again, his lungs and mind deciding that he could in fact take deep breaths. He found his hands had been gripping onto Clark’s back, and if the man wasn’t invulnerable Bruce was sure it would’ve been wrecked by his nails scratching into the other man. Clark’s chest was warm (when wasn’t it?) and Bruce helped his racing heart by copying the steady rise and fall with his own breathing pattern.

Clark must’ve felt Bruce had loosened off a bit because he stopped his murmurings and pulled back slightly to look at Bruce properly.

“Feeling better?”

Bruce hummed noncommittedly as he closed his eyes and shifted up so his head was on the pillow next to Clark’s.

“B? I need a yes darlin’,” Clark’s soft breath tickled Bruce’s cheeks, so Bruce forced his eyes open to look at his partner.

Clark’s brows were still bunched, worry gracing the wrinkles around his eyes. Bruce couldn’t ignore it anymore, not when Clark had just been so good to him. He could talk this out. For Clark.

“I just,” Bruce started, unsure of where to begin. “It all gets too much sometimes, I think. I can’t- I don’t know how to explain it.”

Clark stayed silent, a small smile encouraging Bruce although the tension around his eyes never faded.

“It’s like, everything has been building up for so long,” Bruce continued eventually. “Preparations for me to take over Wayne Enterprises; my mother and I fighting stakeholders to try and approve more social housing schemes; our relationship. It feels as if I've had no room to breathe recently. But that was almost good? I was focussed. I knew what needed to be done and it was going to get done. Soon. In the next couple of weeks or months or… a year at most. I just have to keep ploughing on. I only have to get over these few hurdles and then I can sit back and relax. But this break has-” Bruce faltered, trying to describe his feelings in a way which made sense to others. “It’s almost been too good. The momentum I've been building up has all stopped. And now I want it all to stop, where I could just ignore that feeling before. I don’t want to return to that stress again, but I have to. I want to stay here with you in bliss. I want to go home and have you all to myself in the penthouse. Or in your flat. We need to go back there by the way, your counters will be so dusty by now… Sorry- But I guess I… it’s all just become too much, too suddenly. Like a wave has come crashing over my head and I feel like I’m trapped under the swell, and the swim up to gasp for air seems like too much effort and maybe- maybe I would rather drown.”

Bruce gazed into Clark’s unnaturally blue eyes, which felt as if they were seeing into his soul. Clark probably could, depending on if he had more undiscovered powers. But they were a comfort to Bruce, seas of blue that he didn’t want to drown in.

“You though, you keep me going Clark,” Bruce admitted. “Like you’re a friendly hand reaching to me through the water, hauling me to the surface, even if I don’t want it. I love you. I- I won’t say ‘I don’t deserve you,’ because I know you don’t like me saying that but- I love you more than you could imagine for staying with me. I couldn’t live without you.”

Clark was silent, small tears welling in his eyes as his smile trembled.

“Oh Bruce.”

He was hauled into a tight embrace by Clark, limbs tangling together as Clark seemed like he wanted to encase every part of Bruce with his own body. Bruce sank into it, holding on just as tightly as he breathed in Clark’s smell, grounding himself further.

“I love you too, you silly man,” Clark chuckled as he leant back. They were only a hair's width away from each other's faces, and Clark rubbed his nose against Bruce’s.

Really now, they were two grown men weren’t they?

(Bruce definitely did not respond by rubbing his back).

“You said I was like a hand reaching for you in the water right? Well to me, you're more like an anchor. Being me… it gets hard. The lines get blurry. I get up every day and try to do the right things but sometimes- sometimes it feels as if I haven’t done enough. As if I’ll never be able to do enough. But then I come home to you and, and it’s all alright. You show me that all we have to do is put one foot in front of the other and just do the best we can.” Clark stopped to caress Bruce’s face gently. “You’re the one person stopping me from just flying into space for days on end and losing myself. You keep me grounded, remind me that I’m just a man somedays, no matter how much people try to make me out like a god: good or bad. You give me the strength to keep fighting, to keep rescuing, to keep hoping. People say I’m their hope for tomorrow? Well you’re my hope Bruce. Without you, I’m just an alien floating through space. So I suppose, well, that really shows how we perceive each other huh?”

Bruce nodded, seeing a clarity in the strange metaphors they’d used to describe one another. Two hands reaching out. But where Bruce saw himself as being dragged down by the waves, Clark saw him as a steady rock to anchor onto. And where Clark saw himself as untethered and lost in a sea of uncertainty, Bruce saw him as a force worth fighting for.

They were each other's hope.

“Always remember that you have me Bruce, to pull you out of that water, or to simply just cling on to for comfort. Everyone gets overwhelmed, but I think we both need to learn to take a few more breaks. Go back to how it was when we first started dating, yeah?” Clark chuckled to himself slightly, “And we both need to talk when this happens. I want you to come to me when this happens. Please don’t bottle it up anymore,” Clark’s hands had found Bruce’s and he was squeezing them assuredly.

“I promise sweetheart,” Bruce squeezed back, a smile breaking onto his face for the first time that night, which had Clark beaming back brightly.

“I was, um, going to do this somewhere a bit more romantic but,” Clark flushed slightly as he sat up, turning and scrambling in his bedside table for something. “But really nothing is more perfect than this being just for us; as us right?” Clark seemed to be more rambling to himself, gearing himself up for something.

Bruce followed Clark, the airy bedsheets pooling around his waist and legs as he sat up. Clark turned around. With a box. An open box. With a ring inside.

“Bruce Thomas Wayne, I love you. I- I deserve you and honestly, I don’t think, well I couldn’t actually. Live without you either I mean, so,” Clark was blushing as he stammered out his words, smiling meekly, “would you, um, do me the honour of- wait no, sorry. Jeez how have I messed this up? Gosh darn- Will you please marry me?”

Bruce snorted in disbelief at Clark’s antics as he rushed out the last sentence, the blush tinging his ears in a fierce red. God, this was everything he had ever wanted, right in front of him. Clark was proposing. Clark wanted to marry him. Clark wanted to declare to the world that they were promised to one another, forever and always, it was-

“Yes,” Bruce said, his voice breathless as his eyes darted between Clark and the ring, unsure of whether to kiss him or put it on. “Yes! Yes I want to-”

“Yes?” Clark replied, sounding astonished at the answer.

Bruce just answered him by finally dragging him in for a kiss, a clash of teeth and laughter as they tumbled back onto the bed. Bruce ended up on his back, Clark bracketed over him as he deepened the kiss wonderfully. A cold sensation slid down Bruce’s finger, and he pulled away from Clark to marvel at the engagement ring on his hand.

It was a nice medium sized band, simple in its design and silver. It opened up into an almost star shape in the middle, like a bat unfurling its wings, and in the centre of the design sat a sparkling gem: a black one. Bruce held it up to his face to have a closer look, and in the process it slipped into a sliver of moonlight. The gem glittered with green and blue and purple as it did so, and Bruce couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped him. It was beautiful.

“Do you like it?” Clark asked, a hesitant edge to his voice.

“Like it? Clark, it's absolutely gorgeous!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bruce confirmed giddily, capturing Clark’s lips in another kiss. He brought his left hand up to cup Clark’s face and felt the other man shiver, the metal still cool around Bruce’s finger. Clark’s own left hand settled around the back of Bruce’s neck, and Bruce pulled back again to grab at it.

“We match now. Almost.” He chuckled, resting his hand on Clark’s; the gold signet ring gleaming next to Bruce’s new one. Like the sun and the moon they shone next to one another.

Clark beamed, “A promise each, huh?”

“The rest of our lives,” Bruce entangled their hands together.

“The rest of our lives,” His fiancé smiled back, before Bruce was kissing him once again.

And Bruce forgot all about why he had been so restless for the remainder of their holiday.

...- - -...

The worst part about their engagement story was that they couldn’t tell it to anyone. Bruce was mortified as soon as he realised what he was going to have to tell his parents: “Oh how did it happen you ask? Well Clark and I had gone on an excruciating hike that day and passed out by ten, I woke up hours later and had a panic attack in the middle of the night, then Clark and I poured our feelings out to one another and he decided to propose. Yes we were both naked, yes we went to sleep straight after.”

That was not happening. So instead the revised version happened on the beach at sunset, a perfect scattering of rose petals and a low band playing jazz in the background. Which had been Clark’s original idea. Bruce was secretly very glad it hadn’t happened that way. It felt too… manufactured. It wasn’t like either of them at all. But only they knew that. And Bruce reveled in the knowledge that nobody knew the truth, that their engagement was still just theirs.

Well, if the engagement was theirs, the wedding certainly wasn’t.

All four parents (and Alfred) had dove head first into the planning. The Waynes and Kents had already known about the intent to propose, Clark having run the idea past his parents multiple times to reassure himself, and he had been a proper gentleman by asking the Wayne’s permission to marry their son. If she hadn’t been before, Martha was now completely head over heels for Clark after his nervous inquiry.

Which then led to the actual meeting between the Marthas and neither Clark nor Bruce had been safe since. They got on like a house on fire, as did the fathers of the grooms, but the pure uncontained energy that had burst from Martha Wayne and Martha Kent combined was unlike anything Wayne Manor, or even Gotham had experienced before. If people hadn’t heard of the engagement when it had made headlines as soon as Bruce and Clark had returned, then they probably did now. Almost every single business in Gotham had been roped in or experimented with or offered advice. It wasn’t just Clark and Bruce getting married anymore. It was a union between families and cities.

They’d decided on Gotham over Metropolis or Kansas due to the hosting abilities. Thomas and Martha had insisted that they get married in Wayne Manor; it was practically a tradition for all Waynes to get married in the stately home. And with the amount of guests flying in and staying, well, everyone agreed that Smallville wouldn’t have survived a weekend of the mess that was happening.

Not that the wedding was a mess mess, it was just… a lot. Alfred had interviewed every wedding planner in the city before settling on doing it himself, which had now resulted in the colours of the wedding being black and blue. Well, it seems like a simple colour scheme but Bruce wishes he could return to a time when he didn’t know the differences between Oxford and Yale blue. Or that different fabrics change how a colour can be perceived. Or that ‘No Master Bruce, the aisle can’t be black, it’ll overwhelm the seat cushions.’

And then there was the peculiar case of Thomas Wayne. Bruce’s father had always been a passive man. For his job, he was surprisingly calm and stress free out of the scrubs or out the office. Bruce had seen him take a back seat to Martha many times over the years, allowing her to organise every gala they hosted and every dinner they presented. But not this time. He had gotten into more arguments with the catering staff than he’d ever disciplined Bruce throughout his childhood. The exact flavour of the cake was of utmost importance for some reason, and Bruce and Clark had sat through what felt like days of eating multiple different sponges. Everytime Bruce stopped by the manor to help with decorations or delegations, there would be a plate handed to him as soon as he stepped in the door and a tense Thomas Wayne waiting to see his reaction. So far, none of them had elicited precisely what he wanted apparently, and off he went storming into the kitchens once again.

Speaking of Wayne Manor, over the past few months it had become more like a building site. A revolving door of vans and cars trundled up and down the driveway. A castle worth of maids had been hired to clean every inch of the Manor, even rooms that would be locked on the day. The entrance hall was decked out in swaths of blue and black which changed position every time Bruce returned. People rushed around with flowers and chairs and one ridiculously sized disco-ball nobody could agree the placement for. A month out, the Kents had moved in permanently to help handle the stress, and Jonathan was often seen atop a ladder hanging something new up.

Bruce was introduced to people, and then more new people. Caterers and cleaners and a dethroned wedding planner. Wayne Manor hadn’t had this much life in it since… well since Bruce could remember. And while it had been fun at first, now Bruce was just over it. And what was about to send him over the edge was Clark and Martha’s stupidly nonsensical rule.

“Hello love!” Bruce called out, ducking to avoid a large table being transported into the dining room. He was barely a step into the manor and there was already a sea of workers and objects between them. Clark was standing with his back to him, chatting to Bruce’s mother and half obscured by the activity in the hall.

“Bruce!” Martha yelled, rushing over to him. Clark, in a move which should’ve been a surprise but after months of this game had become an annoyance, disappeared in a blur upstairs, but not before shooting a worried look over at Bruce. Bruce rolled his eyes, lucky that the several workers in the hall were all too pre-occupied with their duties.

As soon as his mother reached him, she was slapping his arm with an exasperated huff. “What have I told you about seeing Clark in his suit before the wedding?”

“Something about bad luck and superstitious curses?” Bruce sighed, still looking at the spot where Clark had been standing.

“You’re not taking this seriously, young man,” Martha scolded him, pointing a perfectly manicured nail into his chest.

“Oh come on mother, is it such a crime I want to see the man I’m about to marry in his suit?”

Martha let out a squeak of indignance, “Yes! And Clark agrees with me-”

“I’m sure he doesn’t-”

“I do actually,” A shy voice interrupted, Clark having appeared behind Bruce now dressed in jeans and his old superman top. The logo was flaking and the sides were bobbled due to its many washes, but for some reason Clark was holding on to it. “I don’t want to curse this wedding somehow.” A pink flush tinged Clark’s ears as he rubbed at his neck sheepishly

Bruce just let out a long-suffering sigh as he went to give Clark a peck on his cheek. “You two are taking a bit far though. Not even letting me in the store when Clark was getting fitted?”

“Well that’s because you were insisting on taking a peek and I was not going to allow that,” Martha said, beginning to stalk off towards the ballroom.

“Hello darlin’,” Clark greeted Bruce properly with a smile as he slung an arm around him and they went to follow Martha, trailing slowly. It was the first time Bruce had seen Clark in two days due to problems at work. He and Clark had, like the Kents, practically moved into Wayne Manor for the last few months, nobody questioning Clark’s commute. And Bruce had got caught up in a meeting yesterday that ran on so he stayed the night in Metropolis. Clark was perfectly comfortable staying in the Manor without Bruce, and it was the most he had seen of his parents since he moved out for university. So despite the mess, there were good things emerging from the collateral.

“Hello love, how’s your day been?” Bruce asked, snaking his own arm around Clark's hips and sagging into him slightly.

“Stressful, as always,” Clark chuckled, “but your ma and my ma have decided that’s the suits perfectly tailored now, so there’ll be no more opportunities for you to sneak a look.”

“You mean no more instances of me accidently walking in on you and you freaking out,” Bruce grumbled.

“Come see come sah, or whatever the French say,” Clark mumbled out as Bruce laughed at his horrendous pronunciation. You can take the boy out of Kansas-

“Comme ci comme ça, I think is what they sAY HEY,” Bruce squeezed Clark’s hip jokingly, a mistake. He yelped as Clark jabbed a hand at Bruce’s waist, tickling him. Bruce quickly wormed his way out of Clark’s hold on him, darting into the ballroom just behind his mother.

“Oi you!” Clark barked out after, laughing hard as he raced into the grand room behind Bruce. There were several circular tables with lacey, white table cloths adorning them, and Bruce scurried between them in his attempt to outrun Clark. Luckily, due to the prying eyes of the servants, Clark couldn’t use his super speed or flight to cheat so they ended up circling a central table like two predators waiting to pounce. Bruce had his hands raised, arms clenched waiting for a fight.

“Now boys, really?” Martha chided, straightening out her hairstyle that the two of them had messed up as they flew past her. “One wouldn’t be able to guess you were thirty vespertilio.”

Clark immediately backed off, face flushing with red as he mumbled out an apology to Bruce’s mother. Ever the bleeding heart he was. Bruce on the other hand decided to keep a wary eye on his fiancé as the three of them congregated at a large whiteboard commanding one corner of the room. Right, the reason Bruce was here. The seating plan.

With the amount of guests coming for both the ceremony and the reception, the seating chart was a complex battle plan of who could possibly start a fight, who would be absolutely miserable (the desired outcome in some cases), and who would have to put up with sitting next to Bruce’s grandmother.

And there were just so many tables.

And for some reason Bruce and Clark had to approve every iteration of it that Martha made, although Bruce could hardly care less. The top table had him and Clark, their best men (or woman in Clark’s case), their parents and a few of the respective groom parties. All Bruce cared was that he would be next to his soon-to-be husband.

But it was apparently important, so Clark, Bruce, and Martha had designated an entire afternoon to finally sorting this out once and for all. Which they endeavoured on valiantly. Two hours later and Bruce’s head was swimming with names and relationships and small scandals his mother had insisted happened so two certain people couldn’t even be on the same table.

Clark’s relatives were the easiest, as they seemed to like everyone and anyone so they were figured out quickly with a slight bit of input from Martha Kent who was off to micro-manage the aisle decorations. Then it all spiralled downhill from there. Ronnie couldn’t sit next to Summer. Leslie couldn’t sit next to Jack. Kate insisted she sit next to Renee who in turn had insisted she couldn’t sit next to Kate. There were some weird relationship things going on there. All in all, to Bruce it felt like an eternity of hell, and by the three hour mark his head was spinning.

“Right, fine. That’s everyone, yeah?” He collapsed into a chair, eyes bloodshot and sore.

Martha made an uncertain sound, “Hmn, I’m not sure we should split Bullock and Gordon, it seems no one else can put up with Harvey’s, er, personality.”

“But Harvey’s up next to me?” Bruce’s head was starting to get to him.

“The other one dear.”

“Oh.”

“Wait, what's this?” Clark spoke up for the first time in a while, pointing to a table far away from the head one. “We have empty seats here.”

“No that's for-” Bruce interjected, the headache swirling through his mind as he looked up. Oliver and Dianh were at a table with a few others from their boarding school days (minus a certain Lex) and then there were five empty seats. What- who was that for? “I, ah…”

Clark simply chuckled as he leant down and pressed a soothing kiss to Bruce’s temple. “I think it’s all getting a bit much Martha.”

Bruce’s mother, gaze still intently focussed on the chart, waved them away distractedly.

“Oh that’s alright boys, I think if we simply switch Mr Drake and his wife over to that table along with Miss Gleeson… yes! Perfect!” Martha swooned with delight as she swapped a couple name tags over. “Thank you, you two were such a good help.” There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm in her voice as she stood back to admire her handiwork, of which Bruce and Clark had admittedly contributed little too except being shot down over suggestions.

“Oh great! I actually need to discuss something with Bruce concerning… the cake,” Clark said, helping Bruce to his feet. Bruce shot him a look of panic, not exactly in the mood to discuss inane cake flavours with his father for thirty minutes again.

“That’s great dear. I’ll have your mother look over this once more and then we’ll be done with it forever!” Martha crowed as she swept out the large doors dramatically after kisses to Bruce and Clark’s cheeks.

“Please God do not ask me to taste even more cake samples,” Bruce moaned, the pain in his head starting to dissipate a little without the stress of seating charts infecting it anymore.

Clark chuckled, slipping his hand into Bruce's as he pulled him towards the door, “That was an excuse darlin’, I know the signs of when you’ve got a migraine starting so I thought I’d get us outta there quickly. Do you wanna grab anything before we go up to bed?”

Sometimes Bruce was very glad Clark knew him too well.

“A glass of water would be nice, along with every type of medication you can find,” Bruce smiled at Clark. He really was perfect.

“Okay, I’ll get all those quickly and meet you upstairs, okay?” Another press to Bruce’s temple and Clark was off running across the manor. Bruce couldn't help the fond expression on his face as he made his way up to their bedroom. Bruce’s old bedroom.

The curtains had been flung open this morning courtesy of Clark liking to rise with the sun, so Bruce slowly made his way round the room drawing them all closed. He didn’t even bother to change as he climbed into his old bed and made himself comfortable, just as Clark entered with everything Bruce had asked for, and a cold pack.

“Here you go B,” Clark perched on the edge of the bed, feeding Bruce the pills. It felt a bit ridiculous but Bruce secretly liked being taken care of like this. By Superman. If only the world knew what their hero got up to in his spare time.

His eyes closed on their own, and it wasn’t until the other side of the bed dipped that he opened them again.

“What are you doing?” He croaked out, every sound starting to stab at his head.

“Taking a nap with my fiancé, what does it look like?”

“You don’t need to-”

“No I don’t,” Clark replied softly, “But I want to. So scooch over lover.”

Bruce huffed. “Don’t ever call me that again,” But he turned onto his side and allowed Clark to spoon him anyway.

“Spoilsport.”

“I love you too.”

...- - -...

Clark found Bruce sitting in his spot on the roof of Wayne Manor.

They were officially only two weeks away from the wedding. Seven months of planning were about to pay off in precisely two weeks. Bruce was going to marry the love of his life in two weeks. And he was having doubts.

It was all becoming too much for Bruce. The wedding had turned into a complete spectacle. It was less about the marriage between Bruce and Clark, and more about being the event of the century. Aunts and uncles who just simply ‘had to come.’ Catering enough to feed families in Gotham for a year. Pre-parties and after-parties and receptions that had to happen. Bruce’s bachelor party had even been planned without any input from him. He was ‘kidnapped’ by his friends (and a few socialites he had only spoken to a handful of times) carted off to Greece on a private plan and got black-out drunk for three nights in a row. Not that he didn’t enjoy himself, it just wasn’t what he would’ve chosen.

Clark’s, on the other hand, had sounded great. He’d gone back home for his, bringing friends from the Daily Planet with him, and had a weekend in Smallville with people he actually cared about. Drinking in familiar bars, reminiscing on the streets with people he’d grown up with. Clark told Bruce that Lana organised a proper rodeo ride and they’d spent half the night trying to buck Clark off the damn bull. He’d had a great weekend.

But it wasn’t just the bachelor parties Bruce felt he had no control over. Not a single part of the wedding had been his idea. The venue, the date, the theme. The only thing Bruce had been allowed to choose was his own damn suit, and that was because he physically had to be there to try it on. He loved his parents and the Kents dearly, but they had involved Bruce and Clark into so many decisions when their minds had clearly already been made up. The colour scheme was always going to be black and blue. The cake was always going to be saffron and pistachio. His great-uncle Silas was always going to be invited. Bruce needed a break from it all. From the table presents and dietary restrictions. From the flower arrangements and rehearsals. From the wedding itself.

Some days he wished he could just whisk Clark away to a court house and marry him quickly without any parents or prying eyes or scandals surrounding their union. But that wasn’t what the heir to the Wayne fortune deserved. No. Bruce Wayne needed orchestras and doves and rice. He needed socialites and colleagues and acquaintances in attendance. He needed people to be fighting over just an invitation to the reception.

He wanted some peace and quiet.

So Bruce had swung himself onto the roof for some air. The cool October air nipped at his nose; the red and oranges of autumn washing the grounds of Wayne Manor in a golden hue. Bruce tightened his arms around his legs, preserving his body heat as he revelled in his secret hiding place; a place where no one would find and harass him about whether he preferred chrysanthemums or delphiniums or another plant that he thought was made up. Well, no one, except for one.

“You okay B?” Clark asked, floating down next to him. Bruce shifted so his fiancé could slot in next to him comfortably, Clark being the only person he could allow within ten metres of his being currently.

Bruce just hummed in response, continuing to stare out into the grounds surrounding Wayne Manor, still curled up. Clark took that for what it was. A response, but not an invitation for conversation. So Clark lowered himself next to Bruce so they were touching ankle to arm, resting his head on Bruce's shoulder. He stayed silent, grabbing at Bruce’s hand so he could massage his palm.

The gentle circles soothed Bruce immediately as they breathed in the serene atmosphere as one. Clark was like a warm fire next to him, heating up Bruce’s side and arm in minutes. Why couldn’t the wedding just be like this? Just be the two of them? Up here, in their spot of serenity. Bruce could feel himself getting worked up again at the thought, the anger simmering up inside of him. The silence had stretched on for just long enough that Bruce was becoming restless; and Clark must’ve sensed it.

“What’re ya thinking?” He asked, voice still light and hopeful even after these past seven months.

“Don’t plan a wedding in half a year,” Bruce tried for a joke to avoid actually talking.

“I’ll remember that for next time,” Clark chuckled softly as Bruce returned to his ponderings in silence, not even turning to him. He could see Clark looking at him with a knowing smile out the corners of his eyes however. “Now, what’re ya actually thinking?”

Sometimes Bruce wasn’t happy Clark knew him this well.

“It’s just… sometimes I think we should just call this whole wedding off,” Bruce answered honestly.

Clark stared at him, confusion mixing with sorrow.

“What?” His voice was desperately broken, and Bruce kicked himself at his wrong word choice.

“Not-” He sighed, rubbing at his face to try and organise his thoughts. “Not us getting married. Of course I want that. I want nothing more than that,” Bruce finally looked at Clark with a sad, fond smile. “Just this whole... fanfare around it. It’s too much for me somedays.”

Clark thankfully relaxed and let out a low laugh, the sound rumbling through Bruce’s body. “Yeah, I get what you mean. It’s been spun into this whole… thing, hasn’t it?”

“Hmn,” Bruce grunted out in response, head slumping down to rest on Clark’s shoulder, “I mean, your proposal was perfect; why can’t this wedding be as well?”

Clark took a second to mull the question over before answering. “Well, you have to remember that we’re both only children – this is the only time our parents will ever see their children marry. We’ll unfortunately just have to let them have their way this time. But I already have plans to get them back someday, don’t you worry.” He placated with a teasing smile as the realisation dawned on Bruce.

What an odd coincidence that was. Two only children getting together. Bruce hadn't thought about the implications of this being the only time his parents would witness their child getting married, much less the Kent’s also experiencing this. It made the over-bearing parents act make more sense though. This was the biggest event his mother would ever plan, no charity gala would ever be able to match it. His father was witnessing the heir to his bloodline inexplicably and legally introduce a new family member to the Wayne lineage. Bruce would have to spend more time with Martha and Jonathan during the rest of the planning process, to make sure they benefitted fully before he became their son-in-law.

Children were… complicated. Bruce’s soul was drawn to that conclusion already. They were demanding and reckless and completely out of his control, but they were also the best thing that could’ve happened to Bruce- will happen to Bruce. Hopefully.

“Have you-“ the thought was ripped out of Bruce before he could stop it. “Have you ever thought about having kids?”

The silence reached out around them, Bruce immediately regretting bringing the topic up while they were in the throes of wedding stress. Clark stayed quiet for a lot longer than he had before. The answer came as a whisper into the night.

“Some day, yeah, I think I’d like to raise a kid. But not- not while I’m still Superman,” Clark murmured into the calmness surrounding them. Bruce kept his head on Clark’s shoulder completely still. “I don’t want to be an absent dad. One who misses their first steps or graduation because I’m needed elsewhere. Or worse, if I wouldn’t physically want to be anywhere other than right there with my family and I- I start slacking on actually helping people to be with you two all the time… I think the guilt would get to me.”

Bruce turned his hand over so he and Clark were holding hands, intertwining their fingers together tightly.

“I guess little Cassie will just have to wait then.”

“Cassie?”

“Mmhm,” Bruce was refusing to look at Clark as he felt his face heat up, “Or Damien for a boy.”

Clark laughed as he squeezed Bruce’s hand, “I’ve always liked something more old fashioned. Like my old man’s name: Jonathan. Or just John.”

“You can’t name a child John.”

“Why not?”

“It sounds like an old man's name, love.” Bruce shot back in a deadpan voice. “Have you ever met anyone under the age of forty called ‘John’?”

“Well we could spell it in a hip cool way!” Clark exclaimed.

Bruce shot Clark an unimpressed glare, “A ‘hip cool’ way?”

“Yeah! Like J-O-N or something.”

“Hmn, I'm still not convinced,” Bruce feigned uncertainty, feeling much lighter than he had when he had first decided to come up here. Than he had in about seven months. “Well, there’s one way we can fix this.”

“And that is…?” Clark trailed off with a smile.

“We’ll just have to have lots of kids and name them everything under the sun,” Bruce joked and he felt Clark laughing against him.

A kiss was pressed to the top of his head, “As long as we’re together, we can handle anything. Including this wedding you know.”

Bruce hummed happily, “I know, thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too darlin’.”

...- - -...

Bruce Wayne married Clark Kent at precisely two in the afternoon on the twenty-eighth of October. It was like a dream to Bruce as he practically floated through the day. Every scheduled event, every script went perfectly, and Clark didn’t step on Bruce once during their first dance.

I can’t believe this is real, Bruce had thought to himself as he had kissed Clark at the altar.

Now he was standing on the roof, in their spot, gazing absentmindedly at the sunset. Typical, for Bruce to get overwhelmed at his own wedding, despite everything going exactly according to plan. Every seat had been filled, every meal had been served on time, every song played at their reception was perfectly intertwined with a step in Bruce and Clark’s relationship. Even the amount of guests had ended up being manageable. Throughout the whole night it just felt like it was only Bruce and Clark. And that was the only thing that had mattered.

As people mingled in between dinner and dessert, Selina managed to pull Bruce away for a second at the top table, cornering him with the help of Harvey.

“My own best man conspiring against me?” Bruce had joked as they jumped him.

“You have the rest of your life to spend with Clark,” Harvey grinned, “you can spare one minute of your wedding night for your best friends.”

“Oh what a shame, you must’ve forgotten the two-minute speeches you each gave which embarrassed me in front of half of polite society and my parents for which I am currently punishing you for.”

Selina rolled her eyes playfully, “What else are we supposed to do at your wedding? Apart from outshining you at the altar of course.”

“That’s why Harvey is my best man and not you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, kitten.”

“Anyway, we just wanted one moment of your time before Mr Kent sweeps you off your feet permanently to give you this,” Harvey held out a flat box, blue velvet, which Bruce took gingerly. Knowing these two it could well be another way to humiliate Bruce at his own wedding.

“Open it up silly, this is a rare moment of kindness from the two of us,” Selina chided with a smirk.

Opening the box revealed a photo in a horrendously opulent frame, obviously Selina’s idea. The photo itself was- well it was…

Physically, it was a photo of Bruce and Clark at a dinner date. They were centred but in the background of the composition, as the left and right were occupied by Harvey and Selina making stupid faces to the camera, mocking the looks Bruce and Clark were giving one another. Looks of just… pure love. Clark was gazing at Bruce like he had hung the moon for him, smile wide and bright and hands mid-air like he was in the middle of explaining something. Bruce was even worse. He had his head propped up on his hand, tilted and lazy like the way he admired art. His eyes were soft, the wrinkles from frowning at his job all day gone, and he was smiling gently. The way only Clark got to see.

It was sappy and heart-warming and romantic and-

“Did you guys stalk us on a date?” Bruce realised, ripping himself from the memory he had forgotten about.

Instead of flushed faces and stammering one expects when you catch your friends doing something stupid, Harvey and Selina were wearing matching grins; sly and villainous.

“That was your first public date. We were making sure Clark was as innocent as he seemed. And good thing for him, he was,” Selina shrugged nonchalantly.

Harvey cocked an eyebrow as Bruce’s incredulous gaze turned to him. “You deserve nothing less than the best Bruce. Congrats. He’s one hell of a guy.”

Bruce gripped the frame tightly as he forced down the flood of emotions crashing into him.

“Thank you guys. This is lovely,” He managed out, bringing the two of them in for a hug. “Even if it is very creepy.”

“Eh, we could have done worse,” Selina purred as she was released.

“Much worse,” Harvey agreed happily as the three of them returned to the party.

So yes, the night had turned out perfectly, events both planned and unplanned. And yet a few hours into the reception, Bruce couldn't suppress the feelings that had started with that gift-giving. So he found himself on the roof of Wayne Manor once again. It was all becoming too much very suddenly. Not that it was bad just… just a lot. He had just married the love of his life: Superman, Kal-El, Clark Kent. It was perfect, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that-

“I thought I might find you here,” Clark spoke into the silence.

Bruce turned to see his fiancé- his husband. floating down to him with a smile on his face, one Bruce couldn’t help but mirror as he turned to face the sunset and felt Clark’s arms enveloping him from behind. He sagged back into Clark as they stood in a comfortable, happy silence overlooking the gardens of Wayne Manor. Their soon-to-be home. Where they had got married. Where they would grow old.

Bruce turned after what could’ve been minutes or hours to look at Clark.

“Hello husband,” Bruce grinned.

“Hello husband,” Clark smiled back as he brought their foreheads together. His eye contact was reassuringly intense as he stared at Bruce, eyes roaming over his face with a fond smile. “I’m so glad I met you.”

Bruce felt his grin widen uncontrollably, “I’m so glad you were punched into that building and I was almost squashed.”

“But I saved you,” Clark reminded him.

“Yes,” The wonder Bruce had been holding for Clark in that moment slipped away to something more serious, something earnest and desperate, as Bruce raised a hand up to cup Clark’s cheek. “You saved my life, Clark Kent.”

Clark’s arms tightened around Bruce’s waist, “And you saved mine.”

Suddenly, Clark swept them up into the air dramatically so they were hovering over the roof of Wayne Manor. Bruce, as always, was holding on for dear life, even though Clark had never let even a millimetre of Bruce slip away from him in all these years.

“Do you want me to file for divorce already?” Bruce had to restrain himself from yelling at Clark. Annoyingly, but unsurprisingly, Clark just laughed and replied by crushing his lips against Bruce's.

And although Bruce would complain every time, these were his favourite kisses, when it was just them. When it could only be them. His hands wound into Clark’s hair, moving his head so Bruce could get a better angle. Clark tasted like saffron cake and champagne and dreams.

They stayed up there until even the space heater properties of Clark’s body could no longer keep the chill away from Bruce. He eventually flew them back to the penthouse in Metropolis, leaving their own reception without so much as a wave goodbye. But that didn’t matter. All that mattered tonight, all that would ever matter to Bruce, was Clark.

...- - -...

“I don’t care how much money we’ll lose. I won’t have Wayne Enterprises involved in an operation that destroys a rain forest,” Bruce stood from his chair sharply, pointing his finger at the head of the pharmaceuticals division. “Shut it down or you're gone. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting I was supposed to attend before this one ran over.”

He was out the door before he had the opportunity to sock the man in the face.

“Everything alright Bruce?” Lucius Fox was clearly trying to hide his amusement, “I was just coming to tell you your three o’clock cancelled.”

“Well I’m not going back in there. One of my directors made a deal with a slash-and-burn outfit in the Amazon,” Bruce grumbled as he and Lucius began the trek back to Bruce’s office instead. “I hate it when things slip by me.”

“Your father would be proud, Wayne,” Lucius slid a small smile Bruce’s way. “As am I. You’ll do great things with Wayne Enterprises.”

Bruce clapped Lucius’ shoulder appreciatively, “Only because you’ll be there with me.”

“I just run it in your absence, for example – your honeymoon,” Lucius chuckled, “I heard from your father that you had a good time?”

“Yeah,” Bruce felt himself smiling softly, idiotically really. “It was fantastic. We don’t get away much due to our jobs so it was a nice break for the two of us.” The last time had been the vacation where Bruce had come back engaged.

“You two managed to keep it very under wraps,” Lucius commented lightly. “Not even a blurry picture of it came out. That must be a first for you.”

Bruce smirked, “I rented an island. Surprisingly, it was a lot cheaper than I thought.”

Fox seemed to be choking on air, “You youngins and your carefree spending. You have a business to run, you know.”

“And you run it very well,” Bruce grinned, a fondness fogging his mind as he thought about his month away with Clark. “God, I know you probably don’t want to hear this-”

“Wayne, please do not tell me anything of what you and Mr Kent did on your holiday.”

Bruce laughed jovially, sounding far too much like his father to his own ears, “Of course not. It just feels like we’ve perpetually been in, well, the ‘honeymoon phase’ since we got back. It’s been a month now, hell it’s been our entire relationship of just…” He trailed off, unsure of how much to divulge to Lucius. The old man just smiled and clapped Bruce on the shoulder.

“You deserve it Bruce, after your life. Don’t worry about it and just enjoy life with Mr Kent.”

Bruce furrowed his brows. After his life? It hadn’t exactly been a hard one fraught with tragedy.

Lucius’ eyes glanced at something over Bruce’s shoulder and he raised an eyebrow, “Speaking of…”

Bruce turned to find his husband standing chatting with his receptionist and holding an outrageously large bunch of flowers. It was an image they filled Bruce with immeasurable happiness. Clark was the first and only boyfriend to get approved by Dana, and she was instrumental in keeping their relationship a secret after confronting Bruce about it early on. But now Clark could just pop over whenever he wanted, and every employee at W.E and the Foundation knew exactly who he was.

Dana caught Bruce’s eyes which made Clark look over, and Bruce saw his smile get even wider, somehow, as he hastily said his goodbyes and came jogging over.

“I felt as if you’d need these today,” Clark beamed as he leant in to peck Bruce chastely. Bruce just reveled in the presence of his husband.

“How are you so perfect?” Bruce took the flowers out of Clark’s hand and found the man was also balancing two coffees with the other.

“You only think that because you’re married to me.”

It still set off the butterflies in Bruce’s stomach whenever Clark reminded him they were husbands.

“It’s why I married you-”

Fox cleared his throat to interrupt the cheese-fest Bruce came to realise was happening, and he felt awful for forgetting the man was there.

“Sorry Lucius I-”

“That’s okay Wayne, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Fox smiled, “Nice to see you again Mr Kent.”

“And you Mr Fox,” Clark smiled bashfully as Fox walked away.

“One of those for me?” Bruce teased as he looked back to the drinks Clark was holding.

That got Clark's glorious attention back onto Bruce, “Oh yes! Black with one molecule of sugar and one singular drop of milk, as always ,” he teased. Bruce rolled his eyes as he started towards his office doors.

“It’s the perfect amount, unlike that coffee flavoured milk you drink.”

A loud scoff echoed behind Bruce as he made his way over to his desk, though Clark’s response lacked any real heat. “Lattes are very popular, I’ll have you know.”

“And so are fanny packs,” Bruce bit back with a smile, placing the flowers into a vase, which had become a permanent fixture on his desk since they went public, “but that doesn’t mean they’re stylish. It’s just a testament to how many people happen to have horrible taste. In both senses.”

Clark laughed as he placed the drinks next to the flowers. “And you insist you’re not one of the snobby elite,” He smiled as he grabbed Bruce around the waist and sealed their lips together, using his strength to pull him in closer and crowd Bruce against the desk.

“Stop it! I’m actually trying to work here,” Bruce laughed in between kisses as he lightly tried to push Clark off him.

“Really?” Clark’s grip was unrelenting as he kept mouthing at Bruce’s jaw, “I thought Lucius Fox ran this company.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know-” Bruce succumbed to Clark as he was cut off by a kiss, savouring in the taste of his husband. But he liked annoying Clark, so he started again as soon as the other man let up for air.

“I am actually head of the Foundation at the moment, Lucius runs Enterprises with my father-”

Clark shut him up with a short kiss, “Please stop talking about Mr Fox while I’m kissing you.” Another kiss.

“You married me,” Bruce managed out as he came up for air. All he got in reply was a hum as Clark pulled him back, his hands travelling down Bruce’s waist to his thighs and hoisting him onto the table.

“Yes, I did,” He murmured out, lips travelling down Bruce’s face to neck as Bruce gasped out in pleasure.

If this was married life then Bruce could get very, very used to it.

Chapter Text

Bruce was at the scene of the crime before the news had even finished its segment.

He had been working through emails in his office (an hour to himself before being thrown back into meetings for the rest of the afternoon) and as per tradition had his small television set tuned to the news channel covering Superman’s latest antics. It usually ranged from international affairs to guest-of-honour appearances in Metropolis, but Bruce liked to keep an eye on Clark to make sure he was safe.

Today was not one of those days.

Superman had been battling some kind of alien monster, a big red thing that slightly resembled a wingless dragon crossed with an axolotl. He was obviously trying not to harm it – Clark in all his kindness never wanted to harm anything unless it had malicious intent outwith him – which explained why he was going easy on it. Bruce normally admired Clark’s ability to hold back, but sometimes you just need to subdue the threat before it can harm people. And today the victim was Clark himself.

It should’ve been an easy fight considering the threats Superman had faced before, but even as the first punch landed, Bruce knew Lex had something to do with the strange beast. There was no instance of the alien entering the atmosphere or landing on Earth. And the way it looked… it was as if someone, an adult with no creativity, had thought up the most alien-looking thing they could. What really alerted Bruce to foul play however, was the sickly green colour of its horns. They weren’t just sparkling in the sun, they were physically glowing. Almost like-

Kryptonite.

Clark must realise, must feel his powers sapping ever with every moment he spends fighting the monster. But he’s still holding back. Bruce had completely neglected his work, eyes lasered onto the screen as his white-knuckled hands gripped onto his desk.

Come on Clark, just knock it out and leave it to the authorities for once. Please.

But no, the stupid idiot was still flying around, and Bruce could see him faltering more and more now, dropping several metres at a time.

Please my love, your powers are draining. Just blast this one guy and be done with it.

The alien was slowing down, but so was Superman. Bruce didn’t know what Clark’s plan was; to get it out of the city safely or maybe to knock it out without any bodily harm, but if he didn’t do something quick then he wouldn’t be around to do anything. Bruce watched as Superman shot into the sky, disappearing into the clouds and out of the news station's sight. With his sapped powers, and probable immense pain, it was a wonder he was even able to achieve that feat.

Then a dark spot reappeared, careering down towards the monster, superspeed assisted by Earth’s gravitational pull.

Finally, Bruce thought, he’s decided to just take this thing out for good.

Superman impacted with, what could be assumed as, the forehead of the beast. The collision created a sonic boom that rattled the windows in Bruce’s own office. In almost slow motion the alien toppled backwards, precisely into Metropolis’ largest public park which was thankfully empty. Superman had succeeded.

The breath Bruce released held all of his tension and stress as he sagged back into his chair. But there was still something wrong. Superman hadn’t reappeared, hadn’t gotten up and flown away immediately after the impact. That’s when the feed replayed, specifically zooming in on an unconscious blue blur slipping off the beast’s head during its fall. Just before the monster collided with the ground, its tail whipped around and batted Superman clean out the air and into the side of an office building. Glass and steel exploded into fireworks of material, as if they were celebrating as Superman slammed into the ground, and the debris buried him in his crater. Like he didn’t even need a funeral.

Bruce was out of his chair and in front of the make-shift grave before he knew what was going on. Clark had never suffered a defeat this bad in all his five years of being Superman. He always, always got right back up and offered the crowd a reassuring grin. He knew the importance of showing the world that Superman was alright as quickly as possible, of not broadcasting any weakness to his enemies. But in the time it had taken Bruce to sprint the few blocks to the rubble which was encasing Superman, there was still no sign of movement.

The police, who had already been on the scene, were quick in setting up a boundary line. Fending off the hoard of reporters and concerned citizens who all wanted a glimpse of Superman’s death. A few emergency vehicles helped the blockade, tending to people who had been caught up in the cross-fire. Thanks to Superman’s insufferable attentiveness, nobody had been seriously harmed.

Except for himself.

Bruce may have blacked out slightly during his sprint to the crime scene. He wasn’t sure he was fully conscious now, thoughts only occupied by one man. Clark. He pushed his way brashly to the front of the crowd, intending to start digging through the debris himself just for any knowledge that Clark was alive, that he was there. Clark please. He was stopped abruptly by a police officer holding him back. No please, Clark.

“Mr Wayne? Sir?” The woman was saying, concern lacing with the authority in her voice, “I’m sorry but you have to stay behind police lines. “

No, no that wasn’t right. He was- he was… Bruce was important. He should be let in. He’s one of the few people who needed to be there. He was more than Superman’s husband; he was… he was the goddamned Ba-

“Are- are you alright Mr Wayne?”

Her voice devolved into a high-pitched whirr. Was he alright? Was he alright? His husband had just fallen out of the sky and been slammed into the side of a building while under the influence of kryptonite. And Bruce wasn’t even allowed to be near him? He was being cooped up with the rest of the degenerates just trying to get a picture of the crushed man beneath those rocks. Clark wasn’t- he couldn’t- He wasn’t crushed, or mangled or anything. He was Superman. And Superman was always fine.

Always.

And he was always going to get back up. He will. He should’ve by now. Oh God, it had been far too long, there had to be some movement. Something, anything.

Bruce’s blood rushed to his ears as his hearing went. He was sure the officer in front of him was still talking, trying to calm him down, trying to get him to breathe properly. But he didn’t care. He needed Clark to get up dammit. He couldn’t leave Bruce. Not now. Not when he’d just promised to spend the rest of his life with Bruce. And he’d promised. It was a legally binding promise, and Clark knew that.

That bastard. He wasn’t dying now. He wasn’t leaving Bruce to deal with the world on his own. Bruce wasn’t sure he would be able to. Clark was his world. How was he supposed to go on without his sun by his side? His husband? Without waking up every morning to kind eyes waiting for him. Without soft touches and caresses as Bruce tries to get dressed. Without the smell of a home-cooked meal and happy lips greeting him when he comes home. Clark had managed to fill every part of Bruce’s life, but not by force, but because Bruce let him. Because he could trust him. Because he knew Clark would never, ever intentionally leave him. Not after what they’ve been through together. Their missions, their- their…

How would Bruce go on without the only person who can keep his shadows at bay; who had irreparably changed Bruce for the better; who made him into the good man he was today?

The darkness started to creep in now, blurring the edges of Bruce’s vision as he gripped onto the police office for support. She was strong, for being able to hold onto Bruce’s weight, and maybe he would’ve felt embarrassed if it wasn't for the world titling under his feet. He needed something to ground him. That something was currently trapped under ground, alone and broken.

Why wasn’t anybody digging him out? Why couldn’t he?

Then, as if he had heard Bruce’s pleas, a hand emerged from the rubble. Followed by another. Fingers gripped onto the loose debris, scrambling for a hold. Clark used the hold to leverage himself up, the heaviest rubble sliding off his back as he stumbled out of the man-made crater.

The relief wracked through Bruce, the fogginess of the shadows quickly replaced by the clear blurriness of tears forming in his eyes, allowing his vision to focus on the only thing that mattered: his husband.

Looking back, Bruce doesn’t know how he did it, even the cameras recording the moment don’t entirely grasp what moves Bruce pulled, but as the police woman was distracted calling for help, he managed to duck around her. Evading the other officers on his scamper up to Clark, he threw himself into his husband’s arms. He was alive. Clark gripped back just as tightly, whispering quiet ‘I’m sorry’s’ into Bruce’s hair. He was alive.

Just like Clark had promised – he would always come back for Bruce.

Bruce wrenched himself away from Clark just as harshly as he had embraced him, jabbing a finger to Clark’s chest and ignoring the fact it was currently covered by the yellow and red symbol.

“You idiot. You absolute moron. Don’t you ever scare me like that again!” Bruce all but screamed at him as he hastily wiped the cold tears from his face.

Infuriatingly, Clark just gazed back at him lovingly. Which forced, forced Bruce really, to grab his neck and pull him into a bruising kiss. Clark’s arms wrapped around Bruce so tightly, he wasn’t sure which of them was trying to suffocate the other. Clark tasted faintly of blood, but at that moment, Bruce didn’t care. Blood meant Clark was alive. Blood meant he was alive and had come back to Bruce.

He’s not sure how long they’ve been floating for, the sun having recharged Clark in the time they’ve been kissing, but Bruce only noticed after far too long.

He pulled back from Clark’s warm lips with a small shout, tightening his arms around Clark ten-fold. It’s probably something else Bruce will look back and be ashamed of – the duration of their kiss rather than the appropriate response to unknown flying – but right now all he cares about is that Clark is alive.

“I mean it you know,” Bruce ripped his eyes away from the ground to glare at his husband. “Don’t you ever think about dying on me like that.”

Clark’s eyes softened, a sad smile gracing his face.

“Never,” He pulled Bruce in for a searing kiss. “I will never leave you.”

...- - -...

NEWS REPORT: BRUCE WAYNE LOCKS LIPS WITH SUPERMAN

By Vicki Vale.

Yesterday, an unidentified alien emerged in Metropolis and started wreaking havoc across the city. Luckily for our sister-town, their resident hero Superman stepped in to save the day. But not without some noticeable casualties. The first was the Boy in Blue himself, who was unfortunately slapped into the side of an office building just as he defeated the large beast. Many at the time suspected they had just witnessed Superman’s death, however the man proved himself to be ‘super’ once more as he dramatically hauled himself out of the rubble relatively unharmed.

The second casualty however, was none other than Clark Kent, the very public new husband of Gotham City’s very own Bruce Wayne. However not in the traditional sense. Witnesses of the crime scene recalled Wayne pushing through the police line and sprinting up to Superman. Some reported that he looked very distraught himself, and was possibly crying. When he reached Superman, crowds watched as the two of them embraced before kissing passionately. So passionately in fact, that Superman carried them into the air, and flew the two of them away somewhere private.

There were unverified reports of Wayne and Superman being closer than would seem last year, with a few witnesses claiming they’d seen Superman at Wayne’s Metropolis penthouse several times, however there was never any photographic proof. Superman has saved Wayne on a number of occasions since Superman first appeared on the scene. So could these sightings be real? Could this affair have been happening during Kent’s courtship? How long have-

“Stop reading that, please.”

Bruce glanced up to see Clark pacing the floor of their living room once again. It seemed the man could not keep himself still for one second since the aftermath of their kiss had hit them head on. And Clark was invulnerable.

“I’m just trying to gauge public opinions.”

Clark scoffed dejectedly. “Walk outside and ask that giant crowd for yourself.”

It had been three days since the ‘slip’ as Bruce was calling it, and the two of them had been cooped up in the penthouse ever since. Clark had been told to stay home by an angry Lois who just wanted people to stop pushing their heads into affairs which weren’t their own, and a sympathetic Jimmy who Clark hoped wasn’t part of the crowd bad-mouthing Bruce.

Bruce on the other hand, had been herding calls from his company and his parents every minute of every hour for the past two days. And he was exhausted.

“Look, I’m the one who cheated Clark-”

“Yes but you didn’t cheat, that- that's the whole point!” Clark spluttered, hands waving frantically in the air.

Bruce sighed at their predicament, and at Clark’s… over-enthusiastic response to it. “Either I cheated or we’re getting a divorce-”

“That is definitely not happening.”

“Well then I cheated. You’re going to spend a couple months mad at me, we go dark for a bit, and then you forgive me and this will never happen again,” Bruce reasoned. It was the most plausible story to work without exposing Clark’s identity or having to actually break up.

Clark bit his lip as he finally stopped pacing. However this alternative was possibly worse as he just stared out the window emotionlessly.

“Sweetheart,” Bruce stood, slowly walking over as if he were approaching a volatile puppy. “What are you thinking?”

It was Clark's turn to sigh as he shook his head lightly. “It’s just… what if I don’t want us to hide this?”

“What are you talking about?” Bruce cocked his head as he circled into Clark’s view.

Clark looked at him, properly looked at him in the way only those other-worldly blue eyes could, which was ensconced in an expression that looked so conflicted. “Well first of all, I absolutely hate all the cheating allegations you have, and- and if we go through with your plan, that you’ll have for the rest of your life even though you didn’t cheat. I mean, the stuff they’re saying about you. To you...”

“I can handle it Clark,” Bruce couldn’t help the small smile at Clark’s concern for him as he reached out to grab his hand. “Besides, you and I know the truth. And I’ll tell you a secret, I’m pretty sure my husband is going to take me back after this scandal.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s right. Even your parents think you cheated, Bruce. Their only son.” Bruce went to refute that as well, but Clark stopped him with a stern look. “Don’t fight me on that. But that’s one half of the reason I suppose. I… I liked it, Bruce.”

“Liked… what exactly?”

“I liked kissing you as Superman. I liked that we didn’t have to hide our feelings. Or- not that we didn’t have to hide but that we didn’t care. About the crowds or the opinions or the backlash. It happened because it was us. I liked the rush of showing the world you were mine all over again, and having you be a part of that side of me once more. It almost felt like our first year together again, but better because then we could fly back here and I could help you cook and then pop out the door to my actual job the next morning. There was no more hiding anything.”

Bruce dropped Clark’s hand. “Clark, my love, if you’re thinking what I think you are-”

“I want to reveal my identity to the world.”

It was Bruce's turn to shake his head as he looked away from his husband, his heart dropping. “No. No, we’re not doing this just because you feel bad for me-”

“Did you not hear the second half of what I said?” Clark pleaded.

“Yes. And that’s- you’ve kept your identity a secret for so long to protect yourself and your loved ones. I will not let you ruin that just because of me,” Bruce forced himself to unclench his fists.

“I want to do it for me, Bruce. I’m already a high profile target after marrying you, and yet nothing bad has happened. My parents haven't got even one call home searching for some big gossip scoop. Everyone at work still treats me the same despite now technically being a multi-millionaire. And besides, the world already thinks you’re having an affair with Superman, which will put you on people’s radars. So what if they know we’re married? I promised to always protect you. And I will. And having you in every aspect of my life, public and private, would mean more than the world to me. And this hasn’t come out of nowhere, by the way, I have actually been thinking about it before and-”

“Fine.”

A stunned pause. “What?”

“Fine,” Bruce pinched his brow before turning to face his husband. “It’s your life Clark. I’m not going to be someone who tries to control you or tell you what to do in either of your identities. And if you’re sure about this, then there’s nothing I will say or do to stop you. But you have to be sure, Clark.”

The beam that lit up Clark’s face was assurance enough. “I’m sure. I am so sure about this, honey. I told my parents about it yesterday and they were okay with it and I also put it past Lois, because she’s just as cynical as you, and even she agreed eventually but of course I wasn’t going to do it without you being there by my side but, gosh Bruce I just love you so much.”

Clark swept Bruce up into a bone crushing hug, which Bruce returned eagerly, clinging onto Clark like a lifeline.

“You know this ruins the whole plan I had set out in my head. And it was a really great one too,” Bruce murmured into Clark’s ear.

“I’m sorry, but I think we both agree this is the better idea,” Clark squeezed him tightly, before easing off enough to look Bruce in the eyes.

Bruce smiled reassuringly. “We’ll see.”

Which is how he ended up on a small stage standing next to Clark Kent the two days later. It was thankfully a cloudless day as they stood just outside the Metropolis branch of the Wayne Foundation, and Bruce blamed the beads of sweat forming just above his collar on the heat and not the anticipation. He’d organised a small conference of most of the newspapers and stations from Metropolis, and even the Gazette from Gotham, through his PR, and everyone was at the edge of their seats for his statement.

The looks on their faces when it was instead Clark Kent who stepped up to the small podium with the microphone was priceless. It squealed a bit as Clark went to speak, and a hush fell over the room crowd immediately.

“As you all have probably seen, Bruce Wayne kissed Superman last week.” Clark spoke as the mild-mannered journalist, which Bruce knew was how he actually felt talking to large groups of people. “This has caused an outrage, generously, on my behalf as many people believe my husband cheated on me. This is, um, this is not the case.

Gasps broke through the silence everyone had been maintaining with an iron grip, and a few reporters rushed forward to ask follow up questions. Clark ignored them.

Bruce held his breath as Clark took one step backwards, and stole a glance at Bruce. He nodded reassuringly at his husband, which gave Clark the confidence to raise his hands to his shirt and rip it open. The House of El crest gleamed in the sunlight.

“I am Superman.”

All questions ceased as the crowd looked on in disbelief. And to prove his point, Clark threw his glasses to Bruce, bent his knees and took off into the air, performing a few of the tricks that Bruce loved to watch, though not be along for the ride for. Bruce hung on to Clark’s glasses like he had just caught the bouquet at a wedding, watching him spin and loop around in the air, and for good measure, shoot a laser beam into the sky where it was sure not to hit anything; from a bird to a plane. Clark landed back down a minute later, and despite having the Superman badge on show, he looked as nervous and fidgety as Clark Kent.

Bruce walked over immediately and grabbed Clark’s hand.

“Well done,” He leaned in and whispered into Clark’s ear, although his husband would’ve heard him regardless, “I’m so proud of you.”

Bruce pulled back and smiled at Clark, giving him a slight nod to respond to the reporters now practically clamouring over the barriers. “Time to face the masses,” Clark smiled back at him as they walked forward to face the interrogations together.

...- - -...

The world has known Clark Kent is Superman for six months. And, once again, everything was fine. Clark had asked people to respect both his superhero and civilian identities, to not probe into his personal life or family, and to continue with their lives as normal. And it, surprisingly, worked. Much the same as when they revealed their relationship to the world, nobody seemed to give a damn after a few weeks. The Kent Farm was left alone, Martha and Jonathan not receiving any calls, or even any unsavoury comments by the locals. Quite the opposite, with most people giving them a nod and choosing not to share their thoughts on the meek boy from Smallville the Kents had raised. Clark returned to work after a week off and, besides being taken off the Superman assignments and given a dressing down from Perry about the ethics, nobody chased him there for a scoop either. In fact, it made it easier for Clark to leave and attend emergencies. Although he still ran up to the roof (it’s a great launch pad) his coworkers no longer thought he had a permanent case of the runs.

Bruce was allowed to be more affectionate in public, which was incredibly easy when your husband is both Pulitzer-nominated writer Clark Kent as well as Superman. He gives the occasionally cheeky quote to the press about what it’s like dating the last Kryptonian, and he manages to sneak in a few lewd comments. He’s having fun after all. And if Clark punishes him for them later, well then Bruce isn’t complaining. And at Bruce's end, well, Luthor gives him the cold-shoulder at every meeting they have now, which is a gift to Bruce, and Oliver who tends to stay close at galas to reap the same benefit. No villains come after Bruce to get to Superman, to use him as a hostage or as bait. Well, they still come after him because he’s Bruce Wayne but that’s because of the generational wealth and the insanely famous part, not the Superman part. And even the kidnappings had lessened significantly since petty thieves now knew Superman was on high alert of Bruce’s location at any time. The pictures of them emerging from yet another crime scene usually make the front page, and are then forgotten just as quickly as the crime.

All in all, life is great. It's a perfect dream for Bruce Wayne.

Even Bruce’s current kidnapping doesn’t damper his mood. They even stole him just before an insanely boring bi-annual financial meeting with overseas investors was about to happen, so Bruce doesn’t have to sit through that anymore. It's the one meeting a year that puts him to sleep rather than ends with him arguing with old men about his company.

And, like before, they didn’t take him to get to Superman, but because they wanted ransom money, so Bruce isn’t scared. And he had his personal bodyguard on his way, it’s just a matter of time before Clark hears the strange code-sentence they thought up (a precaution so Bruce wouldn’t be saying Superman’s name out loud and alerting whomever was listening that Superman was on the way). Despite his many kidnappings before his, it was strangely familiar to one that always rests just on the edge of his mind. The one just before he and Clark shared their first kiss. He was bound much the same way, and thrown into the back of a nondescript white van with a loose gag in his mouth. Four men rushed in after him, shouting to the driver to ‘step on in’ as the tyres squealed away.

Bruce managed to wriggle his way into a seated position, the van having no seats in the back, and crossed his legs. His back was starting to complain after all this rough punishment. His hands itched with the anticipation that he could do something to get himself out of these very weak bonds, if only he had some type of tool to help him. An image flashed through his head of a yellow utility belt. Useless really. So instead, he focused on manoeuvring the cloth out of his mouth. It tasted disgusting; like soil and petrol and, was that sweat? Bruce spat it out quickly after that revelation and looked at his kidnappers.

The oldest only looked to be in his mid twenties, and the youngest, well, Bruce preferred not to think about whether he had graduated school yet. They were young and they were kidnapping Bruce for money – that much was obvious from his many escapades. There was a certain vibe when he knew he was being held for a ransom; or if he was merely being intimidated by certain businessmen; or whether, on one occasion, it had been bait for Superman, in which Bruce had resolutely refused to call on him.

But these four men, five including the driver, were young and inexperienced. And Bruce had been grabbed in Gotham, not Metropolis, which meant they were locals. Which meant he could help.

“Listen, I don’t know how much you were planning on asking for me, but I can guarantee you payments for the rest of your lives,” Bruce spoke into the silence.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” One of the young men spat out, as the others straightened with curiosity.

“You want to set us up for life?” The youngest one asked. Goddamn, his voice hadn’t even broken yet.

Bruce smiled in a manner which was probably a bit too cocky, but his own wording had set him up. “Well it’s called ‘getting a job,’ but I know how difficult that can be for people in your position. And how the ones you can get don’t actually pay you sufficient funds. I can.”

“Let me repeat my question. What. The fuck. Are you talking about.” He was trying to sound intimidating, but Bruce could hear the hint of hope that was laced in between his words. He wanted to know more. And Bruce wanted to help him. All of them.

“Come by Wayne Enterprises at two in the afternoon next Wednesday. Ask for Bruce Wayne at the reception and say you met me at the school fundraiser, which I’m hosting tomorrow by the way, and that I asked to speak with you privately. I’ll arrange a meeting so they know you’re coming. And we’ll figure something out,” Bruce looked each one in the eye as he spoke, making sure he got the message through to each and every one of them. “I want to help you.”

“Why?”

Bruce smiled fondly at that question. “Because I know your struggles, and I’m doing all I can to help my city and its inhabitants. Because I don’t believe people should turn to crime just to be able to live. And because I’m married to a man who makes a difference in the world through big actions, so I’m doing my best to match him with my own.”

The young men just stared at him as Bruce gauged their reactions. They were hesitant, as one would be when faced with an overly generous billionaire who is offering jobs while one is currently kidnapping him.

“Y’know, five years ago I was kidnapped by a group similar to you. Inexperienced, – no offence – young and just looking to make some money without really harming anyone. I didn’t know why they didn’t just get jobs back then, and it was those lads who educated me on the state of Gotham and it opened my rich, spoiled, pompous eyes to the real world,” That earned Bruce a small chuckle throughout the group. “You all know my situation, and I’ve been trying my best to get to know yours. I want to help you all. And by having a meeting with you, in more favourable circumstances, means we can figure out how to best utilise your skills and set you guys up in a system you like. My mother used to always tell me the age old saying ‘treat others how you’d like to be treated’ and I’m following through on that. I want to help you all.”

There was some more stunned silence before one of the younger members of the group cleared his throat awkwardly. “How did that meeting end?”

Bruce huffed out a laugh, “Unfortunately not as I’d hoped. Superman came busting in through the doors before I could figure out a game plan for the men and whisked me away, but I managed to track them down after I set up the new employability schemes a couple of years later and give them a second chance. For them and their families. And this goes for anyone you know who may be struggling. Wayne Enterprises prides itself on its fair pay, health insurance, and employee benefits.”

Most were nodding with agreeability (and maybe some respect) when the youngest, and now Bruce definitely knew he was a young teenager, piped up. “What’s Superman like?”

Bruce gave him a reassuring smile, “He’s a great hero, and a good man. Say, how old are you?”

The teen looked sceptically at the other men in the van before replying, “Sixteen.”

“Why aren’t you in school?” It wasn’t accusatory, but rather just curious on Bruce’s end.

“I, uh, I wasn’t the best kid. Never really got on with my teachers. Couldn’t sit still.”

Bruce nodded along. “Would you ever think about going to college? For something you liked?”

“Well, I’ve always liked art. And drawing,” he admitted, a faint red creeping up his face from what Bruce could see behind his mask.

“That’s great. Maybe we could talk about finishing your school years and perhaps scholarships for universities. Of course, I’ll need a few reference pictures but I’m sure they look great chum. And it goes for any of you other guys as well. You’re never too old to pursue a degree,” Bruce said as he started to fidget himself once again. “All of you, make sure to be at Wayne Enterprises at two p.m. on Wednesday, okay? I’m sure we can continue this conversation in actual chairs. But for now if you’d be so kind as to undo my bonds and let me out, I’m sure I can find my own way home.” He winked at the youngest, whose eyes filled with wonder at the insinuation.

There was a bit of a staring contest, and some hushed whispers with the driver, before they pulled over and opened the back door for Bruce. One man even held out a hand to help Bruce jump down off the back of the van, which was greatly appreciated. They were outside of Gotham now, actually not too far from the Manor, and surrounded by lots of trees. Bruce wondered where they had been taking him, but it didn’t matter now. As long as they could drive themselves back to Gotham for Wednesday.

“If you guys want to stick around for this, I suggest you cover your ears,” Bruce grinned as he walked a few metres away from the van and looked up into the sky.

“Apple pie is best baked at Christmas.”

Clark was standing in front of him before he even finished the sentence.

“Were you following me?” Bruce cocked his head.

His husband flushed slightly, which was still a sight to see in his Superman costume as he grabbed Bruce around the waist. “I was listening out for you. Your kidnapping is all over the news y’know.”

“I’d be disappointed if it wasn’t.” Bruce caught Clark eyeing his new friends over his shoulder. “Ransom case. They’re coming to W.E. later this week. Just some young lads.”

One last squint, which Bruce assumed was meant to be glare for kidnapping his husband, was aimed at the men before Clark leant in and whispered, “Hold on, I’m taking us home.”

“Between you and me,” Bruce sighed as he wrapped his arms around Clark’s neck firmly, “I hate flying.”

“But you love me,” Clark grinned haughtily, an expression he definitely learnt from Bruce, as the ground disappeared from between their feet and they left Bruce’s stomach somewhere far below them.

...- - -...

It’s been five days since Clark left for the Philippines, and Gotham had its first snow since summer yesterday. It’s Clark’s favourite day of the year: one where he wakes up with a child-like smile and forces Bruce to take the day off, both of them feigning illness, so they can so crunch through the fresh whiteness of it all. They get home in the late afternoon, bake something together or make dinner, and then sit down to watch ‘It’s a Wonderful Life.’ It’s their tradition. One year he even convinced Bruce’s mother and father to make snow angels in the back garden with them, as Alfred prepared them mulled wine (and some hot chocolate).

And this year he’d missed it. Dammit, Clark will be so bummed when he gets back. Watching the light snow fall outside the window of the study had Bruce's heart aching for his husband to come back soon and return some routine to his life. They’ve been apart for longer, but not in recent years and not by a disappearing act in the middle of the night. Clark had woken Bruce suddenly in their bed, whispered a quick apology and shot out the window before Bruce was fully awake. Such is the life of being married to Superman, but Bruce still misses his husband, especially on a day like today. The first snow of the year. A day where he has just received life changing news. And he could really use his partner right now.

Bruce is brought back to reality by Thomas clapping a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m proud of what you’ve achieved already with the Wayne Foundation, son, so this will be a walk in the park. Besides, like me, you’ll have Lucius Fox running half the business anyway,” the booming laughter of his father was almost enough to squash the niggle of doubt in his stomach.

“Thanks father,” Bruce replied, the smile on his face oddly tight. “I won’t let you, or our legacy, down.”

Thomas squeezed the hand on Bruce’s shoulder encouragingly. “Oh Bruce, you don’t ever have to worry about disappointing me. You’re my son. No matter what path you walk down, it will have been paved with your good judgement.”

The words were light-hearted, a reassurance he had heard since birth, but a sudden grief wracked though Bruce. A pain in his chest, his head, his heart. Hot tears threatened to form and Bruce felt his hands tremble. It took all he had to nod warmly at his father and not collapse onto the floor.

Suddenly, thankfully, a familiar voice echoed through the entrance hall.

“Thank you Alfred.” A muffled voice was heard through the door, “Martha invited me round for tea as soon as I finished up over there.”

Thomas noticed Bruce’s head snap towards the door and released his grip on Bruce. “C’mon chum, I think we have some interesting news to tell your mother and husband.”

They exchanged more small chat as they made their way towards the kitchen: mostly it was Thomas reassuring Bruce that he’ll make his parents proud no matter what. The ache in his chest had eased with Clark’s voice, but it was still pestering him. Reaching the kitchen, Bruce hardly had time to wave to Clark before he was engulfed in a big hug by his mother.

“Congratulations Brucie,” She kissed his cheek, probably leaving behind a very red stain, but Bruce found he didn’t mind. “It’s your time.” She then turned to Thomas and took him by the arm, “Let’s leave these two for a minute hmm?” And deftly steered Bruce’s father out the room without fuss.

Bruce was finally alone with his husband, who stood up from where he had been seated at the informal breakfast table and walked over to Bruce. The tension was thick enough that you could cut it with one of Alfred’s japanese knives. And it was all Bruce’s fault. By now he should be running into Clark’s arms and kissing ‘welcome home’ into his lips. But he couldn’t even bring himself to wrench his eyes away from the table top.

“Are you alright Bruce?” Clark asked, worry evident in the furrow of his eyebrows.

“I’m officially CEO of Wayne Enterprises starting next week,” he told Clark, finally looking up into his eyes.

Clark was silent for a few seconds before hauling Bruce into a tight hug and spinning him around happily. That was enough to propel Bruce back into the room and hug Clark back, a proper smile breaking out on his face since he had been told about his ‘promotion,’ and the pain in his chest dulling to nothing.

“Congrats honey! That’s amazing news!” Clark stopped spinning and dropped Bruce, only to pull him in for a kiss. “I’m so proud of you.”

His excitement was contagious, and Bruce wondered why he had ever felt any sense of wrongness in the situation. He has been preparing for this practically his whole life, and it was only right that his father be able to retire now. Bruce was ready to take on the weight of Wayne Enterprises at the ripe age of thirty one.

“Thanks love,” Bruce grinned when they pulled away, finding his hands cupping Clark’s jaw. “Although it would’ve been slightly more worrying if I didn’t get it.”

“Don’t let that nepotism fool you, you were obviously the best pick for the job,” Clark said, pulling Bruce in for another hug, this time far more stationary. “Well done.”

Bruce buried his head in Clark’s neck and breathed in the slight smell of ozone and earth that attaches itself to Clark's skin everytime he’s away on Superman business..

“You’re just saying that because you’re my husband,” Bruce’s words came out muffled, his breath hot against Clark’s skin.

“Shucks, I can’t believe you figured out my motives,” Clark’s laughter rumbled between them, before dying off slowly. “I missed you Bruce.”

Bruce pulled back, wiping the irksome tears from his eyes, “I missed you more.”

“Ha, I don’t think that's physically possible, not when I also missed that,” Clark cocked his head towards the window, white snowflakes still softly falling across the grounds of the manor.

“Well, that only made me miss you more, so I win,” Bruce grinned smugly as Clark tried to swat him over his head.

“You didn’t watch it without me did you?” The concern in his voice had Bruce melting all over again.

“What would you do if I did?”

Clark’s head whipped round to glare at Bruce, “I’m afraid I would have to divorce you.”

“A divorcee less than a year after marriage… imagine it. Good thing I only watch that film with my husband.”

“You… little minx. I can’t believe I ever missed you,” Clark sighed, pulling away from Bruce. “Guess I’ll go help Alfred bake my ma’s apple pie and then eat the entire thing myself.”

“What? You can’t do that to me!”

“Alfred!”

“No stop!”

“Al-”

“I’ll make a snow angel with you right now,” Bruce bargained. Clark gave him a pointed look as a response. “Fine, two. And you can cuddle me on the sofa.”

Clark smiled at that, “You secretly like being cuddled.”

“In front of court I will vehemently deny that.” Bruce retorted, crossing his arms. He was not a softy, no matter how he felt when being held by Clark’s strong arms.

“What about in front of the board of directors of your new company?” Clark was taking far too much delight in Bruce’s very new and not yet permanent position.

Bruce rolled his eyes, “Not mine yet technically. And they’re practically like facing the court system so yes.”

“Hmm, okay I accept your terms. As long as you ask Alfred to make that hot chocolate with the marshmallow snowmen,” Clark looped an arm around Bruce’s shoulders.

“Ask him yourself,” Bruce laughed as he tucked himself in next to Clark and they started heading towards the drawing room where his parents had escaped to.

“I’m too scared. I overheard him saying how much extra work it is once and I don’t want to annoy him.”

“Like you just annoyed me?”

“Yes but you signed up for this life with me,” Clark squeezed his arm around Bruce teasingly. “Plus you’re like a surrogate son to him.”

“I have a very alive father who just sequestered his company to me.”

“My point still stands darlin’.”

Bruce made sure to sigh very dramatically, “Fine yes. I agree to your terms, but we cut out a snow angel.”

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

And they sealed it with a kiss just outside the door to the drawing room, the bright light of the room spilling out into the dim hallway.

“I bet I’ll have a dream about freezing my ass off tonight because of you,” Bruce couldn’t help but quip as Clark pulled away.

Clark shook his head exasperatedly, “At least I’ll be there to protect you.”

“My knight in shining armour, even in my dreams.”

“Always.”

Chapter Text

Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent moved into Wayne Manor four years ago. Bruce can’t tell Clark is still in, well, either awe or denial at his life a decade into dating Bruce Wayne. Bruce still can’t believe this is his life dating Superman.

It’s so easy for them. Now there’s no hiding anything from each other or the public. Now Bruce is finally back in his city, properly home with the love of his life at his side, looking after his historic childhood home.

Martha and Thomas decided they wanted a bit of a downgrade: downgrade meaning a five-bedroom country estate with ten acres of land and a lake, just down the road from Wayne Manor. But the two of them decided that was how they wanted to spend out their retirement, with Martha now only being a five minute journey to Gotham instead of twenty, and Thomas having three golf courses in the immediate vicinity (one of which was practically built by him). And they weren’t ever gone from the Manor too long anyway. In fact, sometimes it was hard to believe they didn’t live here anymore, with Martha coming round to check on her rose garden every few days, and Bruce’s father borrowing yet another book he’d forgotten in his study. Bruce had protested the move for an entire year, fighting back against his parents wishes and convincing them they was fine in the penthouse, but they had been resolute that now Bruce and Clark were married, and Bruce was the head of the family company, that he move into his rightful place and be closer to Gotham.

So six years after they had met, two years after they had gotten married, and one year after Bruce had taken over Wayne Enterprises, Bruce and Clark officially crossed the threshold and moved in together to their forever home. Well, that is until their own kids will rise through the ranks and Bruce and Clark will be relegated to the lake-house like his parents before him.

Not that kids were on the scene yet. They’d talked about it a lot, obviously, but with Bruce’s new tentative position, and Clark still spending half his days flying around the world to help people, neither of them felt quite ready to commit to it in their current situation. Bruce could feel it though, the rising anticipation from his parents and the household staff to bring another Wayne heir to the manor. And even on Clark’s side, the man was made to be a father, and the Kents grandparents. And he wanted it to happen. Desperately. There was just a… the smallest ever really- worm of a black hole pestering at his mind. Like it wouldn’t be right, it wouldn’t be their child. Of course they’d either have to adopt or get a surrogate, but that wasn't the reason for the doubt. Bruce was sure he would love any child, biologically related or not to him. It was just… like they wouldn’t find the right child. Like they had already slipped through their fingers.

He was interrupted by Clark shifting next to him, and the pair of arms around him tightening. Clark inhaled, like he did every morning, like he could identify Bruce just from his smell, and breathed warm kisses into the back of Bruce’s neck.

Bruce craned his head round to try and glare at the action, but it unfortunately felt a lot softer than his signature look. “I see you’re finally up. The alarm only went off five minutes ago.”

Clark squeezed Bruce even closer to him as he grumbled, “Then why didn’t you get out of bed?”

“Because an incredibly strong alien has trapped me in his arms, and I couldn’t escape if I wanted to.”

“If you wanted to huh?” Bruce could feel the smile against the nape of his neck.

“And I do.”

“On you go then,” Clark dropped his arms completely at that, and Bruce was finally free.

He found he didn’t actually want to move though.

“Hey!” Clark laughed, finally sounding awake as Bruce twisted around and wrapped his own arms around Clark, who was now lying on his back.

A hand found Bruce’s hair, just where the baby hairs ended around his ears, and stroked soothingly as Bruce sagged completely into his husband.

“And you're the one who complains about me never being on time,” Clark muttered lightly, fingers moving to massage the rest of his skull.

Bruce sighed. “That’s because you usually wake up ten minutes before you’re supposed to leave and fly around at super speed to get everything done. All I get is a quick kiss before you disappear out the door every morning.” He was definitely not pouting.

“Come one then,” Clark said.

“What?”

“You want a proper morning with me again, then let's start it today.”

Bruce felt his face heat up “I didn’t mean- you don’t do it every day but-”

“Nuh uh, you implied it so I’m doing it,” Clark teased, moving to get up. “Your wish is my command, good sir.”

And with that Bruce was hauled up onto his feet and practically herded into their en-suite bathroom (if it could be called that, it was the second biggest bathroom in the entire manor). He had been slightly dramatic in his comments, Clark had only started sleeping in in the past month or so due to a big case at work he and Lois were about to crack, but to Bruce it had still felt like an eternity.

Now they stood, Clark in a pair of black and yellow briefs and Bruce in a large, unbuttoned shirt, courtesy of Clark popping it open last night to ‘cuddle in closer’ as he had put it (Bruce knew he secretly had a thing for Bruce’s chest), side by side in front of the mirror, Clark bumping his hip against Bruce occasionally as they brushed their teeth. Clark still used the Superman themed toothbrush Bruce had bought him as a joke present for his birthday two years ago, and Bruce was one hundred percent sure that it was ‘out of date’ as the dentists put it. Not that Clark’s teeth would ever rot.

As soon as Bruce had spit out his toothpaste, he was being manhandled into a sloppy kiss, large hands on his waist keeping him in place. Fuck he had missed this, Bruce thought, as he looped his arms around Clark’s neck, toothbrush still in one hand, and pulled him in closer. A few minutes later, when Clark’s hands wandered down Bruce’s sides to his ass, Bruce pushed away with a small slap to Clark’s hands and a grin, and sauntered into the bedroom to get changed.

One of the maids must’ve come in while they were fooling around in the bathroom, as the bed had been remade and all the heavy curtains had been drawn back to reveal the warm morning sunlight. Clark was practically glowing as he stepped in front of the windows and stretched dramatically. It's not like there was anyone to see him like this for miles anyway.

Bruce looked out a clean vest and shirt for the two of them as Clark joined him in the walk-in-wardrobe to rifle through the selection of trousers. Comparing colours and fits against the other, the two of them settled on a suit each, Clark’s far more casual than Bruce's, and danced around one another as they got dressed. Bruce stifled a laugh at Clark who almost fell over trying to put his trousers on, and ended up with his head hovering a few inches off the ground as he turned himself upside down to allow gravity to assist him.

“My love,” He settled for instead, “have you seen the cufflinks you gave me for our bronze anniversary?”

“Which one was that again?” Clark righted himself and went about tucking his shirt in.

Bruce didn’t get offended at the forgotten anniversary, after all he only knew each symbol as his mother had drilled it into his father, and subsequently him at a young age. “Eighth.”

“Ah, I last saw them on my bedside table, don’t know how they ended up there.”

Bruce chuckled at his husband as he found the cufflinks on Clark's side of the bed. They had probably been discarded hastily when Bruce dragged Clark into bed last night.

Securing the small winged cufflinks into his shirt, Bruce looked up to find Clark almost cross eyed as he attempted to wrestle a piece of fabric.

“Oh come over here,” Bruce interjected softly, smiling at the latest attempt of Clark trying to tie a fancy knot into his tie like Bruce does. He doesn’t know why Clark just doesn’t stick to the classic school boy knot he’s mastered, but he had a sneaking suspicion it's because Clark liked showing off at work. He grabbed the fabric as soon as Clark was near and undid the mess that was forming, retying it with graceful motions that only came from years of redoing the same knot over and over.

“I love watching you do this,” Clark broke the nice silence and Bruce glanced up, finishing up the Windsor and humming an inquisitive reply. “You know… the way your fingers slide-”

“Clark!” Bruce laughed and pushed Clark away. To his credit, Clark actually took a step back before the push registered and he was lunging for Bruce.

“Oi NO!” Bruce practically screeched as he ran away from his husband, to no avail. Clark caught him easily and lifted Bruce off the floor. Bruce was giggling (though he would never admit that to anyone else) until he felt Clark’s hands move and he started to tickle Bruce.

“Clark please!” Bruce managed, the laughs forced out of him this time. Thankfully Clark’s fingers stopped, though Bruce was still being held up. “Remind me why I married you?”

Clark flipped Bruce around so they were face to face and Bruce realised not only was he being held up by Clark, but that Clark was also floating about the ground.

“Because you love me?” Clark supplied with a mischievous smile.

“Not after this… I’ve got a board meeting this morning!” Bruce recalled as Clark settled them back onto the ground, “I’m head of Wayne Enterprises now, I can’t be as careless as I was five years ag-” Bruce was cut off by a kiss, which he melted into immediately.

“Don’t think you’ve been forgiven,” Bruce jabbed Clark in the chest as soon as they parted.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Clark smiled as he kissed Bruce again.

Bruce felt as if they had been in the honeymoon period of their marriage for the last six years, his love for Clark only growing stronger every day. Bruce eventually forced himself away from Clark and poked a finger at his chest again.

“You’ll be late for work anyway if you keep this up,” Bruce cocked his head at Clark, trying to get the man to stop of his own volition rather than Bruce having to end this.

“I’ll just say it was Superman business,” Clark grinned as he leant in again, strong hands keeping Bruce in place.

“You can’t keep using that excuse sweetheart.”

“I’m the only one in the world who can.”

“Bruce!”

The call did not come from either of them. Bruce stopped dead as he flicked his eyes up to Clark. The Kryptonian was not looking at him but instead scanning their surroundings, milky white eyes seeing further than the four walls of their bedroom. His hands had stiffened on Bruce’s waist, not clamping down but rather steadying himself. Bruce, needing to do something, peered over Clark’s shoulders and out their open door. From here, he could see out their suite and down the main hallway of the top floor. All doors were closed, except for Bruce’s old bedroom; a black void at the end of the sunlight corridor.

Something dark moved in the doorway, a hand came out to grip the frame. A head, a pair of shoulders, two arms possibly. A man?

“Clark,” Bruce whispered out, keeping his eyes trained on the figure emerging from his room. “My old room.”

Clark turned around and shot off down the hallway. Bruce noticed a flash of blue before Clark reached the inky darkness and-

An old dressing gown flitted into view.

“There’s nobody here darlin’!” Clark called out, his voice as faint as the other had been. “Just an open window and your very dark curtains.”

Light flooded the doorway as Clark yanked open the drapes to allow light to finally penetrate the room once more. He stepped out, glowing and grinning as Alfred reached the top of the stairs.

“Oh hello sirs, I was just arriving to tell you that breakfast is ready.”

Bruce smiled at his faithful butler, who he was sure would’ve followed his parents to the lake house but instead stayed to oversee the Manor. Bruce now realised Alfred was too much of a stickler for detail to watch anyone else run the house during his lifetime.

“Thank you Alfred, we’ll be down shortly,” Bruce replied bluntly, turning to grab his last pieces for the day. Clark offered the butler a cheering greeting as he floated down the corridor after Bruce. He focussed on their brief exchange as he tried to forget about that strange encounter.

“Good morning Alfred!”

“Good morning Master Kent. Layla has asked me to inform you she has cooked up your favourite this morning.” Bruce could hear the happy tone of Alfred’s voice, unusually devoid of his regular sarcasm.

“Oh goody! We’ll be down in just a second, thanks.”

Bruce returned to the subject at hand. He needed his over-coat, his briefcase, his black leather Berluti’s-

“B, are you okay?”

He went around picking everything up, brushing off Clark’s statement with a: “Yes of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Your hands are shaking.”

True to his word, Bruce looked down to see practically his whole being shaking.

“I’m fine sweetheart,” He turned with a reassuring smile plastered on his face, one usually reserved for galas and meetings. Not for Clark. “We heard Alfred calling for us, I saw the dressing gown in the doorway and that was it. We’re fine.”

“Are you sure?” Clark watched Bruce cross the room to their door, worry etched into every line of his face.

“Yes love, now are you coming downstairs or am I going to have to tell Layla that you don’t want her delicious fry-up this morning?”

Clark bounded over with a grin, “You do that and I am going to divorce you.”

“You do that and you lose these breakfasts forever,” Bruce retorted back as Clark swept past him out the door.

“Bold of you to assume you’re the favourite, I’ll be taking half the staff with me,” Clark took off down the stairs before Bruce could jab him in the side for that remark. Which he did try.

“In your dreams, farmboy!” Bruce sprinted off after Clark, their laughter echoing off every nook in the manor.

…- - -...

Clark Kent

Clark knew the layout of the manor almost as well as he knew Bruce Wayne. And Clark knew Bruce like the back of his hand. They’d been together for ten years now; ten years of being openly and loudly in love with the best person he knew. Bruce may have finally accepted that Clark wasn’t going anywhere when he proposed, but Clark couldn’t imagine a life without Bruce from the moment he first saved him.

It had been one of his first ‘gigs’ as Superman in Metropolis, and he was still grappling with what it meant to be a superhero and how his actions were actually impacting the world. Bruce was the first person Clark ever saved from near-death, aside from a few cats and squirrels, and the most handsome man he had ever set eyes on. A teasing smirk, high cheekbones, clever eyes. It was a wonder Clark got any words out at all to the beautiful stranger he had just saved the life of. Well, not exactly ‘stranger’ to Clark. He’d seen Bruce Wayne’s face in newspapers across the city, the billionaire still managing to make headline news even in Metropolis. And maybe, just maybe, he’d cut out a few of those articles and kept them tucked away. The ones about the new upstart from the Wayne family making bold strokes in Gotham, of setting up a foundation to help improve public transport, of moving a subsidiary of the company to Metropolis to focus on green energy. Clark had actually been a reporter at the gala, a position he had not-so-subtly begged Perry for. But just as he had worked up the courage to speak to Bruce, Ultra-Humanite started wreaking havoc to catch Superman’s attention two blocks down.

As the meeting of Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent was squashed, the meeting of Bruce Wayne and Superman arose.

Clark reasoned to himself that it would be easier to keep encountering these chances with Superman, than to try to catch Bruce’s attention as Clark Kent. So he dove in, literally and figuratively. That didn’t stop Clark from setting up an interview with the billionaire however. Bruce told him after the ‘Clark Kent’ identity reveal that he had noticed Clark during the interview, but was too occupied with Superman to follow through on his thoughts. Clark would admit that being snubbed in the interview hurt, feeling he wasn’t good enough for Bruce Wayne, or even that Bruce wouldn’t like him anymore if he knew his true identity. However, that only made him double down on his Superman persona. And when Bruce kissed him back without even knowing his name, well Clark couldn’t find himself caring. A part of him had a part of Bruce, and he was not letting that go.

And yet, despite the unknown rejection of Clark Kent, he still found he could be himself around Bruce. But better. At work in front of his colleagues he had to play up the muttering and stuttering, the clumsiness of his character and the hunched posture. But being Kal with Bruce… he didn’t have to hide the fact he could fly or see through walls or hear everything. But he also didn’t have to keep up the strong exterior of Superman all the time. It was freeing. And in the face of all the alien qualities, Bruce only seemed to fall in love with him. Clark wasn’t a freak for his genetics anymore, but rather, just another man like Bruce.

And then he started slipping, started wanting to talk about his parents and his job and his friends. It was then Bruce had to learn the truth. And Clark had been scared. More scared than he had been facing down villains as Superman. Because this could lead to the love of his life leaving him. But it was Bruce; the most accepting, understanding, loving person on this earth, even though he tries to hide under layers of thick skin and bravado. Of course Bruce still loved him. And it was at that moment Clark knew there was no return: Bruce Wayne was his life, and he would do anything to keep him by his side.

And from then on it was like reading a book you’re already hooked on. Clark loved Bruce, and in their years together he got to learn even more about his future-husband as he peered through the pages and peeled back the layers of Bruce Wayne. The man who buys Clark corny Superman memorabilia to embarrass him, and Clark puts up with it because he knows that's Bruce’s way of showing affection. The man who loves his parents more than anything in the world, who looks after them and cares for them. The man who puts up with Clark’s terrible sense of humour and movie choices, because Clark knows he secretly enjoys them. He’s the only one in the world who would. Because Bruce Wayne cares for his city and the people he loves so passionately: and that love touches every person he even lays eyes on.

And really, how could Clark not fall in love with him? Not when Bruce made it so easy.

And especially when Bruce is the one whispering in his ear at night telling Clark he did everything he could, and the people he couldn’t save weren’t his burden. The one holding him close as Clark replays every heart-wrenching image from his mind of the natural catastrophe he couldn’t stop. The one who’s never left Clark to deal with it alone, who’ll abandon everything just to comfort Clark. Bruce is his anchor, his lighthouse in a sea of confusion and misery: guiding him home, and keeping the light lit within him.

And right now, he’s missing. And Clark knows exactly where his husband has disappeared off to.

Bruce Wayne

Bruce is on the roof of the manor once again.

It’s a lovely evening, the sunset painting the sky with yellows and pinks. Fluffy clouds sit so high up in the atmosphere they make the sky feel enormous. The breezeless air wraps him in a blanket of warmth, content to sit out here in just a light shirt even at this late hour. And yet Bruce can’t appreciate it.

He’s been having dreams, strange dreams, recently. One that he wakes up from with a strange sense of deja vu and loss. And then there’s the name calling. Every so often, usually in public or at his job, Bruce will hear his name. It’s always the same voice, the one from that morning with the dressing gown, and there is always nobody attached to it. Bruce can’t help the sinister feeling that creeps up his back every time it happens. And that voice… it’s almost familiar, almost like-

“Knock knock!” Clark sang out as he floated up into Bruce’s view.

“I think that’s a new record of how long it’s taken you to find me,” Bruce smiled up at Clark, who was conveniently blocking the sun and making it seem like the last glow of the evening was emanating from him.

“And here I thought I was bein’ nice givin’ you some space,” Clark rolled his eyes playfully as he landed on the roof gently. Bruce noticed he was clumsily hiding a basket behind him.

“If that’s your excuse…” Bruce teased, cocking his head to get a better look at the hidden goods.

Clark lifted off the roof slightly, “Well if you don’t want a romantic dinner then I guess I’ll take this back down.”

“Clark, sweetheart, love of my life?”

“Yes honey?”

Bruce stood up and yanked on one of Clark’s ankles, “Get down here right now or you’re sleeping on the sofa tonight.”

“The thanks I get for all my hard work,” Clark grinned as he touched down again, pulling Bruce in for a kiss. Bruce tried to get a hand into the basket, but Clark, damn him for knowing Bruce so well, held it above their heads to stop his advances.

“Do you want this or not?” That smirk was going to be the end of Bruce.

Bruce gave him a pointed look, shaking his head with exasperation at Clark’s teasing, “Yes I would like it very much.”

“Then let me celebrate our anniversary and do this properly,” Clark lowered the basket and set it on the ground, splaying a large checked blanket across their spot.

“Do not tell me-”

“Yes this is one of the blankets you used on our first anniversary, ‘wow Clark you’re so considerate!’ why thank you honey,” Clark interrupted, turning back to Bruce with a smug expression on his face.

“Clark,” Bruce sighed with a smile, “You are an amazing man and an even better husband. Thank you very much for, what I’m sure is going to be, a delicious dinner, and for continuing to celebrate our first kiss anniversary every year, despite us having a more important one now.”

Clark’s expression softened as he walked towards Bruce, settling his hands on his waist, “You’re very welcome. I hope you always remember how much I love you.”

“And I love you even more than that,” Bruce acquiesced as he leant in and kissed Clark again. Every single time they kissed, be it a peck on the cheek or a clashing of teeth, Bruce’s brain couldn’t comprehend that this was his life; that Clark actually loved him back; had promised to spend the rest of time with Bruce. It had gotten smaller, sure, but it stayed there tickling the back of his mind.

“Now help me light these candles and set out the food,” Clark said as he pulled away, though only enough so that his breath was still ghosting Bruce’s lips, “and I’ll be lenient in scrabble.”

“You really brought that up here?” Bruce laughed as he twisted his fingers into Clark’s little curls.

“Of course!” Clark squeezed him playfully, “I need to reclaim my title after all.”

The laugh that came out of Bruce would've had his mother scolding him for being too brash, “In your dreams, farmboy.”

“And we’re deciding on the rules now,” Clark raised a condescending eyebrow which Bruce scoffed at, “so there’s no arguing over dinner.”

“Fine,” Bruce acquiesced, “what is your first demand?”

“No Kryptonian words” (This was actually directed at Bruce who had picked up the language far faster than Clark had.)

“No Kansan slang.”

“Fine, then you don’t get any British English words or spellings.”

“British English actually contains proper words.”

“Nuh uh, darlin’, and I’ll know if you slip any extra ‘u’s in words.”

“What about if ‘u’ slip in me?”

“Bruce!”

“Fine, fine,” Bruce chuckled at his husband.

(By the time got around to the game three hours later, he managed to place three ‘u’s into words, and also convince Clark a word that was very obviously used by his English Butler was actually said commonly by his parents).

“I believe that’s… twenty eight to me and twenty four to you now,” Bruce sat back with a smirk.

“Don’t hesitate like you don’t know,” Clark was obviously trying to suppress a smile, “and I did say I would be lenient didn’t I? I know your parents don’t actually say ‘gormless.’”

Bruce crawled over to settle himself in next to Clark, a large arm wrapping around his shoulders as they laid down, “Good, otherwise I’d be emailing your boss and telling him to fire you on crimes against journalism."

“But then where would all our money come from?”

After a tense moment of silence, they both set off with giggles at Clark’s comment. Bruce’s hand was grabbed by Clark’s free one as they settled into comfortable silence, and he started circling away at his mole.

In the moment of peace, Bruce’s strange dreams came back to him. He wanted to talk about them, to get them off his chest. Besides, Clark was technically in them, so it wouldn’t be too weird a thing to bring up.

“Do you remember that conversation we had here before the wedding,” Bruce piped up, feeling Clark’s head turn to look at him, “about having kids?”

“Sure I do,” Clark sounded hesitant, and Bruce knew it was because he wasn’t ready yet.

“It’s not about having one soon, love,” He placated immediately, “It’s just… I’ve been having these weird dreams where we do have a kid, but he’s only about eight and we must be just into our twenties.”

“Really?” Clark hummed as he started to massage Bruce’s hand again.

Bruce smiled at the non-memories, looking up at his husband. “Yeah it’s like… you definitely look younger than when I met you, and I feel like I'm just out of college, or something like that.”

“You mean to tell me you love me so much you’re having dreams where we spent even more of our lives together,” Clark giggled as he brought Bruce in for a smothering kiss.

Bruce relented to it for a few seconds before gathering his thoughts once more. “Get off me you big oaf,” He laughed, pushing Clark off him with a smile. “Anyway, there’s one I keep having where we must be going to a Halloween party because the boy, Richard I think his name is, is dressed in an absolutely hideous red, green and yellow get up. And I’m-” Bruce broke himself off with a small chuckle, “I’m dressed up as a giant bat.”

“It is a funny costume in principle,” Clark replied, the teasing tone on the tip of his tongue.

“Yeah I know,” Bruce huffed, “I think they’re from an old cartoon or something, anyway you’re just in your Superman get up, which is incredibly boring by the way-”

“Hey! It’s easy and comfortable. Besides, nobody knows it’s me.”

“Oh I’m sure. Not anymore-” Bruce got cut off as Clark jabbed a hand into his side, making Bruce giggle.

“Did we do anything else?” Clark prompted, “I’m sure Richard went on to cause quite a bit of trouble.”

Bruce chuckled fondly thinking about the dream. “I think he ends up hanging off the chandelier in the manor, which my mother would be appalled at.”

“Our house is practically a museum at this point, bringing kids in would only end in disaster,” Clark mused happily. “But they’d get away with it every time.”

“Don’t I know it,” Bruce sighed as he melted back into Clark, happy now he’d got that off his chest. The dreams had just felt so different to his other ones: so much more real and tangible.

“By the way,” Clark brought Bruce out of his thoughts, “It’s your mother’s birthday next week, I’m assuming we’ll be doing something for that?”

“Already planned, my love. We’re flying out to the Amalfi Coast Friday afternoon and spending a week food and wine tasting by the sea,” Bruce patted Clark’s cheek with his free hand.

“I’ll have to get that time approved off by Perry-”

“As I said, already planned.” Bruce interjected haughtily. “Mr White approved it months ago.”

“You’re too much for me sometimes y’know?”

Bruce rolled his eyes lovingly. He knew Clark loved the more eccentric side of him. “And you have to pay your dues by playing at least one round of croquet with my father when we get back. This isn’t a free vacation.”

Clark responded by burying his face in Bruce’s neck and smiling as Bruce drifted off happily into a fitful sleep plagued by a son he doesn’t have.

...- - -...

Bruce was out in public when he heard it. He was on his way back to his office, taking his lunch break to nip to the closest florist and grab Clark a small gift, when it happened again. But this time, he saw him. The nameless man.

“Bruce!”

The voice was so much closer than before, as if the speaker was right behind him. Bruce whipped around, scanning the crowded square for the caller, when a boy around twenty grabbed his arm. He yelled out something else, something Bruce couldn’t quite process. The only thing that registered was his blue eyes and dark hair before the crowd shifted and the familiar boy was swept off in the crowd. Bruce tried to follow him, to ask what he meant by his second statement, but it was like he had disappeared into thin air.

Sunflowers in one hand, Bruce pinched his brow in annoyance at losing his only lead on the name calling, and dejectedly made his way back towards Wayne Enterprises. The rest of the day was spent in limbo, Bruce half torn between his duties and the face of that stranger. A limbo that seemed to be tearing him in half, a dull pain forming on one side of his head. And that pain started to affect his work. In a board meeting, he realised halfway through that he couldn’t recognise people's faces, as if there were a fog in front of them. Returning to his desk to read through reports, the words started to jumble and run off the page. Time jumped and stopped every time Bruce looked at the clock. It got to a point, around two in the afternoon, where Bruce had to dismiss himself early and go home. His migraine was only getting worse by the second, and he drove home in a daze, only thinking about getting into his dark room and cuddling up to a warm body.

Alfred greeted him at the door, as if he had been tracking him; but that was just Alfred’s uncanny sixth-sense of knowing when someone was approaching the Manor. The ever-lasting duties of a butler he supposed. Bruce was thankful for the lack of staff in the main foyer as Alfred took the sunflowers. No extra noise to add to his already pounding head.

“I’m off to bed for a while Alfred,” Bruce explained his early return away with a flippant hand. “I think I’ve got a migraine coming on.”

“Very well sir. It’s good to see you looking after yourself for once, must be Master Clark’s good influence,” Alfred replied, smiling smugly to himself.

Bruce just shook his head with a soft smile as he went to make for the stairs, noting not just the lessening, but the complete lack of staff.

“Before you leave, would you like me to prepare your #!*$ suit?” Alfred's voice became, well, almost like static to Bruce’s ears for a second. God, his head was really getting to him. First faces and words, and now his hearing?

“Pardon, Alfred?” Bruce turned to his butler.

Alfred moved the flowers from one arm to the other as he repeated his question. “Shall I clean your suit for tomorrow, or will you be staying home?”

Was that what he had said? “Um, no thank you Alfred, I’m afraid I may be out of commission for a few days.” Bruce frowned as he turned and made his way up to his and Clark’s bedroom.

Rubbing at his temples as he ascended the main stairs, Bruce cursed at whoever’s idea it was to place the family bedrooms on the top floor. A few minutes and a harder-than-usual climb later, Bruce was closing his curtains, kicking off his shoes, and collapsing face first into his bed. He didn’t even bother to pull the duvet on top of him as he took a deep breath of Clark’s smell, and drifted off.

It felt like only minutes later, and yet an eternity, when Bruce was awoken by a warm hand on his forehead. Cracking open his eyes, he managed a soft smile as he saw Clark sitting on the edge of the bed with a bunch of painkillers in one hand and a ginger shot in the other. Clark noticed Bruce waking up immediately – he’s already told Bruce all the small tells his body does when he’s waking up or falling asleep: tells only a superhuman could pick up on – and immediately dropped the painkillers onto the bed as he went to massage Bruce’s hand.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked, helping rearrange the pillows as Bruce sat up.

“Like my head’s been run over by a truck,” Bruce groaned and, in his dazed state, his mind skipped out on parts of the room. Clark’s messy clothes scattered across the floor were gone, his wedding gift from Harvey and Selina disappeared, Clark’s plants vanished. But then he blinked and everything was back to normal. This headache was really getting to him.

Clark smiled sweetly as he handed Bruce a glass of water and started popping out pills for Bruce, handing them over in silence as Bruce practically choked them down. And as he opened his eyes after downing the last one, he saw Clark was holding out the ginger shot for Bruce to wash down the thrill of nausea. His Superman, always knowing exactly what Bruce wanted.

“A few more hours?” Clark asked.

Bruce didn’t want to turn his head and bring on the flash of pain that would slice down his neck, so instead of replying he asked, “What time is it?”

“Seven p.m. I just got home from work.”

“Then yes please,” Bruce answered his previous question and went to settle into his pillows again, closing his eyes. “And don’t bother getting changed, I’ll be up soon.”

He heard Clark's small snort of laughter and felt a large body crawling over him to reach the other side of the bed. A pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around Bruce’s shoulders and Bruce’s own found Clark's waist. He buried his head in his husband's chest, liking the strong pressure surrounding him, and faded out of consciousness once again.

The next time he woke, it was natural. A slow, lazy return to the world as he shifted in Clark’s arms, subtly trying to stretch his back out. Clark tightened his arms around Bruce automatically, their position having changed so they were face to face, legs and arms tangled together. The pain in Bruce’s head had subsided, an echo of what it used to be, and his other senses came back on line in quick procession after that.

“Clark, my love,” Bruce’s voice was thick with sleep, “I’m hungry.”

Clark just sighed happily and opened one eye, “You wanna go down for dinner?”

“Yes I would like that a lot,” Bruce smiled as the two of them got up slowly, shrugging off their nap like a heavy blanket.

Clark grabbed Bruce’s hand as soon as they were standing, walking down to the kitchens together. Alfred had prepared them a curry, complete with home-made naan. The two of them, in a silent agreement, filled their plates and walked down the hall to an old study that had been converted into a movie room in Bruce’s youth. He remembers Zorro being the first film they ever watched in here. Since then it had been upgraded with a better projector, comfier sofas, and a wall full of VHSs and DVDs. Bruce sank into his usual space as Clark went over to examine their selection, and predictably chose his favourite.

“Don’t you have this memorised by now,” Bruce chuckled as the opening sequence started.

Clark slumped down next to him, “What can I say, I’m a sucker for a happy ending.”

“You’re such a sap,” Bruce couldn’t help the smile on his face, looking towards the screen to stop Clark from seeing it. “Please refrain from quoting every second line.”

A playful nudge at his shoulder, “Fine, fine, I’ll only do every third.”

And to his credit, throughout most of the film Clark managed to stay quiet, though Bruce could see him mouthing along to half the lines anyway. They cleared up their plates a few minutes in and settled back into one another. Bruce felt the comforting pressure of a thumb against his palm, letting himself fully relax and concentrate on the film. It wasn’t until they got to the Fire Swamp scenes that Bruce's mind began to wander again.

His headache had almost completely gone.

That had to have been the shortest migraine Bruce had ever had. And it had to have been a migraine, right? Except… well, it came on rather abruptly. Sure, Bruce had stress migraines a couple of times a month, but he always registered the symptoms a day or so before they started. Today, he had felt completely fine. Up until- up until his encounter with the familiar nameless man. He was the catalyst of it all. And those words he had said to Bruce…

“Love?”

Clark just hummed in reply as he continued to massage Bruce's hand, eyes transfixed on the television.

“Have you ever heard of such a thing as a ‘Bat-Man’?”

“Yeah of course,” Clark answered absentmindedly, still focused on the movie. “He’s you.”

Horrible sickness curled in Bruce’s stomach, like his migraine symptoms had been waiting for this moment. A disgusting taste of acid infiltrated his mouth as a chill ran up his spine, like Clark had suddenly dumped freezing water over Bruce’s head. The swirling uneasiness in his stomach infected his head; the world - Clark - tilting and sliding away.

“What?” Bruce scanned Clark’s face as he turned to look at him for any trace of mirth, but there was none. His husband was being completely honest.

“Yeah, you’re… wait,” Clark blinked several times, as if trying to dislodge something, like an image, from his mind. “We’re the world’s… I’m Superman and you’re…” He trailed off again.

Bruce was getting desperate now. “I’m who, Clark? Who am I?”

“You’re-”

“BRUCE!”

Bruce and Clark whipped their heads around towards the door. That voice: it sounded like a young boy. And it was coming from inside the house. Clark didn’t hesitate before he was grabbing Bruce and flying out the room towards where he must have heard the voice come from.

The house was completely empty as they whizzed through it. Clark stopped abruptly in the foyer and set Bruce down. A young boy, no older than ten, was standing in the middle of the vast room. Alone. Where were the house staff? Where was Alfred? How did he get in? He looked scared, turning frantically until he spotted Bruce and Clark at the top of the stairs.

“Bruce!” The boy shouted again and raced up to them. Clark instinctively stepped half in front of Bruce, wary of this intruder. As he neared, Bruce saw he was wearing a very bright get up. A melding of red, green and… yellow. The same Halloween costume from his dreams.

“Bruce!” The boy dodged past Clark, dodged, and barrelled into Bruce. He braced for an attack; a punch to the stomach or swipe to his legs, but none came. Instead, Bruce felt tight arms wrap around his middle. The boy was hugging him. And from the shaking of his shoulders and his muffled voice, he sounded like he was crying.

“Dad!”

If Bruce had thought he had been hit by a truck before, now he really had. He sank to his knees and enveloped the boy in a proper hug. His head rang with recognition, the pain flaring up again. It took all of his energy to whisper a response.

“Dick.”

And then Bruce was crying too. Eventually he looked up at his husband- at Clark.

“We need to wake up.”

Chapter Text

Bruce opened his heavy eyes to see Nightwing, Wonder Woman, and Green Arrow all crouching over him.

“Oh thank fuck!” Dick practically cried as he pulled Bruce into a hug and did actually start crying.

Bruce wrapped his arms around his son, a strange sense of deja vu as he had just been hugging him as a ten-year-old. Through the dark mop of hair, Bruce could see Diana smile softly as she manoeuvred herself and Ollie away from the pair. He suspected it was them who were responsible for the next flurry of movement as all- yes all his kids, Jason’s face scowling in the back, mobbed him at once.

Bruce’s head was still reeling from confusion and pain and realisation. It was as if his brain was splitting open, one set of memories trying to overpower the other. His life as the Batman and his life with-

“Where’s Clark?” Bruce managed to croak out, his throat grating on every word. He obviously hadn’t drank in days.

“He’s safe, he’s awake too.” Tim confirmed somewhere to his left, “But right now we need to focus on you.”

Bruce managed out a nod, before the pain in his head became too overwhelming and he blacked out.

.-. . .- .-..

A few days later and Bruce was in a Justice League meeting, against Alfred’s medical advice, recounting what had happened. Over the past few days when he had been conscious, his fractured mind had slowly put back the missing pieces of his life.

Batman had been tracking a missing person right into a warehouse near Crime Alley. Keeping his eyes off that alleyway, he had purposely buried memories of that fateful night just over two decades ago as he slipped in through a broken skylight. He shouldn’t have been out, still recovering from a sprained ankle and multiple gunshot wounds, but his city needed him. So instead he took an ‘easy’ case, and trusted that his kids would do him justice tonight. He was also placated by the knowledge he was only a call away from them.

The derelict factory had been dark and quiet and suspiciously empty. Bruce remembered he’d kept to the eaves and raised walkways, slinking through and constantly checking his hand computer for any heat signatures: a missing person, or anyone who could possibly be trying to bait him.

A short clang from the other side of the building rang out harshly through the silence, reverberating off the wall. He’d looked up briefly, momentarily distracted as his brain started to process who or what could’ve caused that and what the best course of action would be, when a blinding light turned on. Bruce’s vision went, and he felt a sharp force collide with his back. Shoved towards the edge of the walkway, the flimsy handrails gave under the sudden weight and Bruce fell two storeys, something slamming into him during his descent, and crashed into the concrete ground.

The wind knocked out of him, a sharp stabbing pain up his leg, and most likely concussed. Great, he remembered thinking, and cursed himself for not bringing Robin with him. Just great. Wheezing hard, his body trying to get air back into his system, he opened his eyes to see a spotlight caging him in, trapping his legs. That must’ve been what blinded him. And just behind the hunkering shape, he made out two familiar silhouettes march towards him in his periphery.

Dazed, he’d tried to press the button on his suit to call for back up from the other bats patrolling when he found it cracked. Bruce swore to himself again. His kids were all out on different patrols and their next rendezvous was not for another two hours. With no way to contact Oracle or any of the others, and no clue who had set him up, he groaned.

As loath as he was to admit it, he’d need back up for this, and with his tracker busted he only had one choice. Before he had the chance to second guess himself, Bruce whispered out the name of the only person who could help him. A person who had told him to start relying on him more. So Bruce had.

“Superman.”

He was attempting to wriggle out of his predicament before the two rogues were close enough, when he heard the tell-tale click of a button being pressed. With only that as warning, an explosion of red gas filled the room so close to Bruce it might as well have come from the spotlight.

“No!” Bruce gasped, unfortunately gulping in a large helping of the gas surrounding his head.

“Oh yes Batman, we’ve got you right where we want you.” A terrifying demon stepped out of the shadows. No it was- through the fear toxin he was sure was now coursing through his body, he saw a warped nightmare of Scarecrow sneering at him. He tried to stand, to get himself into a fighting stance, but the world slipped away from him, spinning widely and preventing him from escaping. He could hardly think straight. “Gotham will never have to worry about the Batman ever again!”

A maniacal cackle came from the other figure as a grotesque version of the Mad Hatter appeared next to him, lowering a headband onto Batman’s head.

“Sweet dreams!” Was the last thing Bruce heard, as Superman came punching into the building. Bruce tried to call out, to tell Superman to leave before the fear toxin could infect him too, but he couldn’t move his mouth. Hatter forced him into a comatose-like sleep as Bruce’s vision faded to black.

At the meeting, Bruce found out the fear toxin; a mixture of fear, to weaken the subject, and incapacitating agent, to knock the subject out; was strong enough to affect Clark too, and he had succumbed to the two villains soon after.

From there on, it was the Justice League’s and Bruce’s own kids’ retelling of what had happened. Oracle was the first to notice Bruce had not reported in after the incident, and soon all the bats were on high alert, patrolling the streets for signs of him and interrogating rogues around the city for any signs of the Batman. Most had no idea Scarecrow and Mad Hatter were even out of Arkham, much less that they had kidnapped Batman (and by extension Superman).

The kids had tried to handle it themselves for the first few days. But when Lois turned up at Wayne Manor asking if Clark was around after he hadn’t turned up for work, they took it to the Justice League. From then it had been a panicked search of Gotham, Metropolis, even space, as the League split up and covered all available bases. In the end, it was Cass and Jason who found the underground lab Batman and Superman were being held in, and were at least polite enough to alert everyone else to this discovery before lunging into action immediately.

Bruce and Clark had been strapped to tables with clamps around their arms and legs, and a metal band welded around each of their heads. These bands, using the same technology Tetch had invented to turn people into his mindless slaves, allowed Hatter and Scarecrow to permanently subdue the two men by tricking them into thinking their dreams were real life: giving the two everything they had wished for to ensure they never wanted to wake up. Soon after the initial onslaught by Jason and Cass, backed up by Bruce’s other kids very quickly, Scarecrow and Mad Hatter were being escorted off back to Arkham by members of the Justice League.

The only problem then was getting Bruce and Clark out of the machines safely. Nobody knew what would happen if they just ripped them out; whether their brains would be hotwired and stop working; whether their minds would be permanently altered and cracked; what was even happening to Bruce and Clark in the machines… There were too many variables. So Dick, using the machinery Mad Hatter had used to check in on them, infiltrated their ‘dreams’ and forced Bruce to confront reality: that everything he thought he had lived was a lie.

And so the whole story was tied up neatly in one meeting, records of the incident taken and filed, and everyone was on their way home. Just like that. As if Bruce hadn’t lived an entire life, his perfect life, in one week. As if he wasn’t already irrevocably changed by what he had experienced, of what he and Clark had-

“Bruce,” Clark was the only one left in the room, standing with his arms crossed, a guilty face, and eyes looking everywhere but Bruce’s own. “We need to talk-”

Bruce didn’t hear the last word as he disappeared out the room and to the zeta tubes as fast as possible.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t real.

It was never real.

Bruce’s parents died in an alleyway from a random mugging. Bruce became Batman to avenge them. That was his purpose. That was his mission. That was the fate he had been destined for.

And yet… it had felt so real. In looming silences, he could hear them. Every time Bruce closed his eyes, even just blinking, he could see them.

His father as a retired man; a grey beard and wise eyes. A mentor for him as he guided Bruce through Wayne Enterprises. A strong shoulder to lean on when things got hard. All those afternoons and evenings when Bruce had called him for advice, the sage words that he provided. A role model, but also just his father. Loving and caring in his own ways.

His mother, continuing her fight even into her sixties, with smile lines and gentle hands. Someone who supported him no matter what, but also wasn’t afraid to tell Bruce what he needed to hear. His partner as he developed his schemes with the foundation and his biggest supporter as he fought to execute them. The person he turned to when he was in need, who always provided a warm hug. His hero, but also just his mother. So open and adoring with her feelings.

He had had them back. And he didn’t cherish them nearly enough.

He had had a chance to live a full life with his parents, and yet he had been so consumed by- by such hideous distractions like lust and attraction that he brushed them aside. If only- if only he had remembered. If only he could do it all again, without the… distraction he had faced. Never moving out of the manor, attending every Sunday night supper without fail, showing them each and every day how grateful he was for them.

That stupid, bastard dream giving him everything he could have wanted, and torturing him by holding it just out of his grasp now. These memories would never leave. The unbridled guilt he would carry with him for the rest of his life. The missed opportunity.

Pain flared up in Bruce’s head once again. The same pain which had dragged him out of the dream in the first place. Part of him – not as deep down as he would’ve wished – wanted to go back, to do it all over again. To tell his parents just how much had changed without them. To live that life as an innocent man, unbothered by his surroundings or his duty. To have everything he needed to make him happy and live out the rest of his days in bliss. To, in some capacity, have a husband again.

But then he’d be abandoning his kids, his city. To return to the dream meant leaving his real life behind. Even just to want it, however slightly… It was a sick and twisted desire that clawed at Bruce's heart. He could have everything he wanted, but it would never be real. How could he go back knowing all that would be detonated in his wake? The Justice League, Gotham, his family… How could he abandon his real life for something fake; to willingly choose to comatose himself for the rest of his days? How could he force his children to witness that… But that realisation only made the gnawing at his soul hurt that much more. The fact that he still wanted it, even at an instinctual level, tore at his conscience.

He: Bruce Wayne, Batman, wanted to desert his kids. The exact same fate which had happened to him, and to all of them. What had brought them together and gave them the courage to overcome their fears. How he had formed his own family. He couldn’t want to go back. He shouldn’t want that. Sentiment for the dream was not allowed in his being, lest he betray his family.

But his parents… they had been right there. They had watched him grow up. They should have watched him grow up. He could’ve been that man in the dream, if only one night had gone differently. A world where it didn’t matter how selfishly Bruce grew up, because he would’ve been naively happy throughout it all. This guilt would’ve never torn his character apart, and forced Bruce to put himself back together twice over.

But Bruce, who had faced the cruel hand of the world, couldn’t help but resent himself in that dream. He was a person who didn’t care for what he had, for what he didn’t know he was so lucky to be able to grasp in his hands. He squandered away in his wealth and his… relationship, that he didn’t focus on anything that mattered.

Polite footsteps echoed around Bruce’s head, yanking him back from his thoughts. It took a second for him to reorient himself. He was sitting in a chair, in front of a desk. A quiet chill was nipping at his motionless fingers, illuminated by the cold light from his monitors. It’s been a week since he woke up. He was now in the batcave, examining a case with connections to Black Mask. Before he had got distracted. Which he hadn’t really been because he was completely fine. The dream meant nothing to him. His parents-

“Master Bruce, I have brought you down some leftovers from the dinner you forgot to attend,” A crisp voice cut into the silence. Bruce kept his eyes trained on the screen as the clacking of Alfred’s heels drew closer. “I also took the liberty of closing off the cave for a few moments. I feel it would be best if we talked about something which has been bothering you.”

Bruce felt his throat close up as he forced back any and all emotions that could possibly affect him in this moment. “I’m fine Alfred.” He didn’t need to talk about this, he needed to forget.

A disapproving sigh. After all, Alfred has been with him since the beginning. He out of anyone would know Bruce’s tells. Him and-

Alfred’s tone softened to one not dissimilar to his fathers. Or rather, what Bruce had imagined his fathers would have been. After all, it was never real. And yet… that pain lingered in spite of Bruce’s rationale. “Master Dick updated me on what happened. In the dream.” Bruce had revealed to the Justice League that he had lived ten years with his parents, but nothing concerning his relationship fell from neither his nor Superman’s mouth’s.

“I know what you experienced, and had I not been by your side all these years, perhaps I would not know how this could’ve affected you. But I know you, son. And I knew them.”

Bruce doesn’t know why he broke. Perhaps it was being comforted by a man he could almost call his own father and deep down, far past his carefully constructed walls and bravado, a need to tell someone who could maybe understand. The only person alive who could understand.

“I didn’t appreciate them enough Alfred.”

The comment was ripped from the depths of his soul, but he kept his eyes trained on the cold screens in front of them. A soothing hand landed on his shoulder.

“I had them back and yet…” Bruce choked out through the tightness in his chest, stopping himself before the tears could even think to form.

“I know, my dear boy, I know.” Alfred's hand on his shoulder grew heavy with the affirmation, and Bruce grabbed onto it with his own to keep him grounded. “Your parents wouldn’t have wanted you hanging on to every word that came out their mouths however. They wanted you to become the independent, strong man you have grown into, and I’m sure you made them proud in your dream as well. ‘Whichever path you walk’-”

“‘It will have been paved with your good judgement,’” Bruce finished as the tears finally escaped from his shuttered eyes. The memory of his father saying that to him: it wasn’t real. And yet, Alfred had known it.

“Your father used to say that to me whenever you seemed to be breaking off from the family traditions. I’m sure however you acted in that dream, that they knew they were loved, and loved you back fiercely in return. You appreciated them immensely, I know that much, but you only think you didn’t because you didn’t know a life without them.”

“But-”

“No buts now, I will not have you arguing with me about how much you love your parents Master Bruce. Now,” Alfred sat next to Bruce, caring eyes meeting Bruce’s for the first time, “how were they?”

“Oh Alfred, they were everything,” Bruce let the tears gather in his eyes, refusing to let them spill over as he thought back to the decade he’d shared with his parents. “Mother was, well, she became even more beautiful in her old age. I never thought about seeing her with wrinkles, but they looked so good on her. And father had a full head of grey hair by the time he was fifty. And they were so… at peace. All the time. Mother was never burdened or upset by the hardships she faced, rather, she took them head on or brushed them off immediately. And father, he was so proud for me to take over the company. To see all his hard work was not for naught. I- I…”

“You gave them a life, Master Bruce,” Alfred spoke up when Bruce cut himself off. “A chance for them to see you grow up with them. And whether it was a spell or an alternate universe or just-”

“It was just a dream, Alfred.”

“Oh hush. Whatever it was that happened, they got to see you grow up. So don’t think the whole experience was an elaborate torture method for you: think of it as a way to honour them,” Alfred squeezed Bruce’s shoulder reassuringly.

Bruce looked up through his blurry vision and nodded weakly at his butler, one of his parents' own friends. Someone who didn’t get the chance to see them grow old. “You’re right. Thank you, Alfred.”

“Nothing to thank me for, my dear boy.”

And with that Bruce wrapped his arms around his surrogate father and wept for the first time since that warehouse all those years ago.

.-. . .- .-..

Bruce threw himself back into work after his talk with Alfred. Those sage words of advice helped to calm the beast in Bruce’s mind, clawing through his rational as it taunted him with the memories. The untamed guilt lessened, but only so much. He needed a distraction, need to stop thinking about that fucking dream every time he had a moment of peace. Needed to stop thinking about his parents and about his hus- about Clark.

He hadn’t seen Clark since that meeting. He didn’t want to see Clark because from the moment they met after the dream, he knew. He knew. Clark has always been unapologetically open; as himself and as Superman. He doesn’t try to hide his emotions, or disguise them with disappointment or disgust like Bruce does. Bruce has comforted the man after particularly bad fights, sat with him and talked it through logically, and on a couple occasions trying desperately to stop the tears rolling down Clark’s cheeks. He’s also had to suppress more than a few laughs as Batman at Clark’s infectious enthusiasm; when Superman is in a good mood, everyone in his presence is. That’s just who Clark is. When truth or justice isn’t being served; he gets angry. It usually comes to heads in meetings, and more often than not it’s Bruce he’s sealed in a shouting match with. But that’s what makes him human. That’s how he makes changes in the world… and in Bruce. They fight and smile and exist with one another. That’s why Clark is his best friend. That’s how he knows immediately.

Bruce knew as soon as he locked eyes with Clark that Clark knew. He knew every single detail of Bruce’s dream. He had shared it with Bruce. Every joke, every hug, every kiss. That had been his Clark – not his imagination creating the perfect man who happened to resemble his best friend and long time- well, it doesn’t matter now.

So maybe if he had been alone, if no one else really knew what had happened in the dream, Bruce could’ve tried to brush it off. Could’ve ignored it for years, like he’d already been suppressing the damn feelings he had for the man. He’d had practice already, for almost a decade now; he could’ve pulled it off and everybody, especially Clark, would’ve been none the wiser. Like they already were.

Or had been.

But now Clark knew. Now, because he had stupidly told Bruce to start trusting him, Bruce had pulled him into this and revealed all his deepest desires to the one person who was never supposed to know any of it. Clark had been the one to worm his way under Bruce's skin and now the big oaf was paying for it. That insufferably optimistic man had done this to himself, and all the torture that was sure to follow; he only had himself to thank himself for this situation and Bruce-

Bruce knew that was wrong.

He was the one to call Superman that night. He was the one who had crumbled under Superman’s requests, and then Clark’s insistence that they get to know one another. He was the one who had let Clark into his life - into both his lives - selfishly. Because he was the one who craved for even just a bit more. A bigger smile, a longer chat, another visit. This was Bruce's fault for breaking his number one rule.

And now they were both paying for it. Now he had dragged Clark into his fantasies, dressed him up and made him play house for an entire decade. Everything Bruce had wanted, he had got. Without any care for anyone else in his dream. He got his parents back, to keep his best friends safe, to marry Superman. It was his perverted dream and Clark had been forced into it with no warning.

So he couldn’t face Clark. Not even at Justice League meetings. And Clark hadn’t come to him in the two weeks since they woke up, which meant one thing: the man was disgusted with Bruce.

Clark doesn’t like to let things simmer away like Bruce does. He hates feeling guilty and he needs closure. Bruce, on more than one occasion, has had to clarify even small comments said off-handedly. He’s since stopped teasing Clark with anything that may upset him, he’s not a monster, but he knows how the man must be feeling if it’s been two weeks of no contact. So the only conclusion to draw was that Clark hated Bruce. That he didn’t want to see him again. That he didn’t really want that talk he’d suggested and that he was probably a lot better than Bruce at forgetting this whole nightmare had even happened. And Bruce didn’t want to see Clark either. Not face-to-face at least. He didn't want to see that knowing look in his eyes again, the revulsion on his face just looking at Bruce. He didn’t want to awkwardly avoid eye contact with his best friend and he didn’t want to acknowledge how he had ruined the one great friendship he had had going for himself.

But that fucking clench round his heart squeezed everytime he was reminded that Superman was still out there, still risking his life to protect humanity day in and day out. So Bruce had taken to keeping a small visual feed of Superman running in the corner of the batcomputer, a habit he was very inclined to ignore had arisen from the dream, as well as keeping tabs on all articles posted by Clark Kent at the Daily Mail. Bruce didn’t know if that made the pain worsen however. It was like a drug, seeing Clark’s face, seeing him safe and sound, and then being reminded of what he had done to the poor man.

Bruce felt his head ache every time he caught a glimpse of Clark up close too. He and Clark were the same age they had been at the end of the dream. Every time he looked at the man, he was reminded of his husband. He had gotten to experience a decade of growing old with Clark, and now he had to act like he didn’t know about the small scar on Clark’s hip he got before his invulnerability kicked in. About the soft spot behind Clark’s ear that drove him crazy every time Bruce got near it. About the lines of his back or the feel of his body. Clark’s hair was even the same length, Bruce having told Clark in the dream to grow it out slightly so the curls could really flourish. Clark looked exactly the same as the man who was Bruce’s husband.

Bruce looked nothing like Clark’s husband.

His body was marred with scars from his life as the Batman. They were memories of the past, maps forming on his skin. He had the beginnings of grey hairs sprouting at his temples and the nape of his neck from his annoyingly reckless children. His eyes were worn in and tired; bags forming that only the best make-up could conceal, wrinkles from years of rubbing at them incessantly after being up for days at a time.

Clark had gotten to experience the best version of Bruce, the version that he would’ve grown into if only his parents had survived. He had been compelled by Bruce to fall in love with a version of himself whose only hardship was what he was going to wear that morning. A Bruce that could love him openly and freely, without the burden of his mission on his shoulders or the trauma of his childhood in his soul. A Bruce that was so unlike himself, Bruce wondered how he had ever been able to act that way.

He wasn’t the Bruce Clark had married; physically or emotionally.

That was why avoiding the man was imperative. Batman could face up to Killer Croc and Manbat and Penguin without so much as a quiver of fear, but he was too much of a coward to face Clark. Because that meant facing his feelings; facing a man who had the power to destroy Bruce from the inside out, even if he doesn’t know about the potential he holds. Well, didn’t. Clark’s smart; it had been one of the many qualities Bruce had fallen in love with, and remembers thinking extensively about in the dream. He couldn’t be an idiot in his line of work, and he’s damn good at what he does. Not the best, that prize goes to Lois, but he makes a difference through Clark Kent as much as he does through Superman. He has to have realised that everything in that dream was a projection of Bruce’s. His want and desire for his friend, his need to have his parents back. Gotham’s lack of crime and moving into the Manor. That was all what Bruce had wanted.

Clark had to know. But he could deal with it on his own. Bruce would never speak of this again, and it would all blow over. Sooner or later. Or maybe never. But if his friendship with Clark is what he had to pay for even a moment with his parents… No. He couldn’t equate them. Wouldn’t. But he could do one thing to save what was left of his dignity. To avoid the disgust and anger he was sure was simmering away in the other man. All he could do was avoid Clark at all costs.

.-. . .- .-..

It’s been three weeks since the dream and Bruce only realised he was sitting on the roof of Wayne Manor, in his usual spot, when the cool autumn winds began to bite at his ears and nose. He could deal with it, he had trained in the Changbai Mountains for a year after all, but that was over two decades ago now. He’s losing his touch slightly. He was in a suit, not the suit, but a two piece that he had worn to work that day. He must’ve gotten home and come straight up here. Fuck’s sake: he should be returning to some semblance of a normal life now. Dreams are usually forgotten before one even wakes up, so why is this nightmare still so vivid?

Bruce had one working hypothesis, not that he liked admitting it to himself, much less documenting it in the cave. One where it was his fault. It was him who had eventually broken them out of that dream, with Dick’s help, but before that he had simply ignored the obvious signs and powered through as if everything were fine. Bruce dug his nails into his hair as he thought about everything that had been so wrong.

The Temple of Artemis in Ephesus. Clark had taken him there because Bruce had always wanted to visit it. And he never had, because his mother died before she could take him. That was the unexplainable grief he had felt, the urge to see her again. Bruce wondered if the temple was anything like the vision he had made up in his dream, if Clark had seen it the same way as he did.

Clark’s first visit meeting with Bruce’s parents. The strange ‘flashback’ Bruce had had in a guest room. Jason’s room. Still pristinely made up as the day Jason… the day he left. It wasn’t one of his cousins, it was the slightly unruly second robin who had never slept on a bed so soft or under duvets so thick. An excited young boy on the precipice of his new life.

His twenty-ninth. The only birthday he really remembered. Perhaps the only one he and Clark really shared in the dream. The first time he had shown Clark his oasis on the roof of Wayne Manor. But before that, Bruce remembered the ache tearing at his heart. The unexplainable grief he had felt. Not for a death, but for a loss just as bad. The argument with Dick. Bruce had still been young himself and figuring out how to parent a seventeen-year-old. Dick was off to university and was trying to figure out his life outside of Batman’s shadow, struggling leading his own team.

Dick had stormed out the cave that night, leaving his Robin costume behind. Bruce still remembers the ‘I QUIT!’ that had echoed around the cave for days afterwards. It had taken a year, and a new Robin, for Dick to start talking to him again and now, thankfully, they were back to the easy relationship Bruce cherished from Dick’s Robin days. Dick had called him dad again for the first time precisely four-hundred-and-twenty-one days after that argument. It had been hard watching his son go off on his own, especially since Bruce had never had that experience for himself, and he couldn’t protect Dick out there. Not like he could when he was Robin. But Bruce had watched Dick grow into his own man, had provided him with almost a decade's worth of training before he stormed out, and Bruce had had to trust his son.

That was the jagged knife of slow distancing. Each conversation tearing them further apart from one another. Each action, each non-action that should’ve been taken. Those were the lessons you learn from the first child, unfortunately for Dick. Bruce had learnt and moved forward differently, treating his children with more care, and they in turn repaid him with their own kindness. And Bruce had remembered that. It had defined an entire year for him, one he couldn’t forget about even in his dream.

And then there was Harvey’s rally. His small outburst where Bruce had felt the world start to blur at the edges. He had seen the night as flashes in his head. Moments that never happened in the dream. The celebration had taken place in Wayne Manor, like it had in the dream, except they were five years older in real life. Harvey didn’t make District Attorney until his thirties. And it was that fateful night that seemed like it started it all. Harvey had received the letter and Two-Face had reacted, throwing Margot into a drinks table, the ice sculpture shattering around her. Bruce had tried to intervene, to calm Harvey down but-

“Let go of me you rich twit.” It was the first time Bruce had heard Two-Face’s voice, been a victim of his actions. Then it had all spiralled from there and Bruce lost his best friend to crime. That horrible, fateful night had started it all.

One of Bruce and Clark’s fights, the one where Bruce had seriously thought Clark was going to leave him. The dream had started crumbling around him and now he realised he had been so close to waking up that something slipped through. The memory of the first time Clark had saved his life, though he would never admit that to the man, had snaked its way through the cracks and into Bruce’s head. He had remembered that argument; one of the many meetings that had gotten Bruce to drop his guard, to confront his behaviour and yield to Superman’s pleas about opening up. But he had still been resisting then, he hadn’t wanted the dream to end, so he had censored his own name and forced Clark back to his side.

It had happened again, that day he thought Superman had died. A direct parallel to what Clark must’ve experienced in the afternoon leading up to their fight. Or what Bruce had forced him to feel. Or act. The world, once again at the prospect of losing his husband, had begun to break apart and weaken. But he had chalked both times up to his tears and his grief. An unfounded grief that didn’t belong to Clark.

A camera flash in an alley. Well, there was only one person that could’ve been. Tim was still stalking Batman and Superman even in his dreams. Bruce chuckled slightly at the thought. Though the boy himself wasn’t invited, his parents made it to Bruce and Clark’s wedding. How had Bruce ever forgotten about his third son, when his family had been right along the road?

And talking about the wedding: sitting on the roof of Wayne Manor once again, stressed out by wedding planning and talking about having kids. Bruce had outright named Cassandra and Damien. He couldn’t forget even one of his kids if he tried it seemed. Though actually seeing them had been a different problem. Probably because if he had, like he had seen a young Dick right at the end, it would’ve snapped him out of it like that, and Tetch couldn’t have that. So no kids. At all.

The unexplainable grief he had felt when his father had handed over Wayne Enterprises to him. Before that conversation, Bruce had ignored the looming shadow of his legacy and his future, but that day? He knew instinctually that his acquisition of the company meant something bad. That it wasn’t right for him to have it just yet. Because he had only inherited it due to his parents' untimely deaths.

And, God, his whole reluctance to even allow himself to fall in love with Clark in the first place. It was a part of his soul knowing it couldn’t happen, knowing that Bruce couldn’t allow it to happen, and yet Bruce had barrelled through and done it anyway. He had ignored the shadows clutching at his shoulders and used Clark to bat them away. To distract himself. They never really left throughout his marriage though: how could they? How could they, when Batman was Bruce’s life.

And that was it, wasn’t it... The shadows that had been clawing at his heart, clouding his vision: they were the Batman. Bruce had never truly forgotten who he was, the night tearing at him, scarring him even in his perfect dream.

Scars.

Bruce had scars. He didn’t have moles.

It must’ve been the dream's way to make up for his missing parts. The palm Clark had loved to massage – the action that had given Bruce so much solace – was one he performed himself when he needed to focus. A two inch gash ran up from his inner wrist to the bottom of his thumb. He had gotten it on one of his first patrols, before he had perfected the balance of flexibility-to-durability on his gloves. It was still red and angry, even after all these years. And it ached sometimes, like a simmering burn when it gets too close to heat. Somehow, someway, Bruce had managed to convey that to Clark in the dream and get him to massage it for him. Just another piece of evidence towards Bruce’s subtle influences over Clark to add to the pile.

The dream hadn’t been real, and neither had Bruce. Not really. Not without his family or his city or his mission. Even though he had gotten everything he wanted, he couldn’t really have it as himself. He didn’t deserve it.

.-. . .- .-..

A month after waking up, and precisely twenty-eight days after his last Justice League meeting, an emergency signal was sent out to the founders, forcing Bruce to don his costume and beam himself up to the watchtower. He had been avoiding this particular situation for a reason, and he had thought he would have had at least a few months before a problem requiring Batman specifically would arise.

Stalking into the meeting room, he thanked any god who could be up there that Clark hadn’t arrived yet, though it looked like everyone else had. Reviewing the table in front of him, he slung up a few curses after his thanks. As everyone else had already made themselves comfortable, there were only two chairs left. Right next to one another. And that wasn’t strange either; Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman had always sat at the head, the trinity (as the others liked to call them) not holding any authoritative power in the League, but rather a respect as the three who had set this mission up. Although the three swapped their specific seats occasionally, there were the undecided and unspoken rules that Bruce preferred to sit on the right and thus be more inconspicuous as people tend to look from left to right when observing, and Diana liked to chat with the members, taking the left hand side as she had done today. And it was well known that Clark wasn’t fussed at all.

There was no feasible reason for Bruce to ask Diana to sit in the middle for this meeting, not one which didn’t have Batman looking incredibly petty or strange anyway, so he resigned himself to an hour or so of looking at every member of the League except from the one next to him.

The man in question strode through the doors a few minutes after Bruce, hair windswept and a little crusty at the ends.

“Sorry,” He announced, striding down the side of the table towards the head, “Forest fire in California.”

Murmurs of acknowledgement and pity sprung up around the room as Clark took his seat in the middle. Bruce looked back down at his tablet and continued to sort through the many files that had to be processed. Half of them were clean-up from his week away, and he was beginning to realise that someone else needed to have at least a sliver of knowledge about their administrative system if this were to ever happen again. Good thing it was a distraction from the disturbance next to him.

He caught himself from reacting when a low voice whispered into his ear, “You didn’t call this, did you?”

Bruce was quite proud of the non-plussed grunt of his reply, hammering down any and all feelings that arose from hearing that voice for the first time in a month. That voice that had whispered some quite different obscenities into his ear for a decade. The voice which had soothed him and brought him back from the edge several times. The voice he could pick out in a crowd, an involuntary smile invariably breaking out on his face.

Thankfully, Diana interrupted before Clark could try to continue their conversation.

“Thank you all for arriving on such short notice,” She nodded at the members in the room, “I’m afraid we have some unsettling news heading for Earth. I was on monitor duty today with J’onn when an unusual entity was picked up on entering the solar system, activating a cautionary warning. The two of us looked into the possible threat.”

Bruce tried not to smile at the fact his ‘paranoid’ alarms seemed to have been helpful, contrary to what a certain Hal Jordan would believe.

“There appears to be a vessel heading towards Earth on a direct path. Whether this is intentional or not we do not yet know, and unfortunately, or fortunately depending on your view, it is still too far away to acutely identify with our technology. From hence forth, I propose we be wary in monitoring this imminent hazard as diligently as possible.”

There was nodding around the table, but many seemed to be surprised by the lack of actual emergency. Yet. Batman took in the slightly distracted faces around the table and made to stand.

“This could be a major threat to the planet, well done on analysing the alarm and taking action Diana, J’onn.” He nodded towards the both of them, “I agree with this proposal, and suggest it should be set up alongside the usual monitors so we can keep an eye on it.”

“You want to add to monitor duty?” Barry asked, clamping a non-existent hand over his mouth as he slunk back down into his chair as he noticed he had just spoken up against the Batman.

“Yes,” Bruce replied defiantly. “Unless anyone wants to take on the responsibility?”

The response to that was a whole table hastily avoiding eye contact and an awkwardly cleared throat.

“That's what I thought,” Bruce muttered to himself under his breath as he sat down again, letting Diana take the lead once more.

Surprisingly, he heard a small snort next to him, risking a glance to see Superman suppressing a smile. He blatantly ignored any warmth which that expression caused, and turned to stare at the opposite wall with a new fervour.

He was dimly aware of Diana still speaking, voices blurring as he sorted out some theories in his mind, when suddenly people were getting out of their seats and beginning to leave. A crackle of lightning and Flash was next to him, but instead speaking to Superman about a project they seemed to be collaborating on in STAR Labs. Good. Bruce swept past them and cornered Diana just as she had a hand on the door.

“You called this as an emergency meeting so I would have to attend, didn’t you?” He accused her lightly. Not that he blamed her, it was the exact tactic he had used on a couple other members when they began to slack in their duties.

Diana just smiled knowingly at him as she rested a hand on his arm, “You’re a founder of the League and we haven’t seen you in a month Bruce. Do you know what the other members were starting to think?”

Bruce scowled, “No, and I don’t care what they think. Gotham has needed extra attention since I’ve been away.”

“Been away, is that what you’re calling it?” Bruce went to rebuff her but she held up her other hand in warning, the one gripping his arm tightening more than a friendly pat would be. “And you’ve been out of commission for longer than a week before. Gotham was fine. I should know, I practically ravaged half of it looking for you.”

“Don’t lecture me on my city,” Bruce replied as a cop out. “And it’s not just Gotham, the state of the League-”

“Excuses, excuses,” Diana fixed him with a hard stare, though there was still some mirth lingering in the corners of her eyes, as if his stubbornness was amusing. “I know why you’ve been calling off our meetings, and I thought it was for the greater good of the JL that you finally face him. There’s only so long we can survive without Batman, even when he’s not dreaming.”

At the mention of the dream, Bruce’s eyes inadvertently flickered towards where Clark was still chatting away animatedly with Barry at the other end of the room. A harder-than-necessary squeeze of his arm and Diana was gone, leaving Bruce a perfect exit strategy as well with Clark still busy.

He, like Diana had been, was touching the handle when Superman’s booming voice echoed out. “Batman! I’d uh, could we have a word please? It’s about… that Luthor connection to Falcone we were working on.”

There was no connection, and there was no case. It was a quick excuse made up to get Barry out of the room and to keep Bruce in it. And unfortunately it worked like a charm.

“Oh, I’ll leave you guys be, as thrilling as that sounds.” The speedster chuckled nervously before darting out the room. The sound of the door slamming behind him only exemplified the silence left in his wake.

“Bruce, look-”

Bruce butted in before he had to hear Clark’s accusations or, god-forbid, an apology for some forsaken reason. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“What?”

“Our- the dream. It doesn’t- didn’t make any sense.” Bruce clarified, “There were never any rogues terrorising Gotham, Dent never dealt with Two-Face, you… revealed your identity with no consequences just to get me out of a cheating scandal.” A sigh. “There were so many inconsistencies I missed because-” Bruce cut himself off there before he could admit anything more. Admit something he had been able to do so freely, like it was second nature. Like it was right.

Because I was so in love with you.

Clark noticed his hesitation and filled in the silence once again. “Yeah, looking back I felt almost as if I skipped days, as if the only thing that mattered was getting back to you. I mean… before I met you I don’t really-”

“Me either,” Bruce cut in. It was true. The days in between had passed like a blur. Half-realised thoughts and fantasies that didn’t play out but were still tugging at the edge of his memory. Pulling Clark into alcoves in the Manor to make out. Dates in fancy metropolis restaurants. Flying back and forth to see the Kents. It was there, like they had done it but as soon as he tried to focus harder they slipped out his grasp.

And still he- he couldn’t bring himself to listen to Clark talk about it, to sweep an entire decade under the rug. And that’s the thing: it never existed. Bruce had to get a grip on himself. Clark wasn’t his husband, he was Superman. And Bruce was Batman.

Batman.

“And,” Bruce thought he might regret what he said next, but he couldn’t help himself, “there were so many things missing. That I could never live without. I never met Dick, or any of my other kids, but I remembered them. I saw Jason in his room. I saw Tim in that alleyway. I suggested we name our kid Cass or Damien.” Bruce finally broke, finally let a fraction of emotion through his voice, which he hoped he disguised in time. “I couldn’t hear the name Batman without having a crisis.”

“I can’t imagine a world without them,” Clark replied softly.

And yet, they had. Bruce had. A world with his parents meant sacrificing his kids.

“The Justice League didn’t exist either,” Bruce noted bluntly, the thought hitting them as he had entered the watchtower. “They were the extra table at the wedding.”

Clark stilled. It was the first time either of them had mentioned the wedding, or the fact they got married. “Well, you were never Batman. We never met Diana, never agreed to form a team of Superheroes.” Clark’s eyebrows furrowed as he sighed. “Rao, how different this world could be if-”

“If my parents had never been mugged and shot in an alleyway?” Bruce almost spat out, unable to listen to more of Clark’s speculations. It was almost as if… as if Bruce’s parents dying was a good thing.

“No Bruce,” Superman, to his credit, looked horrified, and Bruce knew that wasn’t what he meant. But it was all so raw still. A scab that kept getting picked at, unable to heal. Talking about it, even thinking about it, hurt. “No, of course that’s not…”

Bruce just sighed. “I know. But it wasn’t real.” He finally looked at Clark. He wanted to reassure the man, lay a hand on his shoulder, hug him. But he couldn’t. “The memories will fade in time, we just have to forget about it all.” The words were wrenched from his chest but Bruce kept his voice steady. He would never be able to forget. He had had his parents back.

“Forget? Bruce-”

But Bruce was gone. He couldn’t keep himself composed for any longer, couldn’t hear Clark agree to the terms that Bruce had laid out.

Chapter Text

Bruce hasn’t holed himself up in the cave since his conversation with Clark per se… he’s just been busy with cases. Very busy. For three weeks. And yet every time he closes his eyes, he still sees his life, his other life. His perfect life. It’s so vivid, too vivid. He wakes up and expects Clark to be sleeping soundly next to him. He loses concentration throughout the day and inadvertently goes looking for Clark in his favourite rooms. He sees him, in that state of consciousness and darkness, standing in the window with the sun glistening behind him and beaming at Bruce like he always did. In the dream anyway.

And now he’s seeing him again. With Tim.

“Hey Bruce,” His third eldest calls out, jumping down the stairs to the batcave three at a time with two mugs of coffee. “Clark’s here! I asked him to help me on a case though, so don’t go stealing him okay?” And with that he was off to his own work station a platform down from Bruce’s.

So that really is Clark then. And there’s no reason for his kids to think anything is amiss between the two of them – the JL and Bruce definitely as they’ve seen him skipping meetings and throwing himself into cases – but Superman and Batman are still technically the closest friends in the League. And in Bruce’s life. So Bruce just nods, probably too curtly, at Clark and returns to his work with added vigour, resolutely ignoring the neon sign of a problem twenty metres away.

And after about two hours, it works. Bruce has completely lost himself in a mob case, trying to connect Daggett and Biggs in two seemingly unrelated crimes when a cup of coffee is placed next to him, accompanied by a small press of lips to his temple.

Bruce felt an unconscious smile grace his face. “Thanks love…” he trailed off. No, this isn’t right. Clark shouldn’t-

He looked up frantically to see Clark walking away with his own mug and apparently unaware of what he’d just done. Tim was just as entranced by his case as Bruce had been, and Cass and Dick, who arrived an hour ago, were sparring down in the training area.

Unable to confront Clark without causing a scene, and not really wanting to anyway, Bruce returned to his work with a familiar heat in his face and a twitch of his lips.

They all pick up the steady rhythm from before, or- well, Bruce tried to. There was still that niggling in his mind about whether Clark even knew what he had done. The cogs whirring in his mind were interrupted again by the presence of Alfred.

“Dinner shall be ready in ten minutes,” He announced into the relative silence, words echoing around the cave. They reverberated back as a series of ‘okay, thanks Alfred!’ as his kids replied, Alfred making his way closer to Bruce.

Perhaps too loudly, he asked, “Will Mister Kent be staying for dinner?”

Bruce felt like a deer caught in headlights as he snapped his head round to look at Clark. The man had transferred down to spar with Dick and Cass, his help for Tim’s case apparently having run out. Clark, because of his damned superhearing, also whipped his head round to look at Bruce, eyebrows raised in a question. Before the two of them could say anything however, Bruce was answered for by his eldest.

“Yea ‘course he is! Clark promised to fight both of us at the same time tonight,” Dick grinned up, high-fiving Cass with an evil glint in their eyes.

Bruce caught Clark’s gaze once more, the questioning brow having transformed into a look of worry. But he couldn’t say no to his friend, so he just shrugged his (fake) indifference and swiveled back round to the screen. They had a strict deadline of ten minutes, so everyone went to finish up their respective projects within Alfred’s timeframe before shuffling upstairs to grab their seats. Bruce waited for the last person to leave on purpose, rising and cracking his stiff back before following everyone else up the stairs.

He cursed himself for not seizing up as a warm, steadying hand landed on his hip from behind when he was halfway up to the exit.

Clark leant in, closer than he would’ve before the dream and yet still not interfering with Bruce’s unwitting new barriers for him, to say lowly, “I can leave if you're not comfortable?”

If the words stung him, then Bruce made sure to bury that feeling. If Clark didn’t want to be near him when Bruce had already explicitly stated, in his own way, that he was fine with it, then that was Clark’s problem.

“I didn’t say no, did I?” He replied, too snippily as Clark’s face fell slightly.

“I guess not… it’s just that Diana and Lois thought I should give you some space, which you obviously want so I wasn’t sure…” Clark murmured out, eyes darting around to look at something other than Bruce.

“So you weren’t avoiding me because-”

“Well I wasn’t avoiding you.” Clark stammered out, interrupting Bruce, “I thought… I thought you were avoiding me. Because of what happened. In the dream.” So Clark definitely knew. And yet he wasn’t disgusted or angry with Bruce. In fact, he seemed more embarrassed by it. Well, him and Bruce both then. And if there was no hatred, then that would make it a whole lot easier for them to both forget. It seemed like Clark was letting Bruce off the handle here, the unerringly kind soul he was, and Bruce wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I’ve been busy. Gotham's been busy,” Bruce replied in lieu of an actual answer. Forcing a cocky smile – one more befitting Bruce Wayne – to help lift Clark’s spirits and to try to return to some semblance of their friendship from before, he teased, “Now let’s go upstairs, you know what Alfred is like with punctuality.”

“Gosh you don’t have to remind me twice,” Clark’s face lit up as he laughed. “Race you to the top?”

He took off before he even finished the sentence.

“Oi farmboy, that’s called cheating!” Bruce shouted up, despite chasing after him with an untamed grin on his face, forcing down joy that had bubbled at the familiarity that had returned and the caring nature of his best friend who was unbelievably forgiving.

By the time they reached the dining room, Bruce only slightly behind Clark but unfortunately panting a bit more heavily, he was greeted by the sight of all his children at various stages of seated. It was a rare sight now Dick and Jason didn’t live here full time, and Tim had actually been pulled away from his work for once. Jason and Damien were arguing over a seat, Cass was helping Alfred with food, and Dick was steering Tim towards a chair and not the floor.

Bruce shared an exasperatedly fond look with Clark as they went to take their seats, Clark automatically sitting in his ‘normal’ chair to the left of Bruce’s. Alfred, to his credit, didn’t share a look with Bruce, but he knew the old man was fighting not to. Dinner was served whilst his kids all figured out their seating plan and Bruce chatted away happily with his eldest, catching Clark and Cass out of the corner of his eye talking in ASL, and suppressed a smile. It seemed fine, it felt fine, until Dick stopped their conversation abruptly.

“Why are you doing that?” Dick narrowed his eyes at Clark, who was currently scooping up all of Bruce’s peas and depositing some of his own potatoes on Bruce’s plate as a trade. Bruce had absent-mindedly pushed his plate towards Clark’s.

“Bruce doesn’t like peas,” Clark replied musingly, focused on his task whilst going to return to his own discussion with Cass. Bruce blinked several times to figure out why Dick would be asking that, and then remembered. They don’t do this here. Clark started doing it after he realised Bruce was leaving certain foods alone on their dates; and to get Bruce to eat more after long nights at the office, Clark would trade bits from his own meal to compensate. And then it just became… normal. Clark learnt what Bruce disliked and what he was hoping to scrounge off Clark’s plate, and then just did it.

Clark looked up and seemed to remember that this was wrong too. He cleared his throat, pushing the plate back to Bruce as a flush crept up his neck and ears. Bruce had to stop himself from smiling at his hus- at his friend.

“Thanks Kal,” Bruce nodded and tried to move on seamlessly with his conversation with Dick. It was then he noticed the entire table was staring at the two of them. When they noticed he noticed them, everyone suddenly found something more interesting to look at and went back to their conversations, though notably more hushed this time.

Fuck, this was going to be hard.

.-. . .- .-..

After dinner, his kids practically man-handled Bruce and Clark through to the cinema room as soon as the plates had disappeared, all thoughts of a sparring session apparently gone. Bruce didn’t care to mind however; if it meant his kids were all getting along, and inviting him in as well, then how could he say no? Clark had also been roped into their schemes, though he had the decency not to send Bruce a look of panic this time. Bruce looked over, being tugged down the hallway by Tim and Cass, and instead saw Kal laughing along as he was swept up in the frenzy.

Seeing the cinema room again for the first time since he had woken sent a pang of fear through his core. This room had been the last place he and Clark had been truly happy in. Looking at his favourite couch, he could almost see Clark and himself wrapped up in each other’s arms, Bruce halfway to falling asleep. The indent mark from their bodies after years of using that spot.

But then he blinked and the room returned to normal, with a few extra films on the shelves and a few more armchairs shoved into the room. Bruce was let go the moment they entered the room, Tim and Cass darting off to claim their favourite seats. A second wave of children pushed past Bruce as he made his way over to his spot, chuckling as Dick launched himself across the room to beat Jason. It took a couple of minutes for everyone to get settled, popcorn appearing from thin air and fights about who was in someone's usual seat. Surprisingly, the only thing unanimously agreed on was the film.

“Ugh we watched IT not even a year ago, and it’s not even that good.”

“Say that again to my face.”

“I agree with Tim, not in the mood for a horror tonight.”

“But it’s Halloween month!”

“That’s not for another three weeks idiot.”

“Move over Damien! Oh and no cringe comedies.”

“WHAT?”

“You get a veto, so I get a veto. Now shove off.”

“Not fair.”

“Also I’m too tired to watch something high brow- GO AWAY JASON!”

“Yeah me too.”

“How about The Princess Bride?”

“Ooh good idea Cass, I haven't seen that in years!”

“What is the princess bride?”

“You’ve never seen it?! Oh Bruce you’ve failed little D.”

“Right, well we have to watch it now.”

“Yeah fine. Dick I swEAR TO GOD-”

The Princess Bride.

Bruce’s eyes snapped up to look at Clark, who had remained quiet as he waited for Bruce’s kids to calm down and claim any available space. The other man had obviously done the same as they shared a quick, devastating look. A knowing one. A shot of pain rang through Bruce’s head as he ripped his gaze away and went back to surveying his unruly children, calming his beating heart.

As the kids were still fighting and refusing to get up from chairs – Bruce had given up trying to interfere unless one of them actually asked or complained to him – Clark went and grabbed the film without even having to search for it. He knew exactly where it was because… because it was one of his favourite movies. Because he had made Bruce watch it at least ten times while they were together. Because it was the film they had been watching right before they woke up.

But Clark seemed fine. And, surprisingly, so did Bruce’s kids; all having settled down with only one grumpy face in the crowd. Bruce had been sitting in his favourite spot this entire time, waiting for everything to calm down but now that it had, and now Clark had popped the movie in and was turning around to sit, he realised that there were no other sofas available except for his. It was either the cruel hand of fate or the cunning planning of his children: and he knew exactly which one it had been.

So he tried not to look like he was becoming one with the armrest as Clark sat down next to him, offering Bruce a sheepish smile as he did. There was still enough space that a person could sit in between them, but even at this distance Bruce could feel the heat radiating off the man next to him. He could see out of his periphery that Clark was also ram-rod straight, as if he’d been electrified. Hands on his lap, legs closed together. Bruce sighed.

This wasn’t fair, to either of them, and Bruce hated seeing Clark act as if he were a stranger in the Manor. As if he hadn’t been joining them for movie nights since Bruce had taken Dick in. And it was Bruce's fault. So he forced himself to relax a little, detaching his side from the arm rest and tucking one foot under his thigh. Trying his best to focus on the film, he noticed Clark start to slump down after a few minutes, one arm going up to rest against the top of the sofa like he usually sat.

Bruce smiled to himself at the act, happy that at least Clark still felt comfortable being in his home, being around his children. The dream hadn’t affected them so much that they couldn't try to fix their friendship. So with the melting pot of emotions stirring in his chest, Bruce allowed himself to focus on the movie fully and properly unwind.

Throughout the first half of the film, there were many frivolous interruptions: someone shouting at dumb decisions, booing the prince, arguments about what they would've done or how their training could’ve helped them defeat the baddies. But as it continued, they became more scarce as his kids started to drop off one by one. Bruce felt the tiredness creep up on him as well, ever so slowly, as he allowed himself to have a night off for the first time since he woke up from the dream. He shifted into more comfortable positions throughout the film, when, with around half an hour left, he bumped into something solid. Looking up, he noticed it was Clark, who didn’t look away from the film as he silently mouthed along. So Bruce just leant into his warmth and turned his attention towards the movie once again. He sighed contently as a large hand came to rest on his shoulder moments later.

By the time it ended, Bruce hardly noticed how he and Clark had sunk into their ‘usual’ position: Bruce’s head nestled into the crook of Clark’s neck, his arm hugging Bruce and gently caressing his shoulder, Clark’s foot jammed under Bruce’s thigh. The exhaustion of his non-stop attitude had finally caught up with him and he stifled a yawn as the film faded to black, eyes heavy with fatigue.

“Awe c’mon, it wasn’t that boring was it?” Clark teased.

“You try relaxing after almost two months of uninterrupted brutal work,” Bruce grumbled as he let his eyes drift shut.

Clark’s soft laughter stopped him from falling asleep, “I might have some idea, I am Superman after all.”

“And you don’t technically need to sleep for days. Alas, as much as I try to deny it, I am but a simple human,” Bruce huffed out.

“You’re anything but simple, darlin’,” Clark murmured into his hair as he felt a soft weight on the top of his head. Bruce couldn’t help the smile that bloomed from the compliment combined with the kiss. “Now I think there’s five of your kids who need to go to bed.”

“Dick’s twenty-four he can handle it himself,” He hummed in response, not exactly thrilled at the prospect of getting up himself.

Clark just chuckled again as he went to stand, dislodging Bruce from his side. “And they’re still your children at the end of the day. When was the last time their father tucked them in huh?”

Bruce rolled his eyes at Clark’s fair reasoning as he accepted the hand up. “Fine. But you have to help too.”

“Of course.”

Bruce carried Damien up first, the eleven-year-old just too old to be carried like this. But as his son tiredly wrapped his arms around Bruce and nestled his head in Bruce’s chest, he couldn’t help the flare of affection that wrapped around his heart. It really had been too long since his youngest allowed himself to act like a kid around the family. Bruce would have to fix that.

Tucking Damien in with a kiss to his forehead, he crept silently along the hallway, noting that Clark had already carried Tim up, an amazement in itself that the teen had even fallen asleep at this hour. Midnight was early for this family after all. With two out of five gone, Bruce returned to the cinema room to see Clark heaving Jason into his arms, the boy obviously not wanting to wake up as he snored away with an open mouth, limbs limp and sprawled everywhere. Bruce nodded at Clark as he passed silently and went to collect Cass. If all his training was good for anything, it was that he could still carry his children even in their late teens. She woke up slightly as he laid her in her bed, and he left her with a kiss to her temple as she slowly got up to get changed.

He noticed Clark was still in Jason’s room, yellow light spilling out into the hallway as he clicked Cass’ door shut quietly, so he steeled himself to grab his eldest from the sofa. Dick was, unfortunately, too old to be carried upstairs just because he was tired, and thankfully half-awake as Bruce walked up to him. With only a glance of agreement, he hauled Dick up and slung a hand round his waist, supporting half his weight and as his son leant into him. They were half-way up the stairs when Dick yawned and spoke.

“Clark still’ere?” Sleep slurred his words slightly.

Bruce stifled a laugh. Ever the Superman fan. “Of course.”

“Hmm, I like’im,” He stated, as if it was an unknown fact.

Bruce couldn’t help the chuckle of warmth as they reached the top of the stairs, “I’m glad. I like him too.”

“I know,” Dick nodded pensively, “I think he likes y’too.”

Bruce just smiled fondly at his eldest, opening Dick’s bedroom door for him. Detangling himself from the exhausted boy, he guided him through the door with a gentle push. “Remember to put your pyjamas on before you go to bed.”

“Mhm, night dad,” Dick rubbed at his eyes, a bad habit he picked up from Bruce, as the door shut.

Two arms enveloped around his waist, a steady weight settling against his back.

“He’s right y’know,” Clark whispered in his ear. “I do like you.”

Bruce leant back against his husband as he sank more into the peacefulness of the night. “I should certainly hope so,” he smirked tiredly. “Otherwise I might have to file for divorce.”

“You couldn’t live a day without me.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Careful mister, or I might start to-” Clark cut himself off by digging his hands into Bruce’s side, tickling him.

Bruce gasped out, his drowsy mind having no strength to fight back, “No, fuck, please stop! I- I can’t- CLARK!” The laughs were forced out of him as Clark stopped his torment, Bruce managing to twist his body around so he was facing the other man.

Clark was sporting a mischievous grin on his face, which Bruce replied to with a glare as warm hands soothed his abused waist.

“Remember that you love me,” Clark said, his voice only slightly unsure which Bruce took as a victory.

“You’re on thin ice sweetheart,” He hummed teasingly, sagging into Clark once again and burying his hands under Clark’s shirt.

Clark’s soft laughter rumbled through him. “I think there’s still one more person to put to bed.”

Bruce shook his head with resignation as Clark scooped him up and flew them through the Manor to their bedroom. Tucked into Clark like this, Bruce couldn’t help but sling his arms around his husband's neck and nestle his head in, inhaling that sweet smell for the first time in what felt like forever. What must’ve been something akin to joy spread like honey through his mind, addling his brain further.

By the time Clark reached their bedroom, Bruce didn't want to let go. He was placed down, hardly noticing how they were standing under the doorframe into the bedroom, and he kept his hands linked behind his husband’s neck. Alfred must’ve been up already as there was a low glow emanating from his bedside lamps and the curtains had been shut for the night. The hallway behind Clark was dark, the soft hum of light from the bedroom highlighting his perfect cheekbones and beautiful eyes.

They gazed at one another, locked in a quiet moment of contentment. Faces so close they were only exchanging air between one another. God, Bruce had married the most handsome and lovely man on the planet. On any planet that could be out there. He glanced down towards Clark's lips, a small smile emerging at the gesture. Bruce didn’t know why either of them were hesitating, they were husbands after all, so he broke first. Leaning in gently, he brushed his lips lightly against Clark’s, teasing him before pulling away. Clark didn’t let him back more than two centimetres before he was gripping Bruce’s waist and swooping in for more.

Bruce sighed happily into the kiss as he unlaced his hands from one another and twisted them into Clark’s hair, craning his head slightly so their faces could slot in perfectly together. Like two puzzle pieces they fit. Pulling on Clark’s hair, he elicited a gasp from his husband and used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongues gliding gloriously together.

One of them moaned into the kiss as Bruce pressed closer to Clark, needing more contact. Clark's hands snaked down from Bruce’s back to his hips and then his ass, grabbing a handful and pulling Bruce in closer. They both knew what they wanted and where this was heading. At Clark’s action, their clothed erections ground against one another, Bruce swallowing a low whimper from Clark as their kiss became more desperate.

Bruce felt Clark begin to walk them backward towards the bed, trusting his husband to guide them as he surrendered to the pleasure. He focussed instead on getting Clark’s flannel off. His hands couldn’t reach the buttons, not with them pressed so tightly together, so Bruce instead thrust them under the hem and forced the shirt over Clark’s head, breaking the kiss off properly for the first time since they started.

The separation didn’t last long however, as Clark hauled him right back in as soon as the offending material was out the way. Bruce moaned loudly at the feel of Clark’s soft skin under his touch, hands roaming wildly up his husband’s back as if it had been years since they had touched. A thick thigh nudged its way between Bruce’s legs, and he threw his head back to gasp, desperately trying not to grind wildly into the pleasure. Clark’s insistent mouth latched onto Bruce’s neck, wet and biting as he worked on marking Bruce. He would have to wear turtlenecks into the office for the next week. He couldn't care less.

Clark’s hands also came to a standstill when trying to undo Bruce’s shirt. But instead of Bruce's approach, Clark merely whispered a quick apology as he ripped the front of it open. Bruce’s nails dug into his husband's shoulders as he reveled in the slide of their bare chests, still grinding into Clark’s leg hopelessly. Bruce wasn’t going to lose control however, as a vexatious thought entered his mind. He grabbed Clark’s hair again, pulling him off Bruce’s neck where he was working on another shiner, and smirked as he caught Clark’s attention.

“Stay still and watch, okay?” Clark nodded hungrily as Bruce took as few steps backwards, towards their bed, and turned around. His shirt was hanging on to his shoulders as he shrugged it off gently, teasing Clark with each new bit of skin exposed. He lowered it slowly, flexing his back muscles and biceps in a way that he knew drove Clark crazy, until it slid off his arms and dropped to the ground.

There was a warm breath on the back of his neck as featherlight fingers started to trace erratic lines on his back.

“Where did you get these bruises from?” Clark’s voice was tinged with worry and confusion.

Bruce turned, frowning himself as he looked at his husband. What an odd question, and some way to ruin the mood. “Last night. I was on patrol and-” Bruce stopped himself suddenly. He was on patrol. As Batman. Who existed.

Clark’s hands were still on him but Bruce was thrust back into reality and away from the dream. This couldn’t happen. He and Clark aren’t a couple. This is all just… just residue from the dream. Clark has forgotten himself, and Bruce is only encouraging it.

He pushed Clark away, though it only served to give him leverage as Bruce stumbled back himself.

“This can’t happen.”

The flash of guilt in Clark’s eye reminded Bruce why it couldn’t happen. The other man swallowed thickly, silence eating them up. Bruce should tell him to go, to get out of their- his bedroom. But he couldn’t find the words. Maybe, he realised, he wants Clark to fight him, to prove Batman’s hypothesis wrong, to kiss him again. Maybe then Bruce could pretend that it was real, that Clark had been in control of his feelings in the dream. Maybe it had been real.

“I-” Clark stuttered. “Okay.”

Okay. There it was. Clark turned and fled from Bruce. The ache in Bruce’s chest intensified, consuming his whole being. Suddenly, he’s on fire, vision turning red as he watches his husband leave. There’s no air. There’s no air because he’s on fire and it’s swallowing him whole. Burning every nerve end. His chest caves in on him. His hand tears at his chest. He needs air. He needs space. His knees hit something hard. The floor? Yes, he’s kneeling. Bruce’s hands hit the floor and that grounds him.

A carpet. There’s a rug beneath his hands and he can feel it. It’s soft. He’s in his bedroom. He is safe. There’s carpet beneath his hands and it’s not on fire. He’s not on fire. That’s long been snuffed out by the darkness inside him. He’s empty. He is the night. He’s lost his spark; the only person who kept the flame of Bruce’s will ignited.

That’s not true.

He’s not in a dream anymore. He’s not a poncy socialite with two living parents and a loving husband. He has his own family, his kids, Alfred. They keep him going. His Mission… it’s them. They all came into his life when he needed them most, guiding him through his pain and loss and anger. He’s Batman, and it’s his partners who have kept him alive all these years.

The pain subsides, and Bruce is left wheezing on the floor of his bedroom, chanting a mantra of his kids names as he struggles not to succumb to the flames.

.-. . .- .-..

He’d fucked everything up once again. Except this time it was worse. This time it had been real. Bruce couldn’t shove this off as a dream, as something that had never actually happened. No. Bruce had cuddled into Clark on that couch. He had flirted with him and brought him to his bedroom. He’d kissed Clark. And Clark had left.

Which proved his theory that Clark was losing his logical thinking to memories that didn’t exist. If he had been in his right mind, he would’ve known about the bruises and the scars. He wouldn’t have had to ask Bruce, or even be confused about them for a second. He would be concerned, take care of Bruce and force him not to use sex as another method to hurt himself.

At least, in Bruce’s fantasies that was what Clark would do. But he hadn’t, because this isn't a fantasy and it's definitely not a dream.

So they were right back to square one. Worse than square one. Square zero. How would Bruce be able to look at Clark in the eyes again? See that betrayal and hurt and regret? To try and act normal around a man he had fallen so hard for? A man who knew that he had.

He didn’t have time to properly process any of those thoughts before another emergency League meeting was called only twelve hours after Clark had rejected him.

Bruce swallowed down any and all emotions that could impact this mission. He had a job to do after all. This was the reason he couldn’t involve himself with anyone, much less Clark. Any personal feelings Bruce could have towards people would limit his effectiveness in the field. Anything strong enough to make him want to sacrifice his ideals on the field, he had to abandon. That’s why none of his kids were in the Justice League. That's why he had trained them all to look after themselves, to be able to trust that they knew what they were doing. It didn’t stop the pang of worry that shot through him every time one of them came back hurt, but it soothed the pain that they would be out there with or without his guidance. They were part of him: his mind, his training, his skills. At the end of the day, he had agreed to tutor his robins to save them, to grow into a better person than he had become.

But external affections could not be tolerated. He could not have complete confidence in someone he doesn’t fully know. Or trust. So strangers may become his allies who could become friends, but that is where the line stops. Bruce has walls for a reason. To protect himself and to protect others. He can’t afford to slip up, to be the weakest link on a team made up of aliens, goddesses, and metahumans.

A team he was currently surrounded by.

The ship on a crash course with Earth had been identified as a species called En’tarans. There was little information known about them, even through Hal’s ring, but they claimed to be a peaceful species seeking only one thing: zeta-beam technology.

They still had about a month before the alien ship would enter Earth’s gravitational field, and face-to-face negotiations could be made. Bruce had already voiced his concerns about trusting the En’tarans too quickly. This wasn’t a life-or-death situation, nor was it vital they get to Earth immediately and so it was voted to let the aliens continue their slow approach and arrange deals when they were safely within Earth’s jurisdiction.

So the meeting had concluded with a unanimous agreement on how to tackle these negotiations, and most were now heading down to an organised training session. They were the brainchild of both Bruce and Diana, who had agreed that the team needed more technical fighting lessons – people who had super powers tended not to think outside of them, or what could happen if they disappeared – and experience trying to work together as a team. Most of the heroes they recruited, including the trinity itself, were lone wolves out in the world. Their fighting styles and tactical plans may work on an individual level, but when you have seven people all trying to fight ‘separately’ together, it more often leads to accidentally harming your allies than your foes, and weakening the overall strength of the team.

So the weekly training sessions had been set up almost a year ago. Sessions Bruce had been avoiding for the past two months to avoid any physical touch between him and Clark. That was all out the window now after last night, but Bruce wasn’t keen to repeat it so soon. Just as he was planning on receiving a fake message from Dick claiming to need help, he was yanked into a dark corner.

He knew the soft and steady hands on his shoulder, he knew the flash of blue and red, he knew who exactly would want to confront him on today of all days, especially in private. Clark clamped his hand over Bruce's mouth as they waited for all members to pass them unknowingly and head down a couple floors to the main gym.

Bruce didn’t bother to fight or struggle. Besides the fact that he physically couldn’t break out of Clark’s grip if he wanted, though the man would probably let him, he couldn’t express any emotions that might show how weak he was in front of Clark. So he stayed still, narrowing his eyes slightly at the unusual predicament they were in.

After the last echoes of the Justice League had disappeared down the elevators, Clark turned back to face Bruce without removing his hand.

“Okay I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen before you disappear off once again,” Clark’s words may have sounded stern, but there was a hint of uncertainty and hesitation laced within each one. He was just as uncomfortable as Bruce knew he would be.

Bruce just nodded slowly as Clark finally removed that soft hand from over his mouth.

“Right so… I want to apologise for last night and running out on you and, y’know, everything that happened before that,” A flush crept up Clark’s neck as his eyes avoided Bruce’s. “We shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t’ve… yeah, and I realise that we’ve just gone right back to that awkward bit again but I don’t want to. I don’t want to tip-toe around you anymore or see you clam up around me and I’m sorry I messed it all up again-”

Bruce watched Clark ramble on and his heart broke slightly. Here was his friend, what his kids would call his best friend, apologising for a mistake that Bruce had made and pleading for Bruce to not to close himself off again. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the faint ghost of Clark’s lips on his or his revelations last night, but Bruce found himself interrupting the tangent by pulling off the cowl.

“It’s fine Kal, really,” he heard himself saying as Clark not-so-subtly gaped at him. “But after… well, I- I realised that I depend on my partners; the robins, the batgirls, you. We’ve been working together for as long as I’ve had… Nightwing.” Bruce hesitated, almost saying Dick’s name out loud. Bruce is the loudest advocate for never using civilian names in public places on the Watchtower, and what a hypocrite he would seem then. Clark’s kryptonian name didn’t count of course. “We work well together. I don’t want the dream to come between that.” It might have been heard as sweet, if Bruce’s voice wasn’t so stilted and monotone as he struggled through his confession. He and Clark didn’t talk about feelings, they just knew.

Bruce knew Clark knew how big a deal it was being let into the batcave, although Bruce had only grunted at the time. Bruce knew Clark knew revealing their identities was a huge leap of trust for Bruce, although he had never told Clark that explicitly. Bruce knew Clark knew that nobody else had the privilege of annoying Bruce while he worked on cases, even his kids. At least he could tell them to get back to training, or upstairs to see Alfred. Clark was always different. That’s why they worked so well together.

Clark’s face was unreadable, which was odd as usually the man wore his heart on his sleeve. You knew what mood Clark was in from just a look. What he was thinking about. Bruce’s heart faltered as he garnered that maybe Clark didn’t want to be friends with him anymore.

“I’ve missed you Bruce.”

Superman surged forward and engulfed Bruce in a hug. Before Bruce could reciprocate however, the warm pressure of Clark was gone.

“I mean, um…I’ve gotten so used to having you as my best friend. We’ve always looked out for one another, well, apart from that first year, but I didn’t realise how much I depended on you before… that,” Clark smiled hesitantly at Bruce, a smile Bruce reciprocated as easily as he had in the dream, though he loathed the remnant of it.

“Me too. Though I shouldn’t have to remind one of the founders not to use our civilian names here,” Bruce joked, feeling the tension between them slide away some more. They weren’t back to good friends, the ache in Bruce’s chest proved that, but perhaps he could handle this olive branch for now.

“You and your rules B,” Clark rolled his eyes playfully. Bruce bristled at the use of the nickname, but Clark had used it for years before their… escapade, so it shouldn’t change now. Clark clapped his hand on Bruce’s shoulder, the mirth gone. “You’re my best friend, I want us to be that close again, without any… distractions. And I think the JL has been slacking without the ‘World’s Finest’ at the helm. Diana’s been holding her own but there’s only so many Amazonian training drills the team can handle before they collapse,” he grinned.

Bruce couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him. “Maybe it’ll finally get them to work as a team.”

“You’re sadistic sometimes,” Clark laughed, stepping out from the shadows and beginning to walk towards the gymnasium, trusting Bruce to follow. His hand-computer was still open on the fake emergency, but as Bruce looked down, and then back at that red cape, he found himself exiting out of the program and catching up with Clark.

By the time they reached the rest of the league, already halfway through the first drill, Clark was discussing his latest adventures and filling Bruce in on what he had missed. Bruce smothered his smile as they walked over to Diana, currently shouting abuse at the team. She must've noticed the dissipated tension around her teammates and grinned, slinging her arms around their shoulders.

“Glad to have you back comrades.”

“Glad to be back,” Bruce huffed out, turning his attention back to the team. “What the hell is Barry doing with his arms?”

“I have no idea.”

Bruce whipped his head round to glare at Clark through Diana’s head. “Superman, you cannot say anything.”

“What?” Clark squawked as Diana laughed heartily.

“I’ve seen how you punch when depowered,” She joined in the bullying. “Now get in that ring.”

“I could swear the two of you like torturing the Justice League,” Clark muttered as he ducked out from Diana’s strong grip.

Bruce let his lip curl upwards slightly. “You’ll never be able to prove that.”

“This was a mistake.”

Bruce watched as Clark hopped onto the mats, interrupting Barry’s repetitions and offering himself up as a training partner.

“Now Mr Wayne, what do you say to a small spar?” Diana beamed at him.

“I’d say bring it on, Princess.”

.-. . .- .-..

Bruce needed distractions. He needed to stop thinking about Clark. Every time his head hit his pillow, no, every time he closed his eyes Clark was there. Smiling at him, kissing him, hands roaming- It was becoming a bigger problem than Bruce had imagined. He had thought these memories would fade, that he could repress his feelings like he had been doing for the last decade, that he and Clark could go back to being friends. He loved Clark, but he had also cherished the friendship Clark had managed to wrangle out of Bruce. The tentative rekindling they had agreed on. That’s why he had clamped down on his ‘crush,’ because he wasn’t ruining the one good relationship outside of his family.

But being ‘friends’ again with Clark was killing him. He had doubled his patrols and their lengths. Bruce was pretty sure Gotham’s Rogues were purposely laying low to avoid running into the Bat, because Bruce, in his frustration, had snapped the Riddler’s collarbone and tibia after Nygma had (unknowingly) taunted him about his love life. But these patrols were making it worse, because Clark was dropping in on every other one.

And that’s because it was what he used to do, before the dream. That's how he had worn Bruce down. Superman was the only meta willingly allowed inside Gotham by Batman, and Clark had taken advantage of that. At the very start Bruce had been annoyed, but after just a few months he had started looking forward to the quiet moments. Quiet moments where before his parents voices would’ve echoed round his head and memories of his failures would flash behind his eyes. Quiet moments that turned into him and Clark just chatting and joking about. And if they were trying to be friends again then why would Clark stop doing this?

So a few days after their talk, Bruce had been perched on the abandoned rooftop of a warehouse alone and Superman had floated down next to him. And he couldn’t say anything. Because that was their old routine. And if they’d agreed to be friends, then this was normal. So Bruce had tried not to flinch out of his skin and carefully strung Clark along in conversation as he kept an eye on Clayface’s operations.

The problem was all Bruce. Since the dream he kept… forgetting, if it could be called that. Forgetting he and Clark weren’t married, that he couldn’t walk over and distract Clark from talking about work at the Planet, that he couldn’t casually kiss him because Clark smiled that particular way.

But Clark started turning up to Batman’s patrols again, and Bruce didn’t have the guts to tell him not to. He probably wouldn’t ever be able to tell Clark to leave ever again. He treasured every moment he could spend in Clark’s presence, and he doesn’t want- he can't be the one to cause Clark pain by turning him away. So he endures the chats once again, though for an entirely different reason than he did the first time, and tries to ignore the awkward parts where Bruce gets snippy and Clark starts fiddling with his cape.

It was during one one of those quiet moments when Bruce heard a rustling from above him. Considering he was currently perched on the roof of Wayne Enterprises, one of the tallest buildings in Gotham, there wasn’t much else it could be apart from:

“Superman.”

“Batman,” Clark floated down beside him with a soft nod and a smile. “How’s your night been?”

It was Halloween. “Busy,” Bruce grunted as he peered down at the bustling streets. He’d already had too many incidences of Joker and Harley Quinn costume scares, and the latter had recently broken out of Arkham so a ploy wasn’t too far behind. Tonight was the perfect night to strike.

“I can imagine,” Clark chuckled as he joined Bruce in surveying the streets. “Must be the worst night of the year for you huh?”

“Only second to the thirtieth of March.”

“Awe c’mon B, having people spend an hour celebrating your life cannot be worse than a whole weekend of no-good-doers trying to get one up on you,” Clark nudged his shoulder playfully.

Bruce raised an eyebrow behind the mask. “Did you really just call them ‘no-good-doers’?”

“Blame is on the Kansan upbringing,” Clark beamed at him. “And stop deflecting.”

“Don’t talk about your civilian life in costume,” He deflected, allowing a slight uptick in the corners of his mouth.

Clark rolled his eyes, the resigned smile giving away his mirth, “You were the one who brought up your birthday.”

Bruce shrugged. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes you- just because you didn’t outright call it that doesn’t give you the upper hand here,” Clark huffed out.

“Whatever you say Kal,” Bruce busied himself with his binoculars, looking away from the Kryptonian to hide the smile on his face. Ever since the dream, Bruce had gotten worse at controlling his facial muscles around Clark. Specifically smiles.

“I know there’s a lot of costumes going ‘round, but I think I can see Quinn at two o’clock,” Clark leant further over the side of the building for a better look, a habit he picked up from his parents. He didn’t really need to get closer, microscopic and telescopic vision after all, but it was a quirk that made him more human. More like Clark Kent.

Bruce forced himself to stop admiring Clark and pulled his eyes towards where he had mentioned seeing Harley. It was her alright. Nobody ever got the shape of her jester points perfect.

“Looks like she’s heading for that antiques store,” Bruce commented, already reaching for his grappling gun.

Clark squinted at it, “There’s a back door, want me to-?”

“I’ll have her apprehended before you can even reach it,” Bruce fired the line at a building opposite them.

“Oh, it’s on like Donkey Kong,” Clark grinned, “I’ll give you a minute's head start.”

“Don’t need it.”

“I’m trying to challenge myself.”

The line went taut as Bruce stepped off the building with a tilt in his lips, “See you down there, farmboy.”

So they were back to their usual back-and-forths, comfortable enough to tease one another without fear of going too far or over-stepping boundaries. And Bruce was glad. This was what Bruce had wanted the whole time. What he needed – Clark’s soft hands and his steady grip and his warm kisses – weren’t his priority. If this was all of Clark he was allowed, then by God was he going to keep it just as it was.

.-. . .- .-..

The En’taran convoy had finally reached Earth’s orbit. Using the Watchtower as an anchorage, a small, sleek ship carried the aliens down to Earth to the agreed meeting space.

Bruce watched as a door opened, though no stairs unfolded from the depth of the ship. Instead, Bruce watched as five beings floated out from the darkness. They didn’t have legs, instead one black appendage trailed on the ground, narrowing like a triangle towards the end. Their long metal… arms, if they could be called that, dragged alongside it, though they didn’t have hands. The continuous loops of metal simply sharpened off into a point. But it was their heads that gave Bruce real pause. They looked like human skulls, only with larger jaws and more teeth. Their brain was exposed on the back of their head, green and glowing sickly, and three tubes protruded from the mass connecting to somewhere on their back.

Before either party could speak, J’onn’s voice was echoing through Bruce’s mind.

They’re telepathic, he warned, and Bruce threw up his mental shields immediately. In his periphery, he could see some of the other Leaguers shift uncomfortably as they readied themselves.

“In peace, we come,” the foremost En'taran spoke. Its voice sounded scratchy, as if they hadn’t had to use it in a while. “The use of your zeta-beams, we wish to acquire.”

“We got Yoda over here,” Clark leant over and whispered to him, and Bruce broke his scrutinising gaze away from the En’tarans to glare at his unfunny joke.

“No Star Wars jokes while we’re negotiating a deal,” he hissed back.

“You’re no fun,” Clark replied.

Bruce was distantly aware of J’onn and Diana handling the meeting, so he indulged in Clark’s comments and leaned over, speaking lowly. “Twenty bucks they double-cross us in under five minutes.”

“I’ll give them ten, they need to get troops prepared after all,” Clark chuckled.

“The rest of the team ready?” Bruce didn’t want to risk a glance down the line and look away from the possible threat.

“Aquamans been itching to go since we got here.”

Bruce ended the conversation with an affirmative grunt and resumed his concentration on the En’tarans. He had been suspicious the moment they had first contacted them seeking this technology. The Justice League may use zeta-beams for their teleportation to the Watchtower, but it was in no way advanced enough to be distributed to the general public yet. Bruce was personally working on that with Wayne Enterprises. But there were many more technologically advanced planets with such capabilities. So why Earth?

His theory: World Domination.

It took precisely four minutes and thirty-two seconds for the first shot to be fired. Metaphorically. Some kind of signal was issued by the main alien, and before Bruce could blink, the En’tarans were closing in on them, arms like whips as they caught J’onn, the closest, across the chest.

Luckily they had been prepared for this outcome, Bruce had made sure of it, and the League jumped into business immediately. From Bruce's count, there had been eight outside by the time they leapt into action, and he kept one eye on the void into the ship to see a dozen more pour out. If Clark was right, and they had been waiting for back-up, then it was of utmost importance to destroy these ones as quickly as possible before getting air support to fend off the others.

Bruce whirled around, sensing Superman watching his back as he dodged the metal arms of an En’taran. His martial arts training kicked in full gear as he danced with Superman around the creatures, weakening them and fobbing them off as he finished off ones sent over to him. Bruce found that slicing the tubes on the back of their brains was particularly effective in slowing them down, and he made a note to collect some of the glowing liquid at the end to examine in closer detail.

“B, I can take these if you-”

“If you’re about to suggest I leave then you’ve forgotten who you’re fighting with,” Bruce grunted as he cut off a metal arm and kicked the alien over to Clark, who punched through its armour.

Superman just sighed in defeat, before giving Bruce a curt nod. “Right then, duck!”

Bruce dropped to the ground instinctively as Superman shot the creeping alien behind him with his laser vision. Springing up, he resumed his position next to Clark, standing back to back. And from then it became… easy. Natural. He and Clark had always fought well together, Bruce’s gruelling training session in the red sun room made sure of that, but something else clicked. Bruce didn't just know Superman’s moves and his tells, but he also had an understanding of what he might do next, why he was going to do it, how Bruce could assist him. His two worlds melded together: one where he fought side-by-side with Superman, and one where he knew Clark Kent inside out. His fighting instincts matched with his knowledge of the man next to him. They were a beautiful melody, two harmonies mixing together to create a perfect tone. And it seemed as if Superman had fallen into the same comfort. Bruce couldn’t bring himself to scold him when Clark commented, “Why didn’t we do this the whole time?”

He didn’t respond, too busy flipping over an En’taran, but silently he agreed as he landed on top of the alien Clark was fighting and ripped off the tubes, Clark reorienting himself to punch Bruce’s original target.

“Hey, at least you were right B!” Clark grinned, headbutting the skull head of an En’taran.

“About what?”

Bruce couldn’t see a single action he had predicted, except maybe his distrust for the aliens having a founded base.

“The negotiations were short!”

He could hear the booming laughter doubled as it penetrated through his comms, and couldn’t help the small smile that was accompanied by a shake of his head.

“Stop quoting Star Wars while we’re supposed to be fighting, Superman.”

“Well when can I make Star Wars jokes?” Bruce could hear the pout in his voice, almost turning around to see it for himself.

“In the comfort of your apartment.”

“Speaking of-”

“Shut up you two!” Diana’s voice crackled through the comms, chastising them and reminding Bruce of where they were.

He redoubled his efforts, only a few of the En’tarans remaining and in what felt like a few minutes, all of them were defeated. J’onn volunteered to pilot the En’taran craft back up to the mothership and warn the rest of the aliens of their defeat as the only telepath able to fully equal them.

With J’onn gone and the En’tarans tidied up, Bruce turned to the rest of the team.

What he expected were some tired faces and victorious comments. What he was faced with were several stages of shock and awe.

“How did you guys do that?” Hal exclaimed. Bruce felt Superman come to stand next to him.

“Did what?” He replied

“Fought like- like that!” Barry jumped in. “Batman you came out without even a tear in your uniform! It was… between the two of you, you took out most of those aliens!”

Bruce felt his eyes narrow as he glared at Barry, unwilling to even admit to himself about why they worked together that well. Superman jumped in, though whether he saved them or made the situation worse Bruce was unsure.

“We spent a lot of time together… training.”

Fucking.

That was the unsaid word. That was why they had clicked out there. Bruce knew Clark. He knew his reactions and his thought processes. It was the only reason why they had suddenly become an impressive duo out there. They didn’t exactly spend any time ‘training’ during the dream. Bruce forced himself not to turn towards Clark, to smirk at him and wink about the insinuation. One he knew Clark would flush beautifully at, and then get Bruce back after they got back to the manor.

So instead he dismissed the comments and started a proper debrief on the team and their situational awareness, effectively distracting the team. Maybe one good thing had come out of the dream after all. During Dinah’s report, Bruce fought not to look over at Clark. There was still an ache in his body not to kiss him, not to lean into the comfort of his body, not to smile too widely at just the sight of Clark. But if he couldn’t have that, then an outcome where they remained good friends and impressive fighters was the next best scenario.

.-. . .- .-..

Bruce glared through the windshield of the batmobile. The glass may be mirrored, but Clark had x-ray vision and he could definitely see Bruce trying to kill him through the material.

He had been tracking an arms deal for weeks now, and was sure it was going to link back to Luthor. All the negotiations had taken place in Gotham so far, and there had only been mentions of ‘the boss’ so even in his recordings there was no solid evidence of any involvement from Metropolis. Bruce had suspected that perhaps the reasons for the venue choices had been to keep Superman away. Bruce Wayne had mentioned to Lex about Batman’s strict ‘no-metas’ rule about a year ago to try and trick the man into this type of scenario.

“And why wouldn’t Superman intervene in Gotham, Brucie?”

“Oh you haven't heard? He’d got some rule or warning or something about not liking other heroes in Gotham. Though God knows we could use them some nights, huh?”

“And… how do you know this?”

“Superman told me himself! It was that night I fell off… your building actually! That ugly one downtown, and he flew me back to the manor but he went around Gotham. Which I didn’t mind of course, his arms are very comfortable, but I was curious y’know?”

Luthor had hummed non-committedly at that and moved their conversation on, but Bruce had seen the cogs turning in his head. If Luthor thought he could use Gotham as some kind of safe haven to protect his plans against Superman, then he had another thing coming. Bruce was crouched on the roof of an abandoned warehouse, listening to the latest meeting and ready to burst in when red boots touched down next to him.

“I heard this concerns me?”

Of course he knew. And there was no way Bruce could stop him from helping.

“I need information, so keep them conscious.”

“Aye aye cap’n,” Clark saluted as he flew to the other side of the dilapidated roof and waited for Bruce’s signal, which came not even a minute later.

And it had been going fine at first. What were some unprepared thugs against the might of Batman and Superman? But somehow one of them had managed to get a swipe at Bruce’s calf with a hidden knife, tearing a wide gash. He had only grunted at the time, but Superman noticed, of course he had noticed, and suddenly the tension increased ten-fold. Where he had been pulling his punches beforehand, now men were getting knocked out in one blow. Bruce’s sources were dropping quickly.

“Superman! I need them awake,” He had berated Clark, hand on the neck of a squealer.

“They hurt you,” Clark had replied nonchalantly as another crook went flying into a wall.

In the end, he had gotten vocal confirmation that Luthor was involved but the low-level criminal knew no more information. Maybe if someone higher up was still conscious he could’ve learnt more. Which is why he stalked away from the crime scene and over to the batmobile without a look back.

“Let me fly you home.”

Bruce didn’t dignify Clark with a response as he reached his car.

“B, you can’t drive with an injured leg!” He pleaded.

“Watch me,” Bruce growled as he slipped into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut. He tore away from the warehouse, cursing the sharp pain that shot up his leg every time he pressed down on the gas. Maybe, on a better night, he would’ve accepted the help. But not right after Clark had botched his operation over some feelings.

He needed time to stew, to calm down. And Clark needed closure. Which is why the man of steel was floating above his parking spot as he raced into the cave. And why Bruce was staring daggers at him as he cut off the engine.

Resigning himself to a fight, Bruce shoved open the car door and took off towards the showers.

“What the hell was that,” Bruce thundered as he marched away, knowing the man was following him anyway. “You ruined my mission.”

“You got hurt Bruce!”

“You don’t need to protect me Kal,” Bruce spat out, still refusing to look at the other man. “You can’t protect me from everything.”

“I’m not trying to protect you!” Came Clark’s response, “I’m simply telling you to be more careful.”

He scoffed, still striding through the extensive cave system. “You think I can’t defend myself?”

“What? No! Where did that come from?” Clark sounded exasperated now.

Bruce rolled his eyes, “You keep seeing me as that ‘perfect,’ unaffected damsel in distress who needed you to save him from every little problem – that’s not who I am.”

“Please,” Clark scoffed, floating into vision as he crossed his arms, “You were never perfect.”

“No? Then why did you marry me?” Bruce stopped, putting his most condescending tone into the accusation, pushing away how much the comment tore at his heart.

Clark’s face was brutal: a sneer had managed to force its way onto his face. “We are not talking about that right now.”

“Why not? It seems like that’s all you’ve wanted to talk about for the last month.” Bruce stabbed a finger at Clark. “That’s why you’ve been dropping in so much isn’t it?”

Hurt filled Clark’s eyes, overcoming the anger, “Is it so hard to believe I stop by just to check on you?”

“Because you think I can’t protect myself?” Bruce snapped out, ignoring the deja vu and the coy comment bubbling in the back of his throat.

And there was that anger again. Anger, Bruce could deal with. “Oh my gosh Bruce! You are an incorrigible man.”

“That’s a big word, where did you learn-”

“Shut up.” Clark growled, taking a step closer so they were practically nose to nose.

Bruce felt heat rise up his neck, the words out of his mouth before his brain could register them. “Make me.”

And then Clark was yanking down the cowl harshly and kissing him. It was rough and careless and all teeth. Bruce responded in kind immediately, forcing his way into Clark’s mouth and striking back with the same vigour. Clark quickly moved from Bruce’s mouth to his neck, attacking it like a dog. Bruce couldn’t bring himself to care about the mess that would appear there later. He focused on dragging Clark over to the nearest surface, sweeping everything off it with one arm before manhandling the alien onto his back. Bruce quickly joined him, sitting roughly on Clark’s lap and grinding down harshly. Clark gasped as he grabbed Bruce’s hips, hard enough to leave bruises. Bruce relished in the thought that Clark was once again marking him, showing the world that he was Bruce’s, that they were together. He pushed that thought aside quickly as he yanked off the clasps that connected the bottom of Superman's suit to the top. Tearing the trunks down, he could see Clark was already half hard, his cock pink and straining against his blue uniform.

Before Bruce could get a hand on Clark however, the Kryptonian was scrambling at Bruce’s own uniform, undoing the utility belt with a swift click of his fingers. That was where the gentleness stopped. Bruce felt Clark’s fingers push through the armour of his suit, ripping away any piece that would prevent him from reaching Bruce’s groin. If Bruce were in his right mind, he would be scolding Clark for destroying his suit, lecturing him about how much money and time would go into constructing new segments. But he wasn’t, because if he were, he and Clark wouldn’t be moments away from fucking. If he were, he wouldn’t be having flashbacks to when Clark would rip off his cheaper wool suits in desperation, or asking “How much do you like this underwear?”

He was dragged back from his dreams as Clark got a hand on him, squeezing far more gently than Bruce wanted. He growled impatiently as he grasped Clark’s hand in his own, grabbing hold of both their cocks in one swift move and jacking them off impatiently. It was dry and rough and uncomfortable, but Bruce relished in the pleasure that soared through his body.

Clark's other hand, which had been grabbing his asscheek, moved to his hole, teasing the entrance softly. Bruce couldn’t deny the obscene moan that left his body as he stuttered between the slide of their cocks and the steady pressure of Clark’s finger, conflicted between the two and grinding wildly. He threw his head back as he forced himself up and back onto Clark’s thick finger, shoving it right up to the Kryptonian’s knuckle. The pain was worth it however, and Bruce felt himself harden more at the sensation. Clark moved the hand jerking off their dicks, leaving Bruce to control the rhythm, up to Bruce’s mouth, teasing a thumb past Bruce’s lips. Bruce couldn't help his inhibition as his tongue licked up it, lathering the thumb with spit. It was soon replaced by two of Clark’s fingers, the graceful digits toying with Bruce’s mouth. Bruce, still pumping himself up on one finger whilst trying to get him and Clark off in one hand, took the fingers welcomingly, sucking with enthusiasm; enough to make Clark moan underneath him.

Too soon, those lovely, thick fingers were removed from his mouth, though Bruce couldn’t complain for long as they teased around his entrance and forced their way in. Bruce fell apart under those deft hands, as he had so many times before. The slick fingers stretched him open gloriously, Clark’s strong arm almost powerful enough to lift him off the desk. Bruce’s thighs were burning, but it felt good: it felt amazing finally having his husband in him once again.

And because Clark knew him so well, it only took a minute for the agile man to find his prostate. Bruce let out an embarrassing moan at the discovery as he planted himself down further on Clark's fingers, while tightening his grip on the two of them. He could feel himself harden even more at the sensations. Clark, as a Kryptonian, produced far more cum than an ordinary person, and so Bruce’s fist was slick with Kal’s pre-come as he messily got them off.

Not even a minute later, Bruce, who was shouting through the combined pleasure of having Clark's cock in his hand and his fingers up his ass, came without warning. Clark, who was thrusting weakly into the hand and becoming sloppy in his fingering, followed not even a minute later.

Bruce stopped himself from falling onto Clark’s chest as he tried to settle his breathing. As soon as he could muster the strength, he hauled himself off of Clark, pulling up his trousers and trudging off. He didn’t tell Clark to leave, but he hoped he got the message. Bruce wouldn’t ever be able to tell Clark to leave.

Stripping off what was left of his uniform, Bruce stepped into the scalding water and let it burn away any lasting touches and lingering memories. He was in ever bigger shit than he had been just over a month ago when he had relapsed for the first time and kissed Clark. Now? Bruce hardly wanted to think about it as the water rubbed his skin red and his head collided with the tiled wall.

Emotions make you weak. Bruce knew this. He just didn’t anticipate how such strong feelings could bleed into one another. His anger towards Superman should not have translated into lust for Clark. He had thought if he had just kept his distance, closed himself off some more and made sure never to allow more than a small smile at his teammate, he could control himself. Now Clark had been dragged into this once again, forced to live out Bruce’s fantasies, head still reeling between the two worlds. The fake and the real.

Perhaps Bruce Wayne was due a tropical yachting holiday, while Batman could delve deeper into the criminal underground. He didn’t have to rest, to allow himself to think of anything other than what was important. Clark couldn't distract him again. He tried to stop his thoughts by twisting the shower to cold, allowing the baltic water to freeze off any remaining imprints.

He was losing his touch. He shouldn’t be shivering this much after a cold plunge. But maybe it wasn’t the water causing the involuntary shakes.

Dressed, he stepped back into the main batcave to see it devoid of Superman, or even any evidence of what they had done. The blueprints and mugs Bruce had unceremoniously cleared the table of were all replaced and, presumably, in much the same place as they had been before. Bruce sighed, though of relief or disappointment he didn’t know, before turning to see his two eldest children looking at him gob-smacked.

God help me.

.-. . .- .-..

“You’re married to Clark!?”

“You’re married to Superman!?”

Bruce couldn’t contain his exasperation as they rounded on him immediately. He’d managed to manoeuvre them into chairs at least before the questions started.

“No, and no, we…” Bruce trailed off as he stuck his head in his hand, unsure just how to explain this all. “While we were under, Clark and I were in a ‘dream world’ as you know. And we were… aware of one another.”

The boys just looked at him blankly so Bruce fought to unclench his hands and continue.

“It was a shared dream where we lived out our ‘perfect’ lives.” Bruce made sure to put ‘perfect’ in air-quotes, the reality of his world souring the fantasy of the dream. “For me, my… my parents never died.” Bruce’s voice faltered and he could only look towards the ground, massaging the palm of his hand to comfort himself and tried to change the topic. “The dream ‘started,’ if you will, around the time Clark first became Superman. We had memories of our lives up until then, but they were blurry, like they were feelings rather than experiences. Clark saved me from being crushed at our first meeting and-” Bruce knew Dick and Jason would not want the details of his and Clark’s love life so he tried to summarise a decades worth of life and love into a sentence. What an understatement. “We started a relationship not soon after.”

“You… and Uncle Clark?” Dick finally broke.

Bruce swallowed thickly. “Yes. In the week it took you to find us, we lived out ten years worth of life.”

“Ten years?” Jason gaped at Bruce, “And you got married?”

“Around four years in, yes. But,” Bruce sighed and tried to explain to his boys, his family, that he would not give up on them that easily. “It was… not as perfect as it seemed though. We kept remembering small things. Inconsistencies that would have never happened, even if my-” Bruce cut himself off before he got too emotional about his parents. It was hard. They had felt real to him; he had a life where he wasn’t inexplicably changed as a child. “I had my parents back, but I lost you both. And Tim, and Cass, and Damian.” Bruce felt hot tears gathering in his eyes as he attempted to keep them back. Batman did not cry.

He felt a dip next to him on the sofa he was on, “It’s okay.” Dick was hugging him from the side, “It’s like you told me, the pain never goes away. It lessens but…” he sighed. “I probably would’ve wished for the same, who wouldn’t?”

Another weight on his other side, Jason. Jason. Hugging him.

“To be honest, me too,” Jason grunted out as he refrained from wrapping his arms around Bruce, but let his head slump against Bruce’s shoulder.

“Don’t feel guilty because you never ‘saved’ us Bruce. If it was a perfect life, we were probably out there happy as Larry," Dick reasoned.

Bruce loved his sons. He wouldn’t have survived in this world as long as he did without them. But they had all been brought together by tragedy. A need to look out for one another. Clark was his deepest desire, but if he was given the choice to return to that world or stay where he was, he would pick his family every time. He just didn’t know why he still felt so guilty about their omittance in the dream.

“Thank you,” Bruce choked out, wrapping his arms around his sons and pulling them in, giving them both a kiss on their heads.

“God,” Dick chuckled, “I don’t think you’ve done that since I was ten.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever done that to me,” Jason sounded horrified, which elicited a sad laugh out of Bruce.

Dick sat up suddenly and looked at Bruce, “But, if you and Clark were so happy, why are you not… together now?”

Bruce felt the shame rise in him. “Because I forced him into it.”

Two voices rang out as one.

“What?”

“Jinx!”

“Hey no fair!”

“Shut up. We need to focus on dad.”

“But-”

“How the hell did you force Clark into a relationship? He’s been in love with you since you found me.”

Bruce stared at his boys incredulously.

“What? No he hasn’t.”

Dick rolled his eyes and exchanged an exasperated glance with Jason.

“Bruce, Clark has had a super crush on you for years,” Jason stated.

“You two don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bruce tried to reason, standing up and facing his kids sternly. “This isn’t the time for jokes, okay?”

He saw the two of them share another look and Dick shrugged slightly.

“Look B, we’re talking about Superman here. Clark Kent. You’ve known him for years,” his eldest also stood, though he leant against the armrest of the couch. “Really just… think about what you know about him, okay? And maybe accept that you can be happy for once.”

“He’s right, old man,” Jason started to crack his knuckles, a sign of his annoyance, “You got a lot messed up in your head, like all of us-”

“Fuck off.”

“Shut it Dickface- anyway. We’re all… not good at this stuff. At talking. But you need to talk to Clark. Properly.”

“We have-” Bruce tried to explain.

“Did you?” Jason interrupted. “Or did you talk and assume and let it be?”

Bruce sighed at the solemn conversation and turned, unable to face his boys. “Weren’t the two of you training?” He side-tracked, refusing to acknowledge this conversation.

“See this is also what I’m saying,” Jason grumbled as he walked past Bruce, “I gotta go. See ya when I see ya.”

Bruce felt a hand land on his shoulder. “We like Clark, remember that he’s already family.” Dicked nodded at him as he made his way towards the stairs as well. “I’ll see you Sunday night dad.”

He watched as his two boys disappeared and slumped back onto the sofa as soon as they were out of sight, head in his hands. They liked Clark, Dick had said as much, so they were compromised. They couldn’t see past the stars in their eyes at having Superman in the living room or Clark Kent in the batcave. And they were kids at the end of the day. Kids always wanted to see magic where there was none. And there wasn’t anything between Bruce and Clark, except some dreams. There never had been. Clark showed everybody what he was feeling all the time, and he had known Bruce for almost fifteen years. Surely, at some point, something would’ve happened. Clark would’ve confessed or kissed him or something unerringly romantic like that. But he hadn’t. Not before the dream. Which is why his slip-ups were Bruce's fault, Bruce’s feelings projected onto him. This had never happened before the dream, so why should it happen now?

No matter how much Bruce wanted it all to be real, he couldn’t fool himself into thinking their last… mistake had anything more than just that. Clark was the only person Bruce had allowed himself to feel anything like affection towards. He couldn’t deny the good mood he came back with after a monitor session with Superman, or a cheeky interview with Clark Kent. He couldn’t help the subtle flirting Bruce Wayne indulged in with Superman, or the warmth that spread through him every time Batman had to save Clark Kent. Bruce can acknowledge that his feelings have risen too far for him to ignore. His selfish need to be around Clark having doubled since the dream, and these past few months of getting to one one another again.

He couldn’t go back to losing himself in cases, not in the long term. Not when Clark was as important to his children as he was to Bruce. Not when it would only draw out the inevitable reconciliation Clark would pester out of him. So he didn’t have to completely avoid the man. He could go back to some semblance of normal.

Which is why, a few days later, Superman comes to check on Batman during patrol. And Bruce just nods amicably as Clark continues on as if nothing happened. No worried glances or awkward pauses or change in tone. If Clark wasn’t going to mention it, then neither was Bruce. His kids had told them to talk, but they had. They were. They were friends again, and Bruce wasn’t going to mess it up this time.

Just before Clark leaves, Bruce lets a small smile slip. Old habits die hard. And Bruce is okay. He will be okay. He has to be. He and Clark can make it as just friends.