Work Text:
It started when Bruce booked a ski resort for their vacation. Not a room, not a suite. The entire resort. Who books an entire resort? And it didn't stop there, no. He gave the entire staff a paid vacation, sending them packing off away to who-knows-where, leaving the two of them alone in the middle of the Alps.
For his part, Clark thinks it's a little ridiculous, and maybe a touch ostentatious. Just a touch.
The day of his arrival, Bruce flies himself in and lands on the helipad, the concierge greeting him.
For the amount he's paying them, no one had argued beyond the customary token protests, and Bruce is given a large binder with the codes to the various areas he may need during his week-long stay. The kitchen and bar closest to the room he'd chosen (both fully stocked, of course), the gym, the indoor pool, the all-natural hot springs, and, of course, directions to operate the ski-lifts should he or his guest wish to partake in the powder snow or a little cross-country skiing. A fully programmed phone of local emergency services, restaurants willing to deliver, so on and so forth until Bruce cuts the man off with a polite Thank you and Goodbye.
And then he's alone.
Two hours later, Clark arrives, floating in as a bright slash of blue and red across the cloudless sky. He takes a look at Bruce, standing in the middle of the roof, and says blithely as he touches down, "A little big for just the two of us, isn't it?"
To his credit, Bruce doesn't roll his eyes. Neither, though, does he give that wide, empty smile of Bruce Wayne's that gives Clark goosebumps. "What the hell are you wearing," he responds, and Clark's sure that sentence is supposed to end in a question-mark but he can practically hear the period there.
"What?" And he twists to look down at himself, "Don't you like it? I thought it'd be appropriate."
This time, Bruce doesn't hold back as he sighs and drags a hand over his mouth. Clark is dressed in a Superman-themed parka, one of those things sold in comic stores to fans of the heroes. He's reasonably sure he'd seen a five-year-old wearing the exact same thing a few days ago, though the little girl didn't have Superman's cape streaming from her shoulders.
The fur lining the hood matches the red perfectly.
"Oh!" Clark says as he holds out a plastic bag. It crinkles ominously, bulging strangely, and Bruce is mildly impressed it survived Clark's flight. "Here, I got you a gift." His smile is blindingly bright.
Warily, Bruce reaches in. His hand encounters a mass of soft fabric and he pulls it out.
"Isn't it cute? I thought of you." And Clark isn't even trying to hide his amusement. "I thought we could match."
Bruce throws the Batman-themed parka (it even has ears) at Clark's head as he turns and storms back inside, Clark's laughter ringing through the crisp mountain air as he follows Bruce in.