Archive of Our Own

The rain pattered softly against the windows of the manor. Clark stared out at the gray clouds that let in no sunlight. How did it always manage to be so gloomy in Gotham? They weren’t far from Metropolis, yet the weather always seemed to reflect the dreary gloom of the crime ridden city. In recent years, the high crime rates had been plummeting due to Batman’s diligent work. Speaking of the devil-

Clark turned toward his boyfriend, who sat leaning back out on a wool sofa. He nursed a steaming cup of tea in his left hand, the other simply draped over the armrest. Pale skin seemed to glow atop the charcoal fabric. His laptop was folded and set aside on the end table. Icy blue eyes were already locked on Clark, the gaze burning through those thick glasses the reporter always wore.

“Come here,” Bruce said, softly but boldly with a confidence that pulled Clark in like a magnet. There was always shyness in the way Clark moved. He couldn’t help it. Even after a solid month of real dating, a fantastic improvement from their five months prior of fake dating, he still felt weak in the knees at the sight of billionaire Bruce Wayne, secret vigilante of Gotham. Clark nearly fumbled as he walked over, earning him a sultry chuckle from his dark-haired partner. Once his boyfriend was in reach, the tea was set beside the laptop with a delicate clink.

Warm arms wrapped firm around Clark’s narrow waist, tugging until he was pulled safely into Bruce’s lap. A flush crossed over Clark’s cheeks for more than just their proximity. He was 225 pounds of muscle weighing atop a slimmer form. He often hid his immense size with a bow of his head and hunched shoulders, but there was no hiding when held so delicately. Bruce's body was far from lithe. Even so, straddling his hips felt a little ridiculous. Clark's embarrassment ebbed away as calloused hands moved along his thighs, sliding over the smooth fabric of his dress pants. Heat started to spread over his wide frame. He swallowed, glancing away.

“What is it?” Bruce’s hand rested on his cheek now, his thumb toying over the spot just below his glasses, touching the swell of baby fat beneath the shadows of his mature eyes. Clark shook his head.

“I was thinking…”

“Again?” The low-effort joke pulled a laugh from Clark, who was already leaning away. Bruce resisted his retreat, bringing him closer. His fingertips dug into the fabric of his shirt.

“Everyday,” Clark played along.

“Incredible.”

Clark looked back up, and he shouldn't have, because now Bruce was smiling. It wasn’t that overly bright, Brucie Wayne grin he gave the cameras. It was softer, so sincere it tied his infatuated heart into a knot.

Clark needed to tell him that he was Superman.

He also needed to tell him that he knew Bruce’s true identity. He wanted to be honest. He really did. After their months spent together, and their previous years of interviews and casual run-ins, he had grown to trust Bruce with not only his identity, but his whole heart. There was only one reason why he hesitated to reveal the truth. Clark’s ears burned as he chanced a subtle, metaphorical push.

“I saw Superman today,” he said in a soft voice, watching Bruce’s eyes. The calloused hand on his thigh tensed, and he listened as the other’s heartbeat began to climb. Clark pressed on. “He saved a little girl who was lost from her parents. He found her and her family, and brought them back together.”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Clark ran his hands over Bruce’s shoulders.

“Isn’t that nice?” he asked, pushing his thumbs into the thick muscles of Bruce's shoulders. The massage earned him a groan of relief. Batman sure did carry a lot of tension there, so Clark pushed harder, rubbing out the knots as Bruce’s face contorted with a mix of discomfort over the subject and relief from chronic pain.

“Superman often reunites lost children with their families,” Bruce finally said. His heart was pounding. Clark kept touching him, soothing, careful.

“He does. Isn’t it great that he isn’t above helping out in small ways too? Not only interdimensional threats and alien invasions but little things like taking care of a lost child?” Clark was pushing. It was shameless, playing wingman to himself like this, but he had to try something. He needed Bruce’s fear of Superman to dissipate. He needed Bruce to accept every part of him, the way he already had with Bruce.

“Yes,” Bruce replied with a nod. “He has a wide and varied skillset.”

“That he does,” Clark said, pushing his thumbs past the collar of Bruce’s shirt to massage the bare skin underneath. “He’s always helping people.”

“Yes, he is.”

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Bruce’s expression broke somewhere between annoyance and amusement.

“Yeah,” was his curt reply. There was a beat of silence as Clark’s hands stalled, cautiously eyeing Bruce for anything else, any indication that the fear was blossoming into respect, appreciation even, but instead all he was given was: “You Metropolitans love Superman, don’t you?”

Clark chuckled and leaned closer, wrapping his arms around Bruce’s shoulders.

“People with taste love Superman,” he tried, eyes burrowing into Bruce’s.

“People with taste,” Bruce repeated with a smug shake of his head. His eyes flickered from the gleam of glasses to plush lips, then he leaned in an inch-

“A lot of people love Superman nowadays," Clark said. Bruce leaned back with a sigh, his head resting against the sofa. “He’s a good guy. I know he can come on a little strong, and he’s really, uh, powerful and all that, but he’s the real deal. I think you two would hit it off.”

“-what?”

“I’m just saying. He’s kind. He’s funny. I like talking to him. Interviewing him is more than just a good scoop. I mean, it’s not like we’re friends. Obviously I am not friends with Superman. That would be ridiculous, but not that ridiculous because I would be his friend, hypothetically speaking of course. I think Superman is likely very busy saving the world all the time to hang out with big nobodies like me-”

“-You’re not nobody.”

“-But that is beside the point. Because Superman is really cool, actually.”

“He’s cool?” The amusement in Bruce’s expression was quickly burning away, leaving only the marred scar of annoyance.

“Yes, he is very cool. Just a, a real stand-up guy.”

“Okay, Clark, that’s great,” he said dismissively.

“It is great! I think you should meet him.”

“Clark.” Bruce sat up a bit, and there it was again.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“I’m not saying I could arrange a meeting, just like that. I mean I have been lucky to interview him as much as I have. He has time to help out lots of people, but to chat- well, that would be silly, of course. However, I do have some connections with him, not to mention fantastic rapport.”

Bruce’s fingers played with the hem of Clark’s shirt.

“Why is it every time I try to get you in my bed you bring up another man?” The question was asked so casually that Clark thought he may have misheard it.

“Wh- No! That’s not it at all. I was just talking to you, Bruce. We were just talking.”

“That’s exactly the issue.” Bruce’s eyes burned with lust, and Clark almost melted right there. He was unmoving in Bruce’s lap, and it would be far too easy to rock his hips forward and see what happens, but no, not now. He couldn’t possibly sleep with someone as his civilian persona, especially not in a relationship this important.

“It’s been a month,” Bruce carried on, his voice gentle, his fingers trailing like fire along Clark’s skin. “Six months if you count our ‘fake’ arrangement.” He leaned in closer. “I didn’t think you would make me wait.” Clark ran his hand along Bruce’s shoulder, down his chest, then placed a hand tentatively on his cheek.

“It’s not like that,” he admitted, voice soft, but eyes dark with desire. Fuck, he didn’t want to wait. He wanted him now, that handsome face, that muscular physic. He wanted to slide his hands over every scar on that dense body and drag his tongue wherever Bruce would let him, but- He sighed, stopping his hands as he struggled to get the words out.

“Something is wrong,” Bruce stated, sounding more like Batman. Clark had a secret, and the world’s greatest detective was already on the case. Knowing he was walking a thin tightrope, Clark chose his next words very carefully.

“Nothing is wrong,” he said, pausing before adding, “...I don’t want there to be any secrets between us.”

“Secrets,” Bruce repeated as his hand trailed under Clark’s shirt, and it took every fiber of his being to resist kissing him. He nodded solemnly. “I understand.”

The kiss finally came, a slow, cautious promise. Clark was leaning forward with his eyes closed and lips pouted. Bruce let out a lighthearted chuckle and met his gaze.

“Give me some time, and there won’t be any secrets between us,” Bruce promised.

Uh oh. There were two secrets here. Clark opened his mouth, but he must have still had lust in his eyes because Bruce kissed him before he could speak. The rest of the evening was a tangle of kisses, sweet words, and Bruce’s hands touching every inch of him.

Clark was smitten.

It only took two days for Bruce to message Clark, asking him to come to Gotham in the evening. Instead of a restaurant address, he sent coordinates. The instruction was definitely strange, but Clark had come to expect the unexpected when it came to his eccentric boyfriend.

The rain had died down. The few clouds hanging in the evening sky cast the world below in darkness. Gotham’s inky shadows clung onto every corner. Clark was careful to go to the exact coordinates, but they must have been wrong. There was nothing there. Their meeting spot was a dimly lit spot between a run-down restaurant and a greasy diner with no more than four patrons. Clark leaned against the damp wall, hugging his trench coat closer around himself. It was cold here. What the hell kind of romantic date with Batman did Bruce have in mind?

“Hey, you!”

Clark startled at the unfamiliar voice. He had been busy buttoning up his coat and hadn’t noticed the robber behind him. It was so Gotham it was almost comical. The criminal wore a black ski mask and pointed something at him from under his knee length jacket. He looked down at the outline of a gun, then x-rayed through the jacket. It was just his hand.

This man was play-acting as a thief, with a dramatic outfit, a stupid voice and two fingers in the shape of a gun stuck in his pocket. Clark wasn’t sure what to make of this, so he figured playing along was the best option.

“Hello?” He held up his hands cautiously.

“Give me all of your money, punk!” the robber shouted. 

Clark raised an eyebrow. Wait a minute. Did he know this voice? He used his x-ray vision to peek through the mask, and sure enough, there was Dick Grayson, pretending to mug his adoptive father’s new boyfriend. 

“Hey now, you don’t need to do this,” he tried, expression contorting with confusion. He thought he and Dick had been getting along great! Had he misread things? Did Dick think he was stealing Bruce away from him? That seemed highly unlikely considering Bruce had only adopted Dick a couple years ago, and Dick was only a year from adulthood. Wasn’t Dick a little old for these shenanigans? Clark’s eyes flicked down to the pocket being pointed toward him. And wasn’t pretending to have a gun a little extreme?

“All your money, give it to me!” Dick continued in his best impression of a robber.

Clark sighed and began pulling out his wallet.

“I don’t… want any trouble,” he said carefully. There was a heavy gust of wind, and then he saw him. The Caped Crusader leapt through the broken glass of the dark building beside him.

“Begone,” rasped a low, modulated voice from his crouched stance. Dick slid his foot back, lowering himself into a fighting stance.

“If you want to stop me, you’ll have to fight me!” Dick insisted, lowering himself into a stance. Instead of turning to his adopted son, Batman’s eyes, those stunning blues hidden by white lenses, turned toward Clark. Strong arms heavy with metal and kevlar wrapped securely around Clark’s midsection.

“Hang on tight,” Batman growled. Clark happily did as told, clinging to the solid form of his waist. A click sounded above as the grappling hook caught a tower high above them. “You’re safe now.” Clark couldn’t help but chuckle quietly at hearing his own phrase fall from such a serious scowl. Bruce thankfully didn’t seem to notice as he swept them up into the air. Clark inhaled deeply. He could feel the tension of the arms holding him, the strain from his fingers to his shoulders to support his weight. The effort displayed his years of practice, his skill, and his limitless talent. The night rushed below them. Stars twinkled above, and cars rushed past. Dick was still grumbling about wanting to fight, but Clark didn’t watch the city. He had seen Gotham from this height before, but he had never seen Bruce like this. He had never looked at Batman from this view, tucked under his arm. The sight of his stoic face- and the betraying heightened heart rate that only Clark could hear- he was stunning. The metal cord whipped back into the grappling hook.

If it weren’t for the snap of the cord returning to the grapple, Clark wouldn’t have realized they had landed. He was still dazed. Unfortunately, the reason he thought they were still up in the air was because he was. He flustered slightly and pushed his floating heels down to the cement below. He stepped back as Batman let him go. They stood atop a tall building, overlooking the city. Clark glanced around. They were perfectly alone, so high up not a soul would be able to see them.

“Are you alright?” Batman asked. Clark turned to him with a knowing grin. The tiniest brush of a smirk tugged at Bruce’s lips.

“Of course I am,” Clark answered quietly, taking a step closer. “My hero saved me.”

“Your hero,” Batman said with a shake of his head. His little smile was gone now, but his heart rate stayed elevated, excitement if Clark ever heard it. “I’m no hero.”

“My protector,” Clark corrected, wrapping his arms around Bruce’s shoulders. Bruce almost smiled.

“Better,” he reasoned. Clark slid his hand along the cowl, feeling the stiff material obscuring that handsome face. He tried to x-ray but saw nothing. Hmph, Bruce must have lined the cowl with lead after his and Superman’s one and only encounter. Superman had only introduced himself, and Batman had told him to ‘Stay out of Gotham.’ Two lines of dialogue, and then Batman had refused to meet with him again. The threat had been over a year ago now, long before even their fake dating charade had begun.

“What made you suspect?” Bruce asked. Clark chuckled. The signs had been numerous, but seeing the massive Batcave under the manor had given it away. Knowing Bruce was so similar to him, a secret hero fighting for his city, had only cemented Clark’s feelings at the time.

“You keep a knife in your sock,” Clark said with a grin. Bruce huffed out a laugh, his body relaxing under the complex suit. Clark reached up to pull down the cowl.

“Don’t-” Bruce warned, but it was too late. 

“Ow!” Clark yanked back his hand as a zap of electricity shocked him. Bruce chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss to his fingers.

“I should have warned you that would happen.”

“I should have guessed,” Clark said with a laugh, then he kissed him. He kissed Batman, desperate and gritty like the city below them, and Bruce returned it with fervor.

“There you have it then,” Bruce said triumphantly. “The secrets keeping your chastity belt on are all up in the air now.” Clark couldn’t help the chuckle that left him, all bubbly and lovestruck. He pulled back a bit, mulling over his thoughts. “Do you have questions?”

“Dozens,” Clark said, but the truth was he already knew so much more than Bruce realized. As the stiff fabric of the gauntlet smoothed over his cheek in the appraising way only Bruce touched him, Clark felt a deep ache in his stomach. This was wrong. He was smitten. Bruce had opened his whole heart to him, revealed his secret world, but Clark still hadn’t done the same. He parted his lips to speak.

“I…” Clark started, breath catching as Bruce’s gloved hand rested at his hip.

“No one can see us.” Clark double blinked in shock.

“We can’t do it here. We’re still in public even if no one can see us. Also it’s cold." Bruce’s finger pressed to Clark’s mouth. Pure amusement shone in his half-hidden expression.

“I meant you don’t need to be shy. You have your mind in the gutter.” Clark felt heat rise to the tops of his cheeks. “You are adorable.” Clark leaned forward, so flustered that he had to hide his face into the silky black cape on Bruce’s shoulders. Bruce wrapped his arms tightly around him. He rubbed along his spine affectionately. “Don’t tell me the suit is what’s getting you hot.”

“It’s not the outfit,” Clark muttered into his shoulder. “It’s you.”

Bruce cradled Clark’s head in his hand, petting through his curls. He was quiet for a moment, then whispered,

“I’m going to lower you back to the ground, then head back to the mansion. I want you to pick us up something to eat to avoid suspicion, then come over. Wait at least fifteen minutes. Do you understand?”

Clark pulled back slightly to meet his gaze. Bruce’s eyes were hazy even through those white lenses.

“What do you want me to grab?” he asked, already cementing the plan. A dinner date of takeout then making out in the mansion sounded great to him.

“Anything. We’ll be hungry after,” was Bruce’s swift reply. Clark nodded, slowly processing the information.

“After,” he repeated. He was tempted. So, so tempted, but as he bored into his boyfriend’s eyes, more open than he had ever seen them before, willing, wanting, wholly as desperate for him as he had felt since the very beginning, and he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“There are still secrets,” Clark said, eyes wide but tone flat. Bruce nodded.

“There wasn’t a robber. That was my son. It was his idea.”

“Is that so?” He held back a laugh. Batman shrugged.

“I was going to just tell you, but he insisted this way was more ‘romantic.’” Clark had to agree. He loved it. “He had us rehearse a whole fake fight as he wanted me to, and I quote, ‘show off my skills…’” Clark laughed, turning to mush as his fingers rubbed over the back of the cowl, missing the soft hair underneath.

“I missed out on quite a show.” Then Bruce kissed him again, and Clark was so enthralled by the warmth of his lips against the cold air that his heels almost lifted up. As he pulled back to breathe, Clark gently pushed him back.

“I-I have a secret,” he admitted. And shit, he already regretted saying it aloud. Bruce leaned back, studying him with a gentle expression.

“What is it?” Clark was at a loss for words. “It’s okay.” Bruce tenderly petted Clark’s cheek, then his neck, then he was tugging their bodies closer again, turning them so he braced him away from the wind. “Come on.”

Clark choked on his words. Well, he couldn’t just tell him, right? After another minute of uncharacteristic silence, Bruce huffed out.

“Okay, you don’t want to tell me your secret, but you don’t want me touching you until you reveal it. Now, how am I supposed to work around that?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I…” Bruce lowered his voice. 

“Clark, I can’t read your mind.”

“I’m well aware.” Clark wondered idly if his true identity would be easier to accept if Bruce could just read his mind. That way, Bruce could understand that at the end of the day, Superman was just Clark Kent. As awkward and clumsy as he tried to appear in his civilian persona, this version of himself was mostly genuine. The barrier of the secret between them felt more concrete than ever before. Clark stood still as a statue as the guilt and indecision riddled his mind, all while Bruce pressed worshipping kisses along his cheek. Bruce's lips stopped at his jawline.

“I could always force the information out of you?” he offered, voice slow. His question was an odd attempt at seduction, not a threat.

“You think I want you to torture me?” Clark asked, appalled.

“I’m only trying to understand this game you’re playing," Bruce casually explained.

“It’s not a game. I… I’m going to tell you. I… don’t want anything to change after you find out.”

“Then nothing will,” came Bruce's swift reply. Clark smiled.

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple. Clark… I’ve never willingly revealed my identity to anyone before. I’ve never trusted anyone.” There was a ghost of a smile across Bruce’s lips. “But I trusted a Daily Planet Reporter.” He gently pushed Clark’s shoulder, garnering another chuckle from his smitten lover.

"Falling for a member of the press was your own mistake," Clark teased. Bruce just stared back at him like he was the only light in this dark city. When he spoke again, his tone was soft but determined.

“Whatever this secret of yours is, it won’t change the way I feel.” Bruce looked away for a moment, then dropped the tension in his shoulders for a beat of raw honesty. “You do realize I probably already know what it is, right? I did a very thorough investigation on you.”

“And what did you find?” Clark asked with a tilt of his head.

“A squeaky clean record.” That was as expected.

“You don’t know what it is," he said, needing to assure Bruce that this secret was the one thing the investigator had yet to learn. Keeping the truth concealed was wrong, shameful even, and after tonight, it was unfair.

“You’re challenging me to investigate you further.” Bruce moved closer with intrigue sparkling in his gaze, his hand trailing along Clark’s spine. “You want the greatest detective to do a very thorough search-” The innuendos were getting worse, and hungry way Bruce held his waist wasn’t helping the exciting feeling burning in his gut. Clark stepped back.

“I’m going to tell you. Next week,” he decided with triumph. 

“Next week?” Bruce narrowed his eyes.

“Yes. I’m going to tell you everything, very carefully, and then... If you’re still interested..." Clark smirked. "I am going to undress you with my teeth.” Bruce gawked.

“Oh… okay.”

-------------------------------------------------

“Clark, that is a horrible plan,” Lois said, her arms crossed over her chest.

“So you won’t do it?” Clark asked, devastated. Lois sighed, exasperation tugging at the bags under her purple eyes.

“You want me to push billionaire Bruce Wayne off of a building, so that you can fly in to save him as Superman? As some big romantic gesture to reveal your identity?”

Clark nodded.

“Don’t you think that might scare him?”

Clark rolled his head about in thought.

“Maybe.”

“It would scare anyone!” Lois countered.

“Bruce isn’t just anyone,” Clark said knowingly, Bruce’s newly revealed secret fresh on his mind.

“I know he’s your boyfriend, but you can come across as pretty intimidating as Superman.”

Clark laughed.

“Really?”

His sarcastic remark earned a laugh from Lois.

“Not to me, of course.” Clark sighed and uncrossed his arms.

“There is a possibility that this will kind of… scare him, but there’s another possibility that I’ll be flying through the air with my fearless Ba-… with-with Bruce, and he’ll be captivated by the moment, and we’ll remember it forever.” This plan would perfectly match the night of Bruce’s reveal, and it would go straight into their wedding book for sure... A wedding book that would need to be kept under lock and key. Clark briefly pondered that thought.

“…Does he suspect?” Lois asked. Clark shook his head.

“I’m not sure,” he answered honestly. “It’s hard to get a read on Bruce. He has a brilliant mind, but if he knew, I think he would have confronted me already. His heart rate does increase when I mention Superman. Maybe he’s been waiting for me to slip up.”

Lois shrugged.

“You could let yourself slip up,” she suggested casually. "That would be the more rational way to come clean." Clark shook his head, determined to make this the greatest love story of all time. Dick would surely be repeating it for the rest of their lives.

“No, that would be too boring for Bruce,” he insisted. This was a good idea.

It was not a good idea.

Clark had waited out of sight much too close to the scene. Better to be safe than sorry, he watched Bruce and Lois’s interaction at the very top of the Daily Planet building. The plan had started out smoothly. Lois guided Bruce to the edge, making conversation about Clark, a nice touch he had thought. The awkwardness of his and Lois’s breakup was far behind them, and for that, he was grateful, but Bruce did have some uncomfortable hidden questions about how easily Clark ‘gave it up.’

With Lois, she had known Clark was Superman from the start of their relationship, so there had been no barriers on sex, and very few problems. With Bruce, things were, well, a lot more complicated.

“So he didn’t insist on revealing the deepest secrets of his heart before stripping down?” Bruce, sounding more like his Brucie persona said, leaning against the glass edge of the frame.

“He did not,” Lois said, leaning off the edge. Intentionally, she knocked off her diamond earring.

“My earring!” She cried, looking down. The golden piece of jewelry glinted in the sunlight, sitting just on the other side of the railing. “I see it. I'm going to get it.” She climbed onto the ledge, swinging both legs over.

“What- are you crazy! Don’t-“

“I’m going to grab my earring and definitely not fall, so don’t try to stop me,” Lois said, playing up the part. Clark was listening. The careful repetition really was not necessary. As expected, Bruce climbed after her. His knee went atop the railing, then he grabbed Lois’s forearm to pull her back. “It’s fine. I almost have it.” She reached down for the earring, then felt Bruce’s grip tighten on her arm.

Once he was hooked to her, Lois took a deep breath.

“Oops.” She grabbed Bruce’s arm for good measure, then made a show of falling back, feigning a sound of shock as she fell. This was hardly her first time jumping from a ledge to grab Superman's attention. 

Clark caught her first, bringing her back onto the rooftop in an instant. He didn’t notice she had lost her purple sweater.

“Thanks,” he excitedly told Lois. Then, he was back in the air, ready to catch his boyfriend.

-------------------------------------------------

The wind whipped around Bruce. Momentum was building as he tumbled down further. He kept a hold of Lois, fingers white knuckling her sweater as he devised a plan. There was a hook approximately seven meters below them. It looked like it was usually used to hoist up large signs, but today the rusty old hook would be saving lives. If he could angle his body to the side, he could grab it, but he needed to increase his odds of gripping onto the hook. His hand flew to his buckle. He could use his belt to-

Lois was gone.

His eyes widened, fear cold in his belly. He held nothing but the sleeve of her purple sweater.

“No-“

Where was-?

The wind stopped. He stopped. Air rushed out of his lungs as his head reeled. This was too fast. It didn’t make sense. How did- He looked down to see an arm cradling under his knees. There was a solidness under his shoulders, keeping him up. He was being held like a bride.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Bruce’s eyes darted over to the hook. Superman had changed their- his projection by a solid meter. There was no landing on it now. A glance down showed they were still high above the pavement, likely at the 40th level or above. Superman had caught him quickly, less than ten seconds after his downward plummet. Slowly, he turned his head over to catch a glimpse of the legend.

“Hi,” the hero said to him, his voice small despite the huge grin across his face. “You’re safe now.”

Thump.Thump.Thump.

Bruce threw his arm out, bracing himself against Superman’s chest as if distancing himself. He could jump. No, he couldn’t jump. There were no more openings. Superman had floated them away from any possible landing point, holding him hostage in the air as they descended at a snail’s pace. He was trapped. His legs felt like Jello, suspended in a laying position atop thick arms that could bend steel.

“Oh, it’s okay,” the alien’s voice strained with a nervous pitch, but it quickly smoothed back into that low vibrato. “That must have been quite a shock, but everything is alright now. I’ve got you.” Bruce couldn’t help it. He tried to push away. It was stupid. He was going to die if he fell from this height, but Superman didn’t let him go. Instead, he held him tighter. Bruce felt like one of his porcelain teacups in the clunky grasp of a body builder. He tried to calculate how far they were from the ground, and the distance seemed to grow, further and further from safety.

“Hey, it’s alright. Hey, come on.” Bruce needed to get away. His control had been zapped, replaced with only one choice: complacency in the arms of the most powerful creature on Earth. Superman's voice rose. “Look at me.”

Bruce did, and he wished he hadn’t. He shot a glance at Superman, at the perfectly proportioned face with perplexingly vibrant blue eyes and a bouncy curl on his forehead. His expression was soft, etched with concern, but all Bruce could see were those eyes, the ones that shot out lasers, that were looking straight at him. It was like looking down the barrel of a fully loaded gun. With so much distance from the ground, Bruce had never felt so far from bulletproof. 

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump-

It was at that point that things started to go black.

-------------------------------------------------

Bruce's vision slowly began to come back. The first thing he saw was the ceiling, textured and cream colored. He was inside. The next thing he noticed was a crowd of faces staring him down.

“Here he comes,” Lois said, voice gentle but authoritative like a nurse. She was fanning a crisp packet of papers in front of his face.

Bruce could still feel his heartbeat skyrocketing. His head turned. There was something soft under his cheek. Someone was close, almost touching him as they moved the fabric under him. He dipped his head back curiously. Jimmy was adjusting Lois’s sweater under his head and watching him, eyes wide with concern. Bruce didn’t have to look to know everyone at the Daily Planet had their eyes on him. He hadn't meant to garner attention from the media today. Attention from an entire newsroom was just what he needed right now. His breath caught in his throat as his mind scrambled to play catch-up. His head was pounding, the edges of his vision still fuzzy. 

“Just breathe, Bruce,” Lois said. He opened his mouth to say he was fine but found his tongue dry. He swallowed. His chest was heaving and felt so damn heavy. “Bruce, hey.” Lois held her hand up. “Breathe with me. In…” Bruce shakily followed her direction. He had learned by now to just listen to Lois Lane's orders, and he wasn't currently in any position to argue. “And out.” He released the air in his lungs through one big huff. Lois looked back to Jimmy.

“We need an ice pack or a damp cloth,” she said.

“On it,” Jimmy barked in reply, scrambling out of Bruce’s field of vision.

“Should we take him to the hospital?” Clark asked. Clark. His voice alone was like a soothing balm. Bruce's eyes darted around, searching for the reassuring sound of his boyfriend. 

“I think we’ve got it handled here,” Jimmy answered from a different room.

“I’m just worried he-” Bruce caught sight of Clark and abruptly tried to sit up. He reached for his partner, dressed in just his shirt sleeves and looking doubly as frazzled as the rest of the panicked newsroom. Lois's manicured hand pressed down his chest as soon as he moved. He huffed as his head fell back against her crumpled up sweater.

“Nope! Way too soon,” Lois said, and she was right. The little movement up had caused stars to dance over his vision. There was something said between her and Clark then. Bruce couldn’t hear their conversation over the ringing in his ears, but it was too quiet anyways. It was possible they weren’t even speaking, only passionately mouthing words to each other while Bruce watched.

Clark finally came closer, all messy curls and worried eyes under those thick glasses. Bruce reached for him, and Clark immediately took his hand. The touch was warm and solid in Bruce’s clammy palm.

“Hey, baby,” Clark cooed, holding one his hand to his chest and one to his shoulder. “I heard Superman saved you.”

“Hn…” Bruce tried to sit up again. Where had Superman gone? He needed to know the alien's location, right now. But then two sets of hands pushed him back down, Clark’s surprisingly iron grip on his chest and Lois’s firm press on his shoulders.

“Nope!” Lois repeated.

“Just stay down,” Jimmy said in the distance. He was quickly coming closer. Bruce heaved a sigh of relief at something very cool coming to his aching hot neck.

“There we go. Thanks, Jimmy,” Lois said. She was patting the pack along his neck. Above him, there was another exchange between her and Clark, something like an argument, yet again mouthed and not spoken. Bruce should have expected it. Clark always played off having to work with his ex, but his new boyfriend coming into the place must have shaken things up. Bruce steadied his arms at his sides, lifting his head. 

"Where is Superman?" he asked, scanning through the crowd for red and blue. 

"He left," Clark answered quickly. Lois turned to him. "He... set you down here and left." 

"Where did he go?" Bruce asked, eyes narrowing. 

"He's a busy guy," Jimmy chimed in. "He could be anywhere by now." There was a smile in the young man's voice, and the cheerful tone reminded Bruce that he needed to play this cool. He was Bruce Wayne right now, and every single person watching him had easy access to a global audience. He swallowed thickly and softened his expression to that of a puppy-dog look. He turned this innocent look to his boyfriend.

“I fainted,” Bruce said with a little frown, letting his body relax against the desk he laid on. Clark nodded, gently squeezing his hand.

“You were out for a solid minute at least,” Lois supplied, moving the ice pack around his burning neck. “I get it.” She smiled warmly. “You aren’t the first person to faint after getting rescued by Superman.” There was a chorus of quiet laughter throughout the small room. There must be others out of his view. He needed to see who all was here-

“Stop trying to sit up,” Clark scolded with a serious, pained expression. Bruce obediently went back down, unmoving now.

“Was that your first time meeting Superman?” Jimmy asked with a grin. Bruce forced a smile in return.

“Yes," his voice was much clearer now. "And I must say- what a guy,” he lied. He had met Superman once before, under very different circumstances.

“Impressive, huh?” Someone in the back said. Bruce didn’t care to find out who anymore, not while Clark was regarding him as if he would break apart at any moment.

“He swept me right off my feet,” Bruce said, keeping his persona up best he could. The facade must have worked swimmingly well because there was another chorus of laughter. Clark rubbed his arm, holding his hand to his chest with so much emotion Bruce could hardly stand to meet his gaze.

“Alright, I’m not paying you all to babysit Bruce Wayne. Get back to work. We have papers to print,” a gruff voice commanded.

“Ugh, yes sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

There were less eyes on him now, but Lois and Clark stayed at his side, eyeing him, and making Bruce very uncomfortable.

“Here.” Lois pressed the cool pack against Bruce’s neck, demonstrating. “I should get back to work.” Bruce grabbed the pack himself with trembling fingers. He cursed at himself for still shaking. His heartbeat had barely slowed down. Clark kissed the back of his hand.

“Thank you, Lois,” he said, although he sounded more devastated than thankful.

“Get him a soda or something,” she instructed. “He needs something to get his blood sugar back up.”

“I’m okay,” Bruce insisted, but Clark had already let go of his hand.

“Don’t try to sit up yet,” he ordered in a tired sort of grumble. He walked away with his head bowed.

Once he was out of sight, Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. Embarrassment could not begin to describe how he felt, but he knew better than to worry. He had already played off the attention of the Daily Planet. Now he just needed Clark to calm down. Clark returned to his side with a can of Pepsi.

“I prefer Coke,” Bruce joked with a little smile, hoping to get that horribly upset look off Clark’s face. Instead, Clark turned away, beginning to walk back to wherever he had retrieved the can. “Clark," The word caught in his throat, shocked by the misunderstanding. "I’m joking.” He reached out and caught his sleeve. Was Clark... pitying him? That was a brand new look, and Bruce didn't like it.

“Right,” Clark said through gritted teeth. He turned back around, clearly in deep thought.

“I’m truly okay,” Bruce insisted. Slowly, he began sitting up.

“You shouldn’t-“

“Well, I can’t lie here all day, Clark. I have meetings to run,” he said, another loud sentence for the crowd. He kept a hold of Clark’s sleeve as he sat up. There was a quick rush through his head as he raised his upper body. Clark wrapped his arms around him, hands nudging his head down to fix the blood flow. Bruce caught his arm, holding onto him as his forehead pressed to his chest. Clark smelled like coffee and the outside air. It should have been comforting, but something about the fresh breeze in his scent put his teeth on edge.

Bruce was let go. There was the familiar hiss of a can opening, then the cold Pepsi was pushed into his hands. Clark took over the ice pack again, cooling his overheated neck while his other hand swiftly grabbed a notebook and started fanning Bruce.

“Okay,” Bruce stated firmly, indicating that he had about enough of this treatment. He took a sip of the soda because he knew that’s what Clark wanted, then set it beside himself.

Clark’s expression remained dark with that tense, horrified expression somewhere between frustration and deep concern. Bruce already missed seeing his bright smile.

“We need to go somewhere private,” Bruce said under his breath, eyeing a nearby intern who continued to watch them. Clark took a breath. His body was rigid under his oversized suit, back straighter than usual and lips pulled into a straight line. Bruce wouldn’t let him argue. “Clark.”

The reporter swallowed thickly, then gave a hesitant nod.

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed. He swept up the can of soda, wrapped an arm around Bruce’s waist, then nodded toward the empty breakroom in the back. It wasn’t ideal, but it would stop any prying ears. Bruce felt weightlessness at his back, then pushed himself forward, finally sinking his heels against the floor. He never before realized how much he loved having his feet touch the ground. He rose to stand and began walking forward with Clark’s insistent arm holding him like he might fall at any second.

They entered the breakroom, and Bruce quickly found a chair to dump himself into. He sat with a huff. The ringing in his ears had died down now, and he could feel his heart rate finally evening out. Clark shut the door behind them with a click.

“What happened, Bruce?” He asked, falling to his knees in front of him to get at eye level. His arms wrapped around the man’s hips. That dense expression finally slid into pure worry. It was sad and sweet and awful. “I’ve seen you get surrounded before. I know you’ve nearly bled out, been trampled to death, and I know for damn certain that you’ve spent hours swinging yourself high through the air. None of that scared you. None of that caused this. So, what happened?” His hand rested on Bruce’s chin, a tender touch to accompany the interrogation.

Bruce shrugged it off.

“It was an act," he lied easily, allowing a smile to rest over his lips. 

“No, that was real,” Clark countered with utmost certainty. Bruce shook his head, surprised that Clark wasn't buying his lie but not giving up on it yet. He placed his hand over Clark’s and looked him straight on. 

“It was just a show for the papers," he explained, voice slow and clear. Anything to get Clark to settle down, to believe him and relax. "It makes sense for Bruce Wayne to get jumpy at-“

“Don’t lie to me.”

Bruce’s eyes flew open with shock, not just because Clark somehow knew he was lying but because his adorably timid boyfriend had just cut him off mid-sentence. Clark ran his hands over Bruce’s thighs like a nervous tick meant to simultaneously relax his partner.

“Near death experiences don’t scare you,” Clark continued. “Falling from the air doesn’t frighten you, but you-“ He shook his head, blue eyes filled with worry met his icy gaze. “You had a panic attack.” Bruce’s chest squeezed. Is that what that was? Slowly, the man in his overpriced suit, with his cheaply dressed boyfriend at his feet, holding him so delicately with the softest gaze, shook his head.

“I’ve never had a panic attack,” he stated firmly. His words felt disconnected from his body somehow. Every part of this felt surreal, from Lois falling off a goddamn building to Clark seeing through his easy lie. But the worst part of everything, of the strange actions of the people around him to his bizarre reaction, was the overwhelming shame that was seeping deeper into him as the minutes progressed. He had lost control of the situation. He had let fear overtake him, and he could never let that happen again.

“It’s okay,” Clark hushed, placing a hand on his cheek now. Bruce closed his eyes, knitting his brows together in thought. “You were ambushed. It’s-“

“I’ve been ambushed before,” Bruce deadpanned. So why? Why had that damned alien made him crumble to pieces? Clark moved an arm around his waist. He was a grounding presence, safe and comforting as the Kansas sun, but Bruce wouldn't rest his head on his chest. He wouldn't lean into that comfort. He needed to gain back control over this situation. 

“I know," Clark said, radiating warmth and support. There was a puff of his breath. “I know, so what happened?”

Bruce rose steady to his feet with conviction sparkling in his unyielding gaze.

“I have to leave,” he said.

Clark defiantly grabbed his arm.

“Don’t go,” he begged in a soft voice, but Bruce nudged off his touch.

“I need to plan.” He shook his head, irritation coloring his previously pale face. He set his hand on the doorknob, wrapping his fingers around the cold brass. He set his jaw. “I’m never going to let that alien freak take me off guard again.”

“…alien freak?” Clark sounded like he might cry, but when Bruce looked back at him, he was composed, and devastatingly sad. Bruce hesitated his exit to give Clark comfort.

“We can meet again later this week," he assured him. Then, to lighten the mood, added, "I’m still waiting to hear that big secret of yours.” He gave Clark a sort of lopsided smile special for him, then made his leave. Clark took the place where Bruce had been, stretching out his massive legs with a frown large enough to match his figure. Slowly, he buried his face in his hands.

This was a disaster.

Clark chased Bruce back to Gotham as soon as he could. He had to finish off a few articles and get a painful, ‘I told you so’ lecture from his ex, which was in no way appreciated. Once work was done, he slid into his clunky car and started up the engine. He had hoped to tell Bruce today. It would have been much more convenient, not to mention faster, to start flying in to visit his boyfriend, but unfortunately, it seemed he was stuck riding in the car for now.

He didn’t listen to music the whole drive, too irritated at himself. How could he have been so stupid? Fear. It had always been fear. Bruce, his lovely, sweet, headstrong partner, was terrified of him.

When he finally approached the tall mansion gates, the sky was dark. He didn’t see a bat signal in the sky, but he couldn’t hear Bruce speaking. It was a little irritating that his boyfriend’s manner of speech was so terse. It made it harder to check up on him. Clark sighed. Bruce would definitely hate to hear that he had been using his super hearing to check in on Batman.

With his shoulders slumped in defeat, he moved out of his small car and began the trudge up the steps. He gripped the door knocker and gave it a few taps. In only a minute, Alfred was opening the wide, double-doors for him.

“Mr. Kent, what a pleasure it is to see you,” he said. Clark smiled bashfully. He had yet to adjust to Alfred’s over the top politeness, but it was endearing, nonetheless.

“Hey, Alfred, is Bruce home?” He asked in a small voice. Alfred nodded, gesturing for Clark to come inside.

“He is working downstairs. Please, allow me to escort you.”

Clark eagerly nodded and followed Alfred along with a bright smile. The walk down to the cave was long and winding, but Alfred seemed familiar with each step as he navigated his way through the narrow, winding space. Clark was stopped at the top of a staircase when Alfred went through a door, telling him to wait one moment.

One moment stretched into minutes, and Clark couldn’t stop himself from listening in.

“He traveled from Metropolis to see you,” Alfred said in his hushed voice.

“Then put him up in the suite. Tell him I’m too busy.”

Clark felt sick to his stomach. Alfred returned in front of him with a fake smile.

“Master Bruce is rather occupied at the moment.”

“He doesn’t want to see me?” Clark’s face fell.

“I am sure his desire for your departure stems from not wanting his work interrupted unless absolutely necessary.” His words stung.

“I can’t just turn around and leave, Alfred,” Clark said quietly. The butler’s expression softened.

“Then, by all means, stay the night.”

So Clark did. He was taken back to the mansion, where he found a comfortable spot in a little loveseat by the television. Alfred later brought him dinner, which Clark thanked him fervently for.

He ate, stared at the television but didn’t watch it, took a nap, made a quick get away to put out a forest fire, took another nap, left to rescue a cat from a tree, save a married couple from an armed robber, lift a car out of a lake, and then took another nap. By then it was morning.

Clark eventually found himself in Bruce’s bed, stripped to his shirt sleeves and slacks. He laid atop the sheets and hugged his boyfriend's pillow to his chest. He inhaled Bruce's scent as he waited and waited.

Finally, the afternoon was approaching, and Clark began to get irritated. Despite his best efforts to give Bruce space, he needed to speak with his boyfriend before another day passed. Bypassing Alfred’s help, he navigated himself back down to the cave. This time, he didn’t knock. He simply barged in with his expression contorted into a frown.

Bruce stood in a tank top, hunched over a series of printed sheets with a pen in his hand. He turned his head at the sound of someone entering, but his shoulders dropped when he realized who it was. Clark came up behind him. He let any anger fall away as he wrapped his warm arms around that narrow waist. Bruce felt cold, unwell from overwork. He needed rest.

“…I didn’t intend to ignore you,” Bruce said. That counted as an apology to Clark. He hugged Bruce tighter and pressed a kiss by his ear.

“What are you working on?” He asked, eyes already scanning the documents laid out on the table. His blood ran cold when he read the first line.

“I’ve been working through defense mechanisms,” Bruce answered, gently pulling away from Clark to show him his research. “There is a region off the coast of Australia that may have a bank of Kryptonite.“

“Kryptonite!” Clark exclaimed. Bruce jolted, body turning to face Clark fully. Anger flashed hot from Clark’s cheeks to his neck. His earlier forgiveness was long gone, the long night of patiently waiting for his boyfriend reframed as Batman unhealthily looking up ways to hurt the person who had saved him from a deadly fall. “Kryptonite, Bruce? Why! Why would you be trying to find Kryptonite? Superman saved you! He caught you from the air, after saving Lois, and that’s not even mentioning all the other exhausting things he’s done today! Why on Earth would you be trying to hurt him?”

There was deep pain in Clark’s eyes as he waited for his answer. He fought the tears, but his eyes were already wet. His boyfriend, the love of his life, Bruce, was trying to find a way to hurt him.

“They’re just defense mechanisms-“ His tone was cold.

“You don’t need to protect yourself from Superman!”

Bruce watched him with a blank expression.

“Why are you yelling at me?” That gave Clark pause. He scoffed, then buried his face in his hands.

“Because,” he answered unintelligently, volume quieting down significantly.

“I understand that you’re a fan of Superman-“

“I’m not a fan-“

“This is for your protection too.”

“How could it be?” Clark could feel his own heartbeat in his ears, throat raw and eyes wet with rage.

“I know you like him-“

“Like him?” Clark spat.

“But he could be a threat-“

“A threat,” Clark echoed bitterly, barely letting Bruce speak.

“He isn’t currently causing destruction, but he has the powers of a god.” Clark stopped his anxious pacing to watch Bruce speak. “One little push, one break, and he could destroy all of Gotham in less than an hour, disintegrate us to dust.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“I would have said the same about Dent.”

“Superman is not Harvey Dent.”

“This is about protection.” Bruce tapped the papers with two insistent fingers. “We have to be prepared if he snaps.”

“He won’t snap!” Ironically, Clark looked like he was about to. Bruce leaned back against the counter, watching Clark with concern, but his face stayed calm, his pose almost casual.

“Why are you so protective toward Superman?” He asked with genuine curiosity.

“Because that’s my secret!” Clark blurted out. Bruce’s expression dropped, cold blankness etched his rugged features.

“Your secret is about Superman.”

“Yes!”

There was a beat of silence. Bruce patiently waited while Clark paced about, face bright red and curls a mess from running his fingers through his hair. Finally, without another thought, Clark spoke in one swift line,

“Superman and I are best friends.”

Bruce observed him cautiously, as if he were figuring out a puzzle. There was a pause, then he spoke.

“I suspected as much.”

“You did?” Clark raised a brow, stepping closer. A little smirk pulled at Bruce’s lips.

“You talk about him often. You’re always trying to get me on his side.” Bruce had the facts right. He could see the intention behind all of Clark’s little pushes to gear the conversation toward the Kryptonian throughout their relationship, but the reason behind the intent was a faltered understanding.

“…That’s right," Clark said because that was true. He had been trying for months to get Bruce to like Superman. 

Bruce rose to his feet, the picture of calamity.

“So this was your secret? That you are close with the Man of Steel?” Clark swallowed.

“…Yes.” Bruce let out an irritated huff.

“Of course.” His hands slid from his forearms to his shoulders. “Your secret had to be a friendship, not a crime, not something embarrassing, just that you’re friends with someone.” His amusement twisted with concern as a new suspicion crept over his face. He lowered his voice. “...It is just-“

“Yes,” Clark insisted, cheeks reddening again. “Yes, we’re just friends…” Bruce eyed him carefully, studying his expression, then slowly nodded.

“That means there aren’t any more secrets between us,” he said, tired eyes hazing with desire. Clark felt like his heart had squeezed itself into his throat.

“…That’s right.” Clark extended his hand, stopping Bruce before his mind turned to mush. "Wait." Bruce tensed, biting his bottom lip with a wavering patience. "Superman is my friend, so... all this..." Clark gestured to the research littering the counter, maps and statistics and handwritten notes. "You can't hurt Superman, Bruce. You can't." Bruce shook his head.

"This is only a defensive measure," he insisted, moving in closer. Clark felt his resolve crumbling. 

"Don't hurt him," he continued, voice lowered to a whisper. 

"I won't," Bruce said, eyes darting to Clark's lips. That reassurance would have to be enough because they couldn't wait any longer. 

Clark was caught in a tangle of limbs. Bruce was everywhere, his hands, his voice, his hot mouth. Clark was already breathless in the kiss, back shoved against the table where papers scattered about. The research must not have been important anymore because this time, Batman didn’t pay them any mind. Clark swirled his tongue against Bruce’s, both of them overly warm and fighting each other for dominance. There was a heave from Bruce as Clark found himself tumbling to the cold floor of the cave, then he was crawling on top of Clark's ample hips, hands resting at his chest. Clark wanted to touch him everywhere. He wanted his shirt off. The thought worked as an action, and Clark already had a grip on the hem on Bruce’s shirt. He tugged it up, and-

Riiiiiip-

“Oh, oops,” Clark mumbled, humiliated as he felt the small tear along the bottom of Bruce’s shirt. Bruce pulled it the rest of the way off with a huff of a laugh.

“Are you ripping my clothes off now? I thought you were going to be using your teeth,” he countered, lust dancing in his cold eyes. Clark swallowed and held onto Bruce’s hips.

“Sorry,” he said, realizing how precarious this situation was. He needed to watch himself. He couldn’t give any indication that he was more than human. If he was going to do this, and god, he wanted to do this, then he would need to have sex as Clark Kent. The bumbling reporter from the Daily Planet who was awfully clumsy and too big for most chairs. “Ah, I guess I was just excited.” This was wholly new territory, so much for shredding Bruce’s clothes off like paper- something he had thought of doing a multitude of times. It wasn’t as if Bruce couldn’t afford a new wardrobe after all, and with the way he dressed sometimes with form fitting clothing that hugged his tantalizing frame, well, those clothes were nothing more than sturdy wrapping paper anyways.

“You guess?” Bruce teased. His mouth pressed firmly against Clark’s neck, earning him a sudden jerk of the head. The action was too fast, and he ended up banging his head against the solid floor.

“Ow,” he muttered, reaching back to cradle his head. This would usually be embarrassing, but right now, it worked. He needed to up the Clark Kent stupidity if he was going to have a successful night with Bruce. But wouldn’t this be too awkward? Was he just going to humiliate himself? Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he shouldn’t have-

Bruce’s lips were on him, firm and hot. His hand replaced Clark’s on the back of his head, lovingly holding his head to keep him from slamming his noggin against the floor again. Clark’s lips parted, tongue darting out to taste him once more, but Bruce had other plans. The billionaire trailed down his line of sight and went back to his neck. The attention had Clark tensing up with excitement. Lois had never touched him like this, had never teased him and pushed him and fought for control. This was all uncharted territory, deliciously new with a bright spark of excitement. Bruce started sucking against Clark’s neck. Clark would have expected such a rough action to ache, but it didn’t. It was warm, tense, and-

“Oh!” He tossed his head back again, pressing into Bruce’s hand. Clark held onto Bruce’s bare back, settling himself in place. He adjusted his feet to plant firmly on the ground, making sure his heels stayed down, no floating. Act human. Another moan left his throat as Bruce found a bundle of nerves at the base of his neck. To his surprise, the burningly addictive feeling of Bruce’s lips on his throat was suddenly cut with a sharp bite. Clark’s full body jolted, earning a chuckle from Bruce.

“Hey, careful-” Clark warned, heat rising all the way to his ears. Bruce pressed more kisses against his neck.

“Don’t worry. Your shirt collar will hide them.” It took Clark approximately two seconds to realize what he was doing. Bruce was trying to leave marks on his neck.

“Oh!” Clark slapped his palm over the spot of his neck Bruce had been working on. Under his palm was perfect, tanned skin, void of any red marks despite the way Bruce had been abusing his skin. “Um, I’d rather we not do that.” Bruce blinked, pulling back. His abdomen was on full display, hovering over Clark like a tidal wave. Clark couldn’t help himself from running an interested hand along his waist, thumb petting over an old scar.

“No marks?” Bruce teased. “Where’s the fun in that? You’re really going to keep up the prude behavior now, Kent?” Clark was quickly beginning to fluster.

“I just-” He had no idea how he was going to talk himself out of this, but thankfully, he didn’t have to. He could hear lithe footsteps coming toward the cave and quickly sat up. He opened his mouth to warn Bruce, but his lips were caught in a feverish kiss. He gently pulled back, but Bruce pressed on, nibbling on his bottom lip. The footsteps were approaching the soundproof door. Clark broke off their kiss. "We should- go to your room?" he suggested. 

"Right here is fine," Bruce argued, grabbing Clark by his thighs and lifting him up. Clark's legs wrapped around his partner's as he gripped onto his shoulders for support. Clark felt dizzy with desire, ankles trembling. He lowered one hand to the ground. The doorknob was being turned. He needed them to- Bruce kissed him again, pinning back to the floor.

“Bruce?” It was Dick’s voice. They were too late. Clark was dropped like he was on fire. Bruce scrambled up, picking up his torn shirt.

“I thought you were at a friend’s house,” Bruce said, pink tinting his cheeks. Clark propped himself up on his elbow, careful to keep covering his neck.

“I was, last night. It’s almost noon. I came home.”

“Right.” Bruce helped Clark onto his feet. Clark tugged up his collar.

Dick gaped, his young face etched with bewilderment.

“Why did you come down here?” Bruce asked as he pulled his shirt back on. The rip at the bottom of his shirt hem was unfortunately obvious, trailing up to his navel.

“I had some research to do on a case. I was hoping you could help me with it, but I think I can handle it myself," Dick said.

“I’ll help you this evening. I have a meeting to attend to.” Bruce gathered up the papers on the ground, swiftly tapping the stack against the table until they lined up properly. Clark’s gaze lingered on the pile, a reminder of Bruce’s research on Kryptonite. He felt the remaining excitement in his pulse simmer out. Dick looked between the two of them.

“I can see that,” the adolescent said, a smug smirk matching his father’s reaching his lips. Bruce grimaced.

“It’s with Commissioner Gordon. Next time, make yourself known when you enter the cave.”

“Next time, get a room,” Dick said, although he looked more amused than upset. It was a good thing Clark hadn’t stripped Bruce any further. Bruce left the papers in the corner of the table, then hurried out of the cave. Clark followed closely behind him.

“I’m sorry about that,” he told Dick awkwardly, which earned him some amusement.

“Again, just get a room next time. You’re adults,” he said, sounding wise behind his years and making Clark feel like a horned up teenager. It was unfortunately often that he felt that way around Bruce.

“Right, sorry again,” Clark repeated. Bruce pressed a hand to his back and urged him out of the cave. The walk up the stairs was painfully quiet. As the familiar carpeting of the mansion slowly came into view, Clark stepped off to the side. “I should probably get going.” Bruce shook his head.

“Don’t worry about Dick. He’s seen worse.” What did that mean?

“No, it’s not that,” Clark insisted, putting his hands up defensively. “You have your meeting, and I have-” He needed an excuse. “-laundry, that I should probably get to.” Bruce took his hand with a gracious smile.

“It’s early. You can do it tonight.” Bruce turned toward the stairs, walking them further inside, but Clark barely followed, dragging his feet as if they weighed fifty tons each.

“It’s a long drive back,” Clark countered.

“It’s Saturday. You have tomorrow off work as well.” Bruce kept walking, tugging Clark along.

“Yeah, but-” Bruce stopped and turned.

“Do you not want to?” he asked pointedly. Clark stiffened.

“...It’s just…” Bruce tilted his head down, urging him to continue. Clark glanced around to assure himself that it was just the two of them here in the spacious mansion. There was no sign of Alfred or Dick, so they must be alone. He couldn’t hear any nearby footsteps either. Overly cautious as a response to their previous embarrassment, Clark leaned in close and kept his voice hushed. “I haven’t- with a guy.”

“Don’t tell me now that you’re straight,” Bruce said with a puzzled expression. From the start, Bruce knew that Clark had only ever been with Lois. He had kissed other women throughout his life, but Lois was only one he ever slept with. This was all new. Clark hadn’t even realized he was bisexual until Bruce had randomly kissed him at a party and turned his world upside down.

“Of course not,” came Clark’s quick response. He did have some nerves about sleeping with a man for the first time, but his inexperience was not the issue. If Bruce had just accepted him as Superman, Clark would have already jumped him by now, but Bruce not only didn’t know his secret, but he had just been researching ways to actively hurt him. It was a horrible predicament punctuated by the humiliation of getting caught by Bruce’s thankfully nonchalant son.

Bruce placed a hand on his cheek, dangerously close to his hypno-glasses that now felt somehow closer to armor than a mere disguise. Nonetheless, Clark shut his eyes at the affectionate touch to his face.

“Don’t think of me as… some guy,” Bruce offered, keeping his tone hushed to match Clark’s. “Just think of me as me, the billionaire vigilante that can throw your heavy ass around with ease." Clark hummed with a smile, charmed. “And who really likes you.” Clark opened his mouth, then closed it. This was going to be difficult. Bruce was too damn sharp for his own good. One slip-up, like a hickey that wouldn’t show on his skin, or tearing through fabric in excitement- could be enough to tip the scales and make the world’s greatest detective realize who he was. It didn’t help that Clark was especially inhuman in the bedroom, at least when it came to controlling his strength and floating. He had Lois high in the air during sex more times than he could count, not that she ever seemed to mind. Bruce was a completely different story.

“Clark, I am not going to pressure you into this-”

“I want to,” Clark said with conviction. He nodded, then walked forward. “Come on, let’s go somewhere that has a door with a lock.”

The air in Bruce’s bedroom smelled faintly of baked goods. Clark had no idea why as Bruce never ate sweets. Perhaps the scent came from the fresheners plugged into the wall, or maybe it wafted in from his son’s bedroom all the way down the spacious hall. Regardless, the air was warm, thick like a blanket that he could cocoon himself into. Bruce walked him backwards into the room, his lips only parting to flick on the light switch. Clark tensed and grabbed Bruce's shoulder.

“Can we- keep it off?” he asked. His wish was Clark’s command as the switch was pushed back down without another word. It was dark in the room, but there was some sunlight creeping in along the edges of the blackout curtains. Bruce’s arms swept down Clark’s large body, palms gripping just under his thighs before sweeping him up. The action caught Clark off guard. He clung to Bruce, worried they both might topple over, but Bruce had him. He was kissed as Bruce carried him across the room, over a small step, and toward the bed. Clark kept his thighs pressed tightly around him, clinging onto his shoulder.

He could feel the effort it took for Bruce to hold him, the catch in his breath, the strain of his muscles, the way he urged forward with careful steps. Clark exhaled the air in his lungs as he was deposited onto the bed. He was quick to remove Bruce's shirt again, admiring the marred skin underneath. This time, he allowed himself to worship him, hands sliding over his chest and mouth pressing to Bruce’s collarbone. Bruce couldn’t leave marks, but Clark certainly could. He left open-mouthed kisses with his hands pulling Bruce in closer with thoughts of revenge, but then he heard his lover’s voice drop an octave.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Bruce was so direct. It took Clark off guard, but he knew his answer. Clark shook his head against the other’s neck, soft, black curls bouncing against light skin.

“No, I want inside you.” His reply earned him a sharp inhale from the man above him. Clark leaned in to kiss him more, but Bruce had enough foreplay, taking this moment to work off his dress shirt. He tugged each button off with careful precision, never fumbling or hesitating. Clothes were dropped to the floor beside the bed, both of them removing each other’s like a perfect team.

With Bruce stripped bare, Clark flipped them over, climbing on top. Bruce had no complaints, soulful eyes watching him with his legs parted below. Clark kissed down his body, then nudged him to lay on his hands and knees. Bruce reached a hand back to cling onto Clark’s arm.

Clark worked him open with his tongue and his fingers, a slow process that had Bruce trembling underneath him. With three fingers pressed up against that sweet spot inside, the Gothamite finally lost his patience.

“It’s fine- I’m ready,” he assured him.

“I just don’t want to-” Clark was cut off with a kiss as Bruce turned himself around. He could see that calloused hand reaching for his soiled boxers, a detail hidden in the darkness, and a detail that was not typical for the regular, human male that Clark Kent desperately needed to appear as right now. Tenderly, he grabbed Bruce’s hand, kissed the back of it, then swiftly pinned it behind Bruce’s back. He was going to need some privacy back here. Clark's fingers slipped into Bruce's silky hair as he pressed his cheek against the sheets.

“I need lube,” Clark lied, needing a solid distraction.

“It’s-” Bruce cleared his throat, face shifting under Clark's grip. “It’s in the drawer on the right.” Clark kissed the back of his neck, then pushed his head down further, pressing that handsomely rugged face against the mattress.

“Do you like it when I’m rough?” he asked, his eager voice much more haggard than he expected. Bruce’s breathy answer was in a surprisingly high pitch.

“Just fuck me already.” Clark retrieved the bottle, then popped it open, making sure there was an audible sound before he removed his soiled boxers. He tossed them to the ground atop his pile of clothing, making a mental note to make sure Bruce didn’t touch his clothing later. Finally, he grabbed his sopping wet member. His hand slid down his own shaft with a hiss of relief. He moved his hand, letting the wet sound fill the air, then recapped the lube. Thankfully, it wasn’t until then that Bruce shot a glance at Clark’s impressive member. “Oh shit.”

“Is it okay?” He honestly wasn’t sure if Bruce would need additional prep, but it didn’t hurt to ask. His private area did appear human. However, his size was massive, over nine inches long with a thick, smooth head almost two inches in girth. Bruce focused on his breathing as he pressed his round, muscular ass back against him.

“Yeah.” Clark smirked and placed a hand on his muscular ass, one of the few parts of his body that wasn’t littered with scars. He pressed himself up against that tight entrance. Slowly, he pushed in the tip. Bruce’s thighs slid open as he moved in, making room for Clark. He gnawed on his knuckle and placed a steadying hand on the surprisingly dominant man’s thigh.

“Does it hurt?” Clark asked with worry. He gripped onto the metal bedframe, focusing on being extra careful.

“I can handle you, Kent,” came Bruce’s grumbled answer, keeping up his bravado despite the way he trembled underneath his wide frame. Clark laughed sweetly, amused to all hell with Bruce. He pushed in deeper, feeling Bruce’s tense walls start to open up.

“You feel so good,” he praised. It took everything in him to stay steady, to focus on keeping his knees on the bed, his touch on Bruce’s thighs light, his hips slow. His eyes shut as he heard a creak. He looked up at the bedframe, jaw dropping at the massive dent he had left in the shape of his fingers.

Bruce’s head perked up at the sound, but Clark forced him back down, pressing his cheek against the sheets. The sudden power earned him a pleased hum, but the detective’s brows stayed furrowed, mind calculating. Clark glanced down at Bruce’s ass, at the way his hole was slowly relaxing around him, then he looked closer, x-raying through him to find where that sensitive area was. It wasn’t the first time he had used x-ray vision during sex, but it was the first time he was using it as a distraction. With a careful buck of his hips, he thrust himself up against that pulsing organ, simultaneously denting the metal frame back into place.

Bruce cried out, the sound almost masking the creak of the metal. Clark groaned as Bruce clenched up around him.

“Tight,” he grumbled through gritted teeth, keeping himself immobile as Bruce rocked up against him with a grunt, then collapsed forward. “Bruce?” Clark delicately massaged his hip, staring at the way Bruce’s hand now lay outstretched on the bed rather than clinging to him as he had been. “Are you okay?” He laid his palm flat against the cold wall, staring down at Bruce.

“...I just need a second,” he whispered. Clark looked through him to see the scattering of cum on the sheets. A slow, cocky smile grew over the hero’s dimpled cheeks. He leaned in to whisper in Bruce’s ear.

“I thought you could handle me,” he teased. A slow, quiet chuckle bubbled up from Bruce’s chest.

“You failed to mention your porn-star dick.” Clark laughed again, the relief sending a fresh wave of arousal through his body.

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment.” Bruce gripped Clark’s thigh and turned himself.

“Let me ride you.” As tantalizing an offer as that sounded, Clark had already narrowly avoided Bruce seeing his destructive powers twice this evening. Keeping those sharp eyes on the bed was definitely a safer choice. Clark lowered the weight of his body over Bruce, hands pressing against his shoulders to keep him down.

“I’d rather be on top,” he said, starting to rock his hips. He kept up a shallow pace now, using the ample lubrication to glide in and out without thrusting too deep.

“Sh-shit,” Bruce muttered, his forehead burying into the bed. Good. Clark kept up his hips, finally soaking up the wet squeeze around his aching cock. Quiet moans left him as he thoroughly enjoyed Bruce’s body underneath him.

As he neared his own release, he felt the familiar sensation of lightness and threw a palm onto the bed beside Bruce’s ear, focusing on keeping himself down. Grounded. The smallest bit of weightlessness could be enough for Bruce to feel. Clark concentrated on not using his powers as his speed started to pick up. Bruce sounded like he was going to cum again already, white knuckling the sheets. A minute longer, and his orgasm rocked through his body. He pulled out just in time, coating Bruce’s back with a strong line of cum. His hand had nudged under Bruce’s hips to grip his erection, squeezing to make sure they came together.

Clark sighed in heavenly pleasure as he laid atop Bruce. He was smiling down at him when he noticed the tiny hole in the sheets where he had been holding himself up. His nail must have cut through as he came. Thinking fast, he turned Bruce’s head, distracting him with a slow kiss as he used his super speed to move the sheet. Now the tiny rip was right under Bruce’s hand, where the vigilante had been gripping the fabric with much more might than Clark. Maybe it was wrong for Clark to convince Bruce that he had torn his own sheet, but the alternative was much worse at the moment.

His heartbeat relaxed alongside his partner’s as they kissed, slow and messy. His glasses nudged against his cheek at an awkward angle. Bruce reached up to tug off the clunky frames, but Clark pushed them closer up his nose and rolled onto his back.

“I’d rather keep these on,” he said quickly, sighing as he rested on his back. Bruce smirked and crawled closer, resting atop his shoulder.

“They’re in my way,” he said, curling alongside Clark like a black cat. Clark quickly shook his head.

“I can’t see without them, and I like looking at you.”

Bruce’s expression sparkled between secondhand embarrassment and delight. He eventually shifted to lie back, mirroring Clark’s posture, and nestled up against him. His hand slid over the reporter’s hip, pulling him closer. Realizing how close he was to noticing that Clark was not only still hard but so wet he looked like he had just slicked himself up, Clark turned in his hold to meet his eyes.

“Another round?” he requested in a hushed tone. Bruce’s expression flickered to surprise, but it melted into interest.

“Okay.”

After thoroughly scattering Bruce’s neck with hickies, sucking him until he turned stiff, and finally fucking him hard against the bed with his face pressed so deep into the sheets that when he lifted his head at the end of the night, his red cheeks almost looked purple, Clark decided to let him catch his breath.

He sat on the edge of the bed, pants back on, and buttoned up his shirt.

“You have a lot of stamina,” Bruce commented with a puzzled look on his flustered face. He was tugging on a fresh pair of pants beside his wardrobe. The lights were back on now, giving him a clear view of the state he had left his boyfriend in. His knees trembled, and there was a bruise forming on his hip from how Clark had gripped him during their final round. Clark smiled at his words.

“I have a good motivator,” he flirted as he pulled his socks on.

“...You’re very strong,” Bruce mused. Clark rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“My dad used to say that I was the second-best tractor puller, next to only an actual horse.” Bruce slipped his undershirt on.

“I didn’t expect you to pin me down and... take control,” he went on. Clark flushed.

“Was that okay?”

“Do I look like I'm complaining?” Bruce pulled a gray dress shirt over his shoulders, then made his way back to Clark. He caught him in a languid kiss, and Clark melted into it. He pulled away to stand.

“I better get going. Thanks for having me over,” Clark said as he stepped over to the door. Bruce bit back a laugh.

“Anytime,” he said with a little shake of his head. Clark turned to leave, but before he exited, he shot one last glance at the bed, and the metal frame that almost gave him away.

-------------------------------------------------

After only one afternoon of sex, it felt like a seal had been broken. Bruce’s text messages, terse as they were, were getting more explicit, and he seemed much more eager than usual for Clark to come back to Gotham. While the Daily Planet kept him busy in Metropolis, there was time to visit Bruce, but another visit meant more sex, more extremely dangerous-for-his-secret sex.

Clark was bouncing his leg as he skimmed over the pages at his desk. His mug was empty, matching the state of the newsroom. Only he and Lois were left in the room, writing reports on recent events. Clark had finished typing almost an hour ago, but he remained at his desk, reading the same words again and again. It was Friday. It had been a week since his last visit with Bruce, and he had been cleverly avoiding interactions, careful not to show disinterest. He was just busy, he had claimed, and a great way to keep up his occupied charade was to keep working even as the sky turned dark, even as there was absolutely nothing else for him to do tonight.

Lois must have noticed the way he mindlessly scrolled through the document because she walked over to his desk and sat beside him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked in that knowing way she always spoke. Clark let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

“I don’t think that would be appropriate,” he said honestly. Lois shrugged.

“It’s Bruce Wayne, isn’t it?” He hated how she always insisted on using his full name. It seemed like an insult somehow. She had no idea the depths that lay under the surface of the playboy billionaire who had settled down for the simple Clark Kent.

“Yeah,” he replied, continuing to maul over the document.

“You can talk to me about your boyfriend, Smallville,” she said with surprising softness. “I told you about my disaster of a date last week, didn’t I?” Clark smirked at the memory. “It’s fine. We’re friends. Spill.” Clark leaned back in his chair and looked over to Lois. He carefully thought over his words, then settled on,

“He still doesn’t know.” It was such a simple problem, but the solution to it was so much more complex than just telling him. Lois nodded.

“So he didn’t run back to Superman for another panic attack?”

Clark huffed, painful regret shining in his eyes.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” Lois said with a tinge of guilt. Clark shook his head.

“What I’m doing is wrong,” he said quietly. Lois placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay. You’ll tell him. You just have to get the timing right this time. Maybe you should just go talk to him.” Clark scoffed. “As Superman. Show him you’re not so scary. Maybe you can try a way of flirting that doesn’t involve putting him in danger?” He dragged his hand over his face.

“It feels tricky,” he grumbled. “He’s so damn sharp.”

“Sharp?” Lois chimed with a barely contained grin. “Bruce Wayne? Right, yeah.” Clark rolled his eyes.

“I… I told him we were friends.”

“Us?”

“No- Me and… Superman.” Lois choked on a laugh.

“You told him that you and Superman are friends?” Clark buried his face in his hands.

“I actually said that we were best friends.”

Finally, the two were able to just laugh together at the sheer absurdity of the situation. When the laughter died down, Lois offered some advice.

“Maybe you can use that. Tell him that-” she chuckled. “Clark wanted you guys to meet properly, and that he hopes you two can be good friends, and then you show him a super kiss, as Clark Kent, and rev him up for the big reveal. You two have been real dating for what, a month now? I’m sure you’re sick of waiting.”

Clark’s expression slowly turned to stone.

“...Oh my god,” Lois mumbled. “Are you serious?”

Clark covered his face. He could feel his cheeks beginning to burn.

“How?” She leaned in closer, dropping her voice even lower. No one could hear them regardless. They were several walls and meters from any prying ears. “We couldn’t even make out without you floating us.”

“I know,” he grumbled.

“You broke so much of my furniture.”

“I know…” He sounded more helpless now.

“That’s not even mentioning the time my head hit the ceiling while I was-”

“I know!” Clark rubbed his palms over his face. “I know… It was difficult.”

“There must have been signs.”

“There were,” he confirmed. “I covered up the best I could and kept myself grounded the whole time, but… if we do it again, he’s definitely going to notice.” Lois nodded slowly.

“You have to just tell him.”

“I will… First thing tomorrow. I’m going to Gotham, and I’m going to tell him.” Lois stood with a grin.

“Good luck. Hopefully you won’t need it.”

Clark did need it.

His plan was to go to Gotham the next morning, as Clark, but his duties as Superman that night brought him into the city. A office building was caught on fire. Smoke rose out of the windows, and there were screams in the air. One of those screams was a clear plea for Superman. The establishment was full of civilians, at least fifty, and the infrastructure was toppling from side to side. It was about to hit the ground, and if that happened, there would be no survivors. Clark had been in his apartment eating a bowl of cereal when he heard the cry for help. His meal was abandoned as he threw on the suit and zipped through the air.

He planted his feet firmly on the cement and gripped the building, leaving hand-sized dents in the concrete. The building leaned toward him, and he pushed back, balancing the structure upright as a handful of civilians spilled out from the entryway. He tried to keep it steady for everyone to escape, but the structure was too flimsy. His eyes scanned through the brick and wood, searching for a dent in the frame. He found it. There was a broken, lead support beam at the base of the building. He patted his hands over the outside walls, keeping it upright as he moved toward the imperfection. Cracks in the paint followed his movement like paw prints. Outside damage was no concern when there were lives to save, so he threw back bricks, digging his way to the internal structure. His heat vision beamed from his eyes, melting the lead frame back into place.  He then flew to the third floor, where flames lapped the outside of the window. He inhaled deeply, then blew. The ash frosted over with the crinkling sound of ice. He flew in to find each person trapped inside and brought them down to safety, one by one.

The crowd cheered his name as he flew down the last civilian, an adolescent girl who clung to his arm. The building would need serious repairs, but it was safe from collapse now. He informed the civilians to keep their distance until the construction was properly fixed. It took a while to make his exit. Several kids wanted autographs, and one child in particular, a young boy who couldn't have been older than five, wouldn’t let go of his leg.

After a solid fifteen minutes of pleasantries and attention, he gave the crowd a little wave and flew away. His heavy cape waved behind him as he made his descent. He took in the night air as he whisked around the many buildings of Gotham city, moving slowly as the onlookers faded out of view. He looked up to the full moon, ready to pounce toward it. He was a second from skyrocketing his speed when a deep sickness crept over his bones.

His strength seeped from him as quickly as paper wets in a puddle, and he dropped down, tumbling through the air like a deadweight. A thick cord wrapped around his ankle, and finally, the falling stopped. Suspended upside down, his head spinning, and his cape obscuring the world behind his head, he couldn’t move. His arms lay below him, and he felt like a strung-up animal. The weakness in his body was agony. Kryptonite felt like death. There was no greater discomfort, no deeper helplessness. He couldn’t even stand in the presence of the rock. Yet somehow the effects were worse now, because he was hanging upside-down looking at his boyfriend’s white lenses.

His vision shifted in and out of focus as he rotated like a slow roasted chicken. There was Batman, his lovely romantic partner, standing before him with a deep scowl and a heartbeat that teetered on the highest throes of adrenaline.

“I told you to stay out of Gotham,” his modulated voice growled. Clark groaned in pain, trying to blink Bruce into view, or better yet, trying to wake himself from this nightmare.

“There was… a building," he tried to explain. "It was going to collapse. They called for me to help them.” His voice was raw. He tried to catch his breath, feeling blood rush to his head. Batman took a cautious step closer, slow, as if Superman had the strength to attack right now.

“You are not welcome in this city.”

“You-”

“Stay out of Gotham,” Batman bellowed, cutting him off before he could further explain himself. Those angry eyes roaming over Clark’s body, but it was different. Usually his look was sweet, adoring but starved. Now his gaze was like venom, checking him over like he was some kind of alien specimen.

Batman retreated as quickly as he came, flicking the cord away from Clark’s ankle and disappearing into the night. The Kryptonite must have been on Batman’s person because the aching weakness ebbed away with his disappearance. Clark sucked in a breath of cold air. Unfortunately, the cord was whisked away while he was still weak, so Superman crashed into the cement. His whole body ached, and he saw stars as he waited for his strength to return. The minutes felt like hours until he could pull himself back onto his feet. He took a few steps forward, then stopped to rest his forehead against cold brick at his side.

He felt like crying, but he didn’t. Instead, he sulked the whole way home, his expression set in a tight grimace. He sat on his couch. The bowl of soggy cereal was still on his coffee table, room temperature and unappetizing. Clark grabbed his phone with such force that he nearly cracked the screen and called Bruce.

He answered on the third ring.

“Hello?” he said, innocent and neutral, as if he were actually completely unaware of the reason for Clark's call.

“What the hell is wrong with you?' Clark snapped, right to the point. "You told me you weren’t going to try to find Kryptonite.” There was a short pause on the other line.

“I never explicitly said that.” Clark felt the irritation rise to his ears.

“You really are something,” he nearly shouted. His phone case creaked under his grip, and he had to force himself to relax some. “I-I told you that we were friends, and that you cannot hurt him.”

“I did not hurt him.”

“You did! You left him injured on the ground.”

“His injuries, even from Kryptonite, heal immediately.”

“He can still feel pain! Asshole.” Clark hung up the phone.

It was a good thing Bruce didn't call him back right away. Clark had never been so pissed off at his boyfriend. The day passed. The next morning, Bruce tried to call Clark, but he was sent to voicemail. The memory of the past night still stung in his mind, and he didn't want to hear Bruce's voice, modulated or plain. The day after that was Monday, and Clark was back at work with plans of visiting Gotham again impossible for his human persona until the weekend. The way he saw it, he had earned himself a solid week to cool down.

Monday afternoon, he swallowed down the rest of his lunch as his break came to a close. As he walked back to his desk, he saw it; a bouquet of two dozen flowers delivered to his name. It was an absurd number of colorful roses, and they were adorned with sparkling white ribbons. Clark's face flared up at the sight. He bowed his head as he approached the gift. He turned the small white tag tied to the bouquet to see printed writing,

‘It won’t happen again.

xoxo
Bruce’

It was typewritten, but Clark supposed it was better that these had not been hand delivered. Bruce at least had gotten the message to keep his distance for now. Clark hung his head with a heavy sigh.

"Oh my god..." he muttered to himself, one eye twitching with the absurdity of the situation. An 'I'm sorry' text would have sufficed, and it also wouldn't have drawn so much attention. Cat was eyeing him from the back of the room. Clark rubbed his eyes with the back of his palms, already feeling sick to his stomach at the questions he was going to have to dodge. 

“Are those apology flowers from your boyfriend?” Jimmy asked with a barely suppressed grin. Here came the first one. At least it was just Jimmy. Talkative as he was, he knew when to keep things to himself. Clark shook his head and sat on his chair.

“He didn’t even say sorry,” he spat in reply.

“What’d he do?”

Clark buried his face in his hands.

“...It’s complicated... Will you please tell Cat to leave me alone?"

"I'll try," Jimmy said weakly. He offered Clark a sympathetic smile. Clark returned it, then turned back to his computer. His focus was going to be shot for the rest of the day. His eyes roamed over the expensive rose delivery, the apology flowers. As mad as he was, he knew he was in the wrong too. Bruce had been open about his identity for over a week now, and it was time to return the favor, consequences be damned.

-------------------------------------------------

Bruce was wearing a fitted, gray suit. His hair was styled, swept back on one side and neatly framing his forehead. His sleeves and tie shone with gold accessories, and he wore a new watch on his left wrist. The accessory alone cost more than Clark makes in a paycheck. He smelled faintly of cologne and aftershave as he sauntered around the party, a champagne flute in his hand. The award-winning smile was worn on his cheeks like an accessory, the same as the watch and the champaign. The dull evening was spent socializing. Mostly, he was just making sure his face was seen at the event.

Clark knew had been watching him since he left the Daily Planet for the day. He had watched as Bruce shook hands and sipped his drink, and he had seen the fatigue in his eyes. He knew Bruce hated these things. Bruce was going to need a break soon, and so he waited. It was highly unusual for Clark to stalk anyone like this, but the circumstances had landed them here. He was still too pissed to feel ashamed. The balcony was empty, small, and out of the way. Most guests who needed a break from the crowd did so on the ground floor by a grand water fountain. Bruce was different. He knew where the truly quiet places were, where he could go to be fully alone. He stepped onto the dimly lit balcony and approached the railing. He drew in a slow breath, and in his respite was where Superman cornered him.

There was a gust of wind as scarlet boots gently scraped the floor behind the man. Bruce turned nonchalantly, likely expecting another party guest. His blood ran cold as he took in the powerful sight of the Man of Steel.

“Bruce Wayne,” Superman said in a clear but calm voice.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“I’d like to talk,” he continued, taking a tentative step forward. He was blocking the door to the building. There was no easy retreat for Bruce, but there were about three meters of space between them. Bruce stretched out that breathing room as much as he could, white knuckling the bars of the balcony as he turned toward him. His eyes were dilated, brows furrowed, and his heart was racing. “I just want to talk. Is that okay?” Clark's stance was straight, the perfect picture of confidence.

Bruce squeezed the bars behind him, calloused fingers trembling. He gave a quick nod. Clark smiled, the soft smile one gives a stray animal that they don’t want to scare away.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.” To that, Bruce broke into a smile. The friendly expression was fake, that forced, too-large Bruce Wayne smile that somehow managed to still capture Clark’s heart despite its plasticity. 

“I know,” he said as if it were obvious. His voice was shaking but so slightly that only the most observant would be able to notice. Every subtle sound of discomfort was loud as a gunshot to Clark's super hearing. “You saved me the other day.” Clark smiled and chanced a step forward. That was a bad idea as the simple action had Bruce’s heart rate skyrocketing.

“I did,” Clark said, stepping back in hopes of helping Bruce relax. The distance didn’t help. “I’d like to get to know you, Mr. Wayne.” Bruce swallowed thickly.

“Why is that?” he asked. Clark glanced through the walls of the building into the party. No one seemed to be noticing Bruce’s absence yet. He looked back to his done-up partner.

“Because Clark wants you to know Superman too,” he explained quietly, although the third person felt awkward on his tongue. Bruce adjusted his sweaty palms on the bars behind him.

“Oh, does he?” Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed a hair, a touch of irritation maybe. “Did Clark ask you to meet me here?” Clark’s expression softened.

“...Yes.” Bruce nodded, tense as a wooden plank.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Clark repeated, awkwardly staring at Bruce a moment longer. Was this going to be it? The end of his second ever relationship? The end of everything romantic and thrilling and beautiful he had going with Bruce? Gone in a single sentence? He knew stretching this out any longer was wrong, but he longed for some way to make this work. His gaze sharpened again, narrowing in on Bruce. He took a quick inhale, then let the words out at once,

“I know who you are, and it was very cruel of you to treat me the way you did. I was only trying to help the people of Gotham.” Bruce didn’t react. He only continued to stare, undoubtedly calculating something behind his cyan eyes.

“Is this your way of intimidating me?” he asked coldly. Clark scoffed.

“You’re the one who intimidated me. You hunted down Kryptonite just to hurt me.”

“I didn’t hurt you.”

“Not seriously.” Clark took a step forward.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“How do I know you won’t try something again?” Clark pressed, desperately searching Bruce’s face. Bruce glared. It was bitter, painted with cruelty.

“Good. So we both don’t trust each other,” came his cool answer. Clark’s expression fell into a deep frown, and he felt the burn of tears in the back of his throat.

“Can’t you learn to?” he begged, hardly keeping his voice strong as he took another step closer. Bruce’s expression darkened, unphased by the break in Clark's voice.

“You’re an overpowered alien who makes decisions under no authority but himself. You claim to be as human as the rest of us, yet you fly around the planet using your abilities as you please. Only a fool would trust anyone with that kind of power.”

Clark looked up to blink back his tears.

“Bruce…” Bruce shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest protectively.

“What is it you want from me?” His tone stayed cold. Clark’s blue eyes shone with tears as he looked at his terrified boyfriend. When he spoke again, his voice cracked.

“I’m not friends with Clark.”

That was all Bruce needed to slide the pieces into place.

Clark wiped at his cheek, struggling to keep himself together. Bruce’s heart rate was skyrocketing, his fists gripped around the bar behind him, his knees wobbling where he stood. All the while, his expression stayed stoic.

“I wanted to tell you,” he began desperately, stepping closer, right foot then left. “From when we first made things real, I wanted to tell you, but you seemed so bothered by Superman. I didn’t know why at first. I tried to figure it out, and I knew something was wrong. Your heartbeat was always thumping like crazy, and I knew that wasn’t good, but I thought there might be more to it.” He started speaking faster, nearly using super speed to get his thoughts out quicker. Bruce’s eyes darted about in thought as he slowly sank down against the railing. “And there was more to it, because then I figured it out. It was pretty early on. I saw the cave through the floor, and you had a ton of weapons hidden on your person. I mean, even right now-”

He looked through Bruce’s pant leg to see the pocket knife in his sock, a smoke bomb in the lining of his jacket, and a batarang by his breast.

“You have a knife in your sock, smoke bombs inside your jacket, and a themed weapon right here.” He patted his own chest where Bruce was keeping the batarang inside his suit. “It’s extremely obvious to me. I mean, you hide it well, but obviously I’m not most people, and I wanted to tell you. I promise I wanted to tell you.” Bruce leaned back against the railing, blood pressure high with adrenaline and face beginning to turn pale. “I thought it’d be so romantic to do it the same way you had. That’s why I asked Lois to drop her earring off the roof-”

“You staged that,” Bruce realized with a tired sort of understanding, like it was all finally clicking into place. 

“Yes,” Clark whispered. He was only a couple feet from Bruce now. “I thought it would be romantic. I’m so sorry I scared you. I never wanted to do that. Lois told me it would freak you out, but I thought, no, no, if anyone can handle it, it’d be you, but- you know, it’s okay. I mean, why was that so scary? Because I’m an alien? I might be from the planet Krypton technically, but are you technically from whatever hospital you were born in? I just mean, that doesn’t define me. I don’t see myself as anything but human.”

Bruce dropped to his knees.

“Woah-” Clark dropped to the floor in front of him, extending a hand. “Hey, hey, Bruce, Bruce, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Thumpthumpthumpthump-

“I don’t know how to help- I- Take a deep breath. Come on, in and out.” Bruce’s face contorted into a lopsided frown, then he slumped forward, losing consciousness.

-------------------------------------------------

Bruce awoke to a twinkling sky full of stars. His hearing came back slower. It was as if his ears were plugged. Sounds were distorted and seemed far away. He could hardly register the sound of Superman- of his boyfriend- speaking above him. There were tears in those brilliantly blue eyes. Bruce felt the cement below him, felt the cold through the numbness in his head. He pressed himself upward but staggered slightly.

“-don’t know what to. What do I do?” Bruce managed to register the words. He forced himself to look away from the terrifying sight of the alien.

“I need to get out of here,” he grumbled. There were more than a few people at the gala, and he didn't want them to see him on the ground. The tabloids would surely have a field day with the sight of Superman towering over Bruce Wayne. That thought alone sent a wave of nausea over him. “Take me home.” His body felt like lead as two strong arms swept him up. The superhero's tight grip had Bruce's vision fading out again. He panted, placing his hand over the 'S' on the other's chest. 

“Got it," Clark said with determination as he gripped onto Bruce. The touch itself was overwhelming Bruce felt like an empty can about to be crushed. "Back to the manor. I bet Alfred can-”

“No!” Bruce groaned. He’d be damned if he let Dick know he had a second, actual to God panic attack, him, of all people. This was humiliating. He was supposed to have better control. Even with shame hot on his mind, he still felt the sickness creeping in, urging him into the black of unconsciousness. “Not there.” He spoke the last words without vision, head bobbing back on a slippery spandex sleeve.

“Is it okay if I-” Bruce's eyes lolled back as his body went limp. Clark sighed sadly.

“I’m going to pick you up,” he said to himself regardless.

-------------------------------------------------

Bruce opened his eyes again and jolted. The surface underneath him was softer now, plush. Was he on a couch? He scanned the room until his gaze settled on his handsome boyfriend. He rested his head on the pillow. It was Clark, his dorky boyfriend, wearing the thick sweatpants he had bought for him, along with an old Smallville T-shirt. He knelt beside the couch, holding a wet rag out toward him.

“Where am I?” Bruce asked, trying to get the pulsing ache to leave his head.

“I took us back to my apartment,” he said. Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Your apartment?” he glanced around. He had been here before, but it had been a couple months. Usually Clark visited his mansion, or they went out to spend time together. The air smelled like Clark. It was comforting.

“You said you didn’t want me to take you home, but you wanted to leave. I didn’t know what else to do.” Clark blew on the rag until it was frosted. Bruce blinked, then tensed as his partner tenderly pressed the rag against his neck.

“I must have been out for hours,” he speculated, baffled as Clark tended to him.

“It’s a short flight.” There was a familiar pop and hiss of a can opening. Bruce looked down to see a can of Coke being opened. He rose to his elbow. “Don’t try to get up for a while.” He reached for Clark’s glasses and gripped the frames with determination dancing in his eyes. Clark watched him with concern, then as the lenses were pulled away, his face shifted to Superman’s.

Bruce nearly fell off the couch.

“I’m going to be sick,” he warned. In a blur of gray and red, Clark darted away. Bruce gasped as his boyfriend slowly returned to his space on the floor in front of him, but now he held out a bucket. Bruce grabbed the bucket and heaved but nothing came out. Clark had the glasses back on again as he reached over to rub Bruce’s back. “Don’t touch me!” Clark retreated a solid foot away but kept close enough to tend to him. Horrified, Bruce rolled onto his side and held his stomach, his eyes never leaving Clark.

“I’m sorry,” Clark said, the signs of holding back tears evident in his expression. Bruce watched him. Clark had his knees curled up to his chest. “I hate that I lied for so long. I didn’t want to. I wanted you to know. I want you to know.” Clark fretted with his hands, tapping his fingers against his knees. “Oh, I’m sorry I lied about that too- I knew who you were way before you told me, but I couldn’t just up and say that I could see through the floor, right? And at first, I thought you were just playing with me, the whole fake-dating thing, you know? Obviously I wasn’t going to tell you then, but then we were official, and I wanted to tell you, but I thought-hey, you didn’t tell me your identity either. But then you did tell me, and it was so sweet. Gosh, I loved that.”

Bruce glanced at the living room table. Sitting at the center of the table were the flowers he had given Clark, displayed in a turquoise vase. His focus returned to his boyfriend who seemed to be wearing an invisible lasso of truth.

“And then I knew, I had to tell you. I wanted to, but I had to do it right. I figured, you’re Batman. You probably already know, at least some of it, right? So I thought it would be so romantic to do what you had done, stage a rescue and swoop in and save the day. I even said the same line to you that you said to me. Did you notice that?”

He blinked in reply, brows furrowed with discomfort.

“But then you had that panic attack, and I realized you weren’t just- I don't know- weird about Superman. You’re afraid of him... You’re afraid of me. I don’t... I don’t know how to fix that, but I do know that I want to. I understand if you’re mad at me, and if this is a lot- it’s a lot for anyone. Well, actually, Lois didn’t seem to mind, but you’re not Lois, and that’s- that’s beside the point.”

Bruce vaguely wondered if Clark would ever stop talking again.

“I’m not scary. I mean, seriously, Bruce, you’re way scarier than I am, creeping in the shadows and stuff, but I don’t mean to invalidate your feelings. I just- am, expressing how I feel, and how I think you should feel, because yes, I am, a little out of the ordinary, but I am still Clark. That’s - that’s who I am. Being Superman is a big part of my life, but when it comes to us, I - I feel more like Clark Kent when we’re together.”

Bruce nudged his face against the pillow and contemplated screaming into it.

“We shouldn’t have had sex. There- I said it, I am so sorry. I- I wanted you for so long, and I didn’t want to wait anymore. It was painfully difficult not to break anything. Oh, and I’m the one who tore a hole in your sheets. That wasn’t you. I did it, and there’s other stuff you should know, and-”

“Clark.”

“Yes?”

“Stop talking.” Slowly, Bruce sat himself up. Clark stayed where he was, properly perched on the floor like a meercat. Bruce shakily reached for the soda and took a sip. He let the bubbly liquid slide down his throat, then carefully set the can back down. His eyes met Clark’s, then he quietly said,

“I love you.”

Clark’s expression turned into a deep frown, then tears rained from his cheeks.

“I love you too.” He crawled closer to Bruce.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Bruce held up his hand, halting Clark in his tracks on the carpet.

“But you freak me out.” The overwhelming emotion was sapped from Clark then. He sat back on knees.

“Oh.” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “...So what does that mean?” Bruce shrugged.

“I don’t…” He shook his head. “I don’t even know.” Clark wiped his eyes and cleared his throat.

“Well, I want to keep dating,” he said, clearly stating his needs. Bruce nodded.

“Me too.” Clark kept watching Bruce, hoping he would say more, but he didn’t. Met with silence, Clark awkwardly tapped his thighs.

“We can work with this,” he decided, some relief finally flooding his features with a handsome grin. “We just need exposure therapy.” Bruce switched to rubbing his temples.

“...That’s not a bad idea,” he said quietly.

“Maybe we start with holding hands?” Clark suggested, holding his palm out to Bruce. His lover took it, holding his hand with a little smile. Clark gently squeezed his hand, causing Bruce to suddenly retract. Clark lowered his hand and his head, then shook it. “You do know that I’ve held your hand before, right?”

“Yes,” Bruce replied curtly. He ran his fingers through his hair, leaning back against the couch. “I understand that these feelings are irrational, but my logic isn’t changing my emotions.” Clark rose to his feet, a simple action that Bruce’s vitals reacted to. He then turned to sit on the couch, leaving a cushion between them.

“Then this is where we’re starting,” Clark said with a small, patient smile, but Bruce was dissatisfied. He shook his head and replied,

“This is ridiculous.” Clark chuckled and shook his head.

“It’s okay… Lots of people are scared of me. Usually it just.. Isn’t people I’m so close to… or in love with.”

Bruce took a deep breath, then moved to the center couch cushion, so close to Clark that their thighs almost touched. He grabbed the Kryptonian’s wrist with determination set in his deep blues.

“This is where we’re starting,” he stated. Clark nodded slowly, leaning back against the couch. “Take them off.” A flush worked its way up Clark’s cheeks. He opened his mouth, then shook his head.

“My glasses, right,” he said, embarrassed, then removed them. Bruce exhaled a slow breath at the sight of Superman. He leaned back against the couch, fingers twitching around Clark’s wrist. “Are you okay?”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“...Yeah.”

“I can’t wait for you to kiss me again.” Bruce gave him a pained expression. Clark shot him a patient smile. “Later.”

“Later,” Bruce agreed, breathless. They sat on the couch together for a long time after that, quietly speaking to one another but mostly just sitting in silence until Bruce’s heartrate started to even out. It took an unfortunately long time, nearly an hour before he had fully relaxed. Even then, he stayed painfully alert, shifting in response to every movement Clark made. This was going to be a painfully long process.

Bruce eventually started touching Clark, exploratory movements along his arms and chest. Clark stayed perfectly still as he was felt over, although his cheeks were flared up from the contact. Bruce lowered his hands. 

“Touch me,” he said, expression tight. Clark swallowed nervously and reached for Bruce. “Not too fast.” 

“Okay,” Clark promised.

Warm, slow, and beautiful hands slid along Bruce’s arms. The billionaire watched Clark like a hawk as every touch was smoothed along his skin like a gift. He sat across from his partner with a fascinated sort of expression transfixed over his features. They were sitting on opposite sides of the couch still, but Bruce now allowed Clark to touch him. Those powerful fingers slipped upward, feeling over the tense muscle of his shoulders. The movement continued, inching in closer to his neck, to his thrumming pulse point. 

In a swift panic, Bruce karate-chopped Clark’s hands away, a self-defense reflex against a stranglehold, though Clark’s tender touches were far from threatening. It was a self-defense measure to stop a strangle hold, something Clark had not even come close to resembling with his tender touches. Bruce’s stoic expression cracked, embarrassment flooding hot through his veins. 

“Did I…?” Clark started, nervously retracting his hands back to his sides, content that the touching had stopped for now. He wouldn’t reach for Bruce again, not without permission. Bruce knew that. He knew he was safe here. Why wouldn’t his mind let him feel the comfort of his boyfriend’s presence? 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Bruce said quickly. His hand moved to rub at his temples, but stopped short. A hand in front of his eye would leave him open to a sudden attack. Clark was just watching him, so gentle and patient, but Bruce knew the languid back and forth touching was painfully annoying. His neck felt hot, not because he felt faint, but because of the shame. This whole situation was so far from anything he had experienced before, and it was still so damn alarming. Clark Kent was Superman? It made such perfect sense, but it contradicted every instinct in Bruce’s body. 

“Do you want to try touching me again?” Clark asked, fiddling nervously with his thumbs. God, he looked like a school girl with his shy motions, an oversized school girl with nothing but muscle atop bone. Bruce opened and then shut his mouth. 

“...Yes,” he decided. His decision was painfully slow to boot, but he felt the determination return. He reached closer to his perfectly still boyfriend. Clark kept his hands at his sides now, stiff as a dutiful soldier. Bruce’s hands trembled as he reached closer. He wasn’t sure where to touch first, so he just started with the shoulders. Both his hands rested atop Clark’s shoulders- Superman’s shoulders. His hands stayed there, unmoving as he took in the sight in front of him. Clark’s expression was lopsided, lips pressed in a soft pout. He looked like he wanted to say something. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Clark said. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I just, you can do more. You don’t, um, you don’t have to be slow when you touch me. I mean, you’ve never exactly been slow before.” Bruce’s hands dropped, heat rising to his cheeks as he felt tension grow in his forehead. His left eye twitched almost imperceptibly. 

“I don’t mean to rush you. Take your time,” Clark corrected himself with ease. He took a deep breath, then held both of his hands out, palms up. “Do whatever you’d like.” 

Bruce rubbed his temples. 

“Bruce?” Clark asked. His hand reached for Bruce but stopped short, almost touching him on instinct. Bruce shook his head. “Come on, talk to me.” 

“This is stupid,” Bruce finally said, smirking despite himself. 

“Bruce…” Clark’s fingers spread out on the couch between them, reaching for him but sliding back before they touched, like tidal waves lapping toward the shore. “It’s only been a couple hours. This information would be a lot for anyone to handle. It’s really okay. Besides, it was wrong of me to keep this from you for so long. I’m the one that messed up… You shouldn’t have found Kryptonite, and we are going to talk about that more- uh, but right now, yes, this is a lot of information, and it-”

“Clark,” Bruce cut him off, feeling the sting of agitation get to be too much. 

“Sorry.”

“I’m going to touch you again,” Bruce decided. 

“Again, you do not need to warn me,” Clark reminded him gently. “I’m not afraid of you.” Bruce’s gaze sharpened. “No, I! I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean that.. Ugh, I keep putting my foot in my mouth, don’t I?” Bruce huffed out in annoyance. He reached closer and set his hands on Clark’s triceps now. The touch was stronger, and it moved down his arms, then slowly back up. He slid his hands along Clark’s collarbone, then to his neck. Finally, his touch cradled Clark’s chin, thumb on either side touching the apples of his cheeks. His thumbs gently rubbed the little swell of soft skin just below the shadows of his eyes. Clark chuckled so softly; it was almost a giggle. He leaned in closer, smiling with that flustered little grin as he shut his eyes. 

Bruce couldn’t help a shaky smile in return. He gained more confidence then. He settled up on his knees and leaned in closer. His fingertips trailed along Clark’s jaw. The face was still different, smooth lines of Clark Kent hardened into a jawline sharp enough to cut steel, but despite the rigid edges and unfamiliar details, his expressions stayed soft. It was in his gaze and his shy movements that Bruce could see Clark, and when he held his new face like this, Superman had transformed back into his familiar boyfriend, even with the hypoglasses sitting on the end table. 

Bruce leaned closer, letting his eyes shut for a moment. His heart still pounded. Blood pumped through him, every system in his body on high drive. It felt like he was about to leap off a cliff without a grapple, like he was about to dive for a bullet. Every part of his defense mechanisms told him to get away, to be afraid, but there was another part of him, something much deeper than his years of training. A part buried behind the gunshots outside of the theater, tugging him to comforting memories of laughing alongside his parents. That piece of him adored the man within his grasp and leaned him in closer. He pressed a kiss to Clark’s forehead. 

When he leaned back, he felt pride swell in his pounding chest. His ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton, vision obscuring at the corners with the sheer effort it took to stay so close, but there was relief too. It was a small accomplishment, but he had managed to kiss Clark with his eyes closed. Bruce smiled at him, lips a bit lopsided. Clark’s eyelids flickered open, brows lowered with something tender. His hand went to Bruce’s elbow, delicately holding him in. Bruce trembled and moved back. 

There were no words shared between them as they looked at each other then. Bruce’s hands moved upwards, fingers sliding to Clark’s forehead. He brushed back his stray curl, then watched as it fell right back into place. Clark’s eyes shut again at the affectionate grooming. He dipped his head like an animal accepting a pet. Bruce leaned in again. His heart skyrocketed, but he pushed through, resting his lips against Clark’s hairline. He stayed there, soaking up the warmth in front of him. Slowly, as he breathed in his lover’s scent, he felt himself relax. The tension in his shoulders eased, and his heartrate, oh so slowly, began to descend. 

Then Clark’s large arms naturally slid around Bruce’s waist, boxing him in.

Bruce threw him back like a grenade, jolting back at the feeling of being embraced so wholly.

“Oh! I didn’t mean to-” Instinct rushed over Bruce. He shot back his arm, elbowing Clark in the nose with all his might.

…

Clark didn’t even flinch. His eyes were downcast with disappointment.

“Shit.” Bruce hissed in pain and grabbed his elbow as the pain began to blossom out from his elbow. There was something particularly unsettling about his offensive techniques doing absolutely nothing to Clark. Bruce scooted himself back, warmth returning to his neck. 

“Are you okay, baby?” Clark asked, reusing that awfully degrading nickname that Bruce had expressed distaste for since the first time his boyfriend had used it. It was even worse now with their strength difference emphasized so suddenly. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you.”

“It’s fine,” Bruce replied, still holding his aching elbow. Worse than his arm was his head. The pounding was back, edges of his sight turning to a vinaigrette. He groaned, leaning back against the opposite side of the couch, forcing more distance between them. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Clark cooed. When Bruce looked at him again, Clark Kent was back. Bulky glasses and soft features. 

“You put your glasses back on,” Bruce observed disapprovingly. He could hardly see now, watching Clark through grains of black scattering his sight.

“Yes, because you’re about to faint again, and you seem calmer when I’m wearing them.” Bruce opened his mouth to argue, but Clark was having none of it. “Can I touch you like this?” Bruce opened his mouth, shut it, and immediately felt like punching something, hopefully something that could actually feel it this time. 

“Yes,” he finally answered, baffled at himself. The glasses should not have made a difference when he knew who was behind them, but yet he already could feel himself coming back. Clark guided Bruce to lay across his lap. Bruce’s nose nudged against the other’s thigh as he folded his hands politely on his stomach. He huffed out, staring up at the ceiling to try and get his brain off the fact that he had just hit his boyfriend. 

Clark’s hands found his hair, brushing through the styling gel left behind after a bumpy flight and lots of time spent lying down. Bruce stayed where he was, tense as a bundle of rocks, as he waited for the sick feeling to leave his body. Clark petted Bruce’s jawline, then he held his hand. Bruce interlaced their fingers, eyes shutting as he began to relax. Clark made a soft, breathy sound, a decision arising in his mind. 

“I… I could just keep my glasses on,” he suggested. “When we’re together, I can… just be Clark Kent. You know. And the fact that you know now is… It’s enough. I might slip up sometimes. It’s really hard not to use my powers sometimes, but I have pretty good control. So, if you just know… If you just know who I am, and you’re okay with that, that’s okay. I can wear my glasses for you.” 

Bruce opened his eyes and took in the sight above him. Clark’s sad eyes, blue like the sky on a sunny, summer day, his plush lips pulled into a little frown… Absolutely not. This compromise was no plan at all. 

“You wouldn’t ask me to pretend to be just Bruce Wayne around you,” he stated. Clark’s expression softened. 

“No… but that is different.” Bruce sat himself up. His head spun. Clark reached up to tug him back down, but Bruce fought it. He rested his head against the couch wall, slowly bringing himself back down. It was then that he realized what just happened. Clark had allowed him to move, just like that. Bruce let out a slow breath, then looked over at Clark. He removed those clunky glasses with both hands, then flicked them onto the table. Superman’s strikingly handsome face returned, expression sharp with thought. They stared at each other again, their gazes heavy with emotion. Clark began to speak, but Bruce cut him off before he could get out a single word.

“I need to leave,” he said. Clark frowned deeply. 

“So soon? How about- why don’t you stay the night? For more exposure? And then, if you’re up for it, I can fly you home in the morning,” he suggested. Bruce paled at the thought of being stuck in Superman’s arms hundreds of miles in the air. 

“No.”

“...Okay. Okay, that’s fi-” Bruce was already on his feet and darting for the door. “Bye, Bruce. Um, call me when you’re ready, okay? I love yo-”

The door slammed shut behind him.

-------------------------------------------------

Batman stood atop the highest building in Gotham, watching as the sky transformed into a flurry of purple and blue hues. The sun was barely under the horizon but slowly working its way up. He let the cold air whisk his cape about and as he soaked in the quiet sound of wind.

Bruce had a sharp mind. He could calculate geometric predictions in a matter of moments. He could crack the most convoluted cases with the least evidence possible. Yet, when it came to Clark Kent, with his tousled hair and bulky glasses, Bruce's mind seemed to stall. What was usually an intertwined network of worry and processing would ease into peace. He often thought of Clark. But he didn't speculate about him. His hours of thoughts were spent mulling over easy conversation and soft touches. Aside from a preliminary background check at the beginning of their fake relationship, Bruce never investigated him. In his massive brain was one tiny blind spot in the shape of a blue-eyed cutie.

Clark was just so genuine. He blended easily into a crowd, a quiet cover resting beside the sparkling billionaire persona. Clark was simple, and with the overwhelming complexity of Bruce’s dual identities, he could use someone a little plain. He had fallen in love far too soon but didn’t admit it to himself until his staged rescue as Batman. The way Clark laid against his chest, kissed his face, and sometimes flustered like a schoolboy- Bruce’s inhibitions had all but vanished.

Then there was Superman, an alien from another planet with unbridled strength, unmatched by anyone on Earth.

Bruce was unafraid of the dark, fearless to a gun pointed in his direction, but when it came to a creature with the strength of a literal God? Well, Bruce knew when he had been outmatched. There was no way to defeat him, no way to fight, and the worst part was that he wasn’t even allowed to. Superman never committed crimes. He had the approval of the city. He never asked for permission but was loved regardless, and for good reason. The otherworldly creature used his gravity-defying, miraculous powers to help people. He could so easily do the opposite. He could rule over the world, yet he chose to do good. In a world so wrecked with the cruelness of humanity, it puzzled Bruce. He didn’t know the true depths of his power, or his origins, and the more he had studied the alien, the more unsettled Bruce became. Why did a man who could already fly through the air and destroy buildings also need the ability to melt steel, freeze over lakes, and see through objects? There was too much power, and it was terrifying.

Then one day Bruce found himself falling through the sky with a plan calculated to save both the dumbass who had dropped her earring and him. Then Superman caught him. Bruce looked at his perfect face, shockingly symmetrical with a little dimple in his chin, and in that moment, Bruce realized that his greatest fear had never been defeat or even death.

His greatest fear was Superman.

As if on cue, he could hear the faint touch of boots hitting the floor behind him.

“It’s me,” Clark said. He stayed at a far distance, barely in ear shot. “You didn’t have to buy me more flowers,”

“I know,” he answered, eying the drop below. He had his grappling hook if he needed to jump, to get to safety, but logically, he knew there was no danger here.

“They’re apology flowers, right?” he surmised, pushing up his glasses. “Because you ran away last time.” Bruce kept his eyes on the sunrise.

“You deserve someone who can love both sides of you.” He kept his voice low. He knew he could whisper and still be heard. Superman took a step closer.

“There isn’t a timeline on this,” Clark said in the delicate way one might speak to a plant that they’re watering.

“We’ve waited so long already,” Bruce said. Clark walked forward until they stood side by side.

“I know.” He reached over, tapping Batman’s thick glove with hesitation, before he took his palm in his own. “But you’re worth the wait.” Bruce’s brows scrunched together from beneath the cowl.

“I know you’re bothered.”

“I’m not.” Clark gently squeezed his hand. Bruce laced their fingers together. “See? We’re already making progress. I’m not going to hurt you, and once that sinks in, we’re going to the strongest couple in the city.” Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle at Clark's romanticism.

They stood in silence for a while, hands connected as they watched the sunset. Clark broke the silence.

“B…” He turned to him, upset in his too-blue eyes. “You need to get rid of the Kryptonite.”

“Why?” Bruce asked immediately, eyes narrowing.

“Why?” Clark repeated, startled by the question. “Because… it’s dangerous.” He was finding eye contact difficult to maintain, sinking back under Bruce’s intense gaze. 

“In what situation does my having Kryptonite make it dangerous?” Bruce pressed. Clark fumbled over his words. 

“You-“ He didn’t want to bring up past mistakes, but under the circumstances, it seemed appropriate. “You already used it once.”

“And?” Clark felt like he was melting under the heat of Bruce’s stare. He didn’t miss the irony in this feeling. 

“And…” A heavy sigh left Clark’s lungs as he remembered the first set of apology flowers, the colorful roses and the little white tag with typewriting. “…You said you wouldn’t do it again.” He balled his hand into a fist. “It just… it makes me uncomfortable that you have something that could,” he leaned in closer, quieting his voice. “Kill me.” He looked away.

Bruce didn’t reply with words, but his deep frown was response alone.

Cold realization settled into Clark’s bones. The hypocrisy was so evident it could have been a news piece. 

“Oh… you’re trusting me all the time, and I’m not even.” Clark huffed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, B. I didn’t realize-“ 

“Losing my only defense mechanism would be unwise, regardless of how I feel about you.” Clark thought over his words, then let a comfortable smile settle over his cheeks. 

“And how do you feel about me?” He asked cheekily. Bruce rolled his eyes. “Because I love you.”

Bruce smirked almost shyly, placing a hand on Clark’s shoulder. Hesitantly, he leaned in until their lips met. It was soft. Maybe it had to do with his otherworldly biology, but his kisses were divine, far too soft and sweet but with the fervor of a man who knew how to dominate. Bruce wrapped both arms around Clark’s shoulders and deepened the kiss. His lips crashed over his, again and again, and his fingers found themselves in Clark’s wind-tossed curls. As he moved a foot inward, to get closer, he realized he couldn’t feel the ground.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Bruce jerked away from Clark, his feet hitting the ground. Clark held his waist at arms length, eyeing him with that dreamy gaze that promised him the whole world on a golden platter.

“Why did you start floating?” Bruce asked, mind reeling. Clark kept up his dopey smile.

“Because you make me feel light.” Bruce huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Gee, I hope not.” They laughed together, quiet and more puffs of air than chuckles, until a nearby crisis averted their attention. Batman turned to him with a pointed look.

“Stay here. I’ll handle it.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

“Don’t call me captain.” Bruce flung himself off the building, his heavy cape flying behind him and slowing his descent. Halfway down, he threw out his grapple, catching himself from a fall. Clark watched in amazement as he handled the criminals with ease. He wondered how simple things would be if Bruce could see him as nonthreatening as he viewed the goons down below.

-------------------------------------------------

Bruce trailed his fingertips over Clark’s smooth palm. He used to assume the smooth skin came from a life of light work. His reasoning was flawed to believe that a farm boy from Kansas who spent the whole day typing at 150 words per minute on the keyboard somehow lacked a single callous. Not a scar, burn, or freckle marred his perfect complexion. Clark sat across from him, deep blue eyes dark with lust, sitting upright and still. He never moved too quickly as to not startle him, which would seriously piss Bruce off as condescending if it weren’t truly a damned requirement to make this work. The whole situation was humiliating to no end, and he just wanted to get his ass railed again.

Fortunately, despite the obstacles between them, from Bruce’s irrational and possibly only fear of otherworldly beings, and Clark’s shocking inability to act human when his emotions were heightened, their desires matched in intensity. Bruce grazed his palm along Clark’s bare shoulder, the fingertips of his dominant hand sliding between his lover’s to interlace their hands.

“I want you,” Clark said, voice low, passion in every word like a mantra.

“I want you,” Bruce echoed, for lack of anything better to say. Clark had been endlessly patient with him throughout this whole process. He never pushed, never forced a touch, always asked, and always waited. He was often too careful. Bruce was one to take calculated risks in all endeavors, and if Clark allowed him to push himself a tad further, they would probably both be naked and under the sheets by now. But Clark’s impressive (and slightly unsettling) ability to hear every uptick of Bruce’s heartbeat slowed them down. He didn’t want to scare him. He had said that, so many damn times.

Clark swallowed thickly, shifting in his spot across from Bruce on the oversized bed. They had spent most of their alone time together in the mansion. Privacy was how they both preferred their time anyways, but it was now much easier for them to meet since Clark had a free flight with no carbon emissions anytime he wanted to pay his boyfriend a visit. That had churned into about three days a week, which was a lot for two men that lived the lives of four.

“Bruce,” Clark began, throat raw with what he could only presume was trepidation. Bruce nodded in reply, beckoning Clark to continue. Instead, he didn’t speak. His next action was to tighten their interlocked fingers, then he leaned forward.

Bruce moved in to meet their lips, assuming Clark was just hearing his name on his tongue again, something the helpless romantic did shockingly often, but as their lips almost met, Clark left a space between them. His forehead nudged against Bruce’s.

“There’s something I want to tell you,” Clark uttered. Bruce leaned back, breathing in the hot air between them. Clark gave him the space, but his brows furrowed up in disgruntlement, immediately missing the intimacy. Bruce was sure the man would duct tape him to his side and carry him around all day long if he let him. They could never seem to touch enough.

“Not a third identity I hope,” Bruce joked, unable to help the smile creeping over his face. Clark laughed at that, his arm, thick with muscle, curling perfectly into the space of Bruce’s waist.

“I definitely don’t have the time for that,” he said.

“Even with super speed?” And just like that, the tension was gone again. Hot desire mingled with fear from both parties merging into the simple comfort of enjoying another’s company.

“Yes.” Bruce stole a kiss, slow paced but shorter than he would have liked, nothing but the softer than silk texture of Clark’s lips. Clark nudged their foreheads together again, and Bruce, too painfully in love, was helpless to stop him. “I wanted to say…” He moved Bruce’s hand, still tangled with his own, into his lap. “There’s no rush. At all. I love you, and I want you, but I’m going to feel that way forever. Whether it happens today or a year from now, or never at all- although, I’d um-” Bruce smirked with such a teasing gleam in his eye that Clark doubled over, pushing them both down against the bed. Bruce curled into Clark’s arms, resting aside him.

“Yeah, so I’d rather it happens eventually,” Clark admitted with a sheepish green, pink coloring his cheeks and the tops of his ears. “But we can take our time. Your kisses are plenty for me.” Bruce felt the burning discomfort of embarrassment as he let Clark’s words settle into him. He never understood how his boyfriend could manage to say such cheesy things to him with a perfectly straight face. He wanted to hate it and chastise Clark for being such a goofball, but the word choice somehow perfectly encapsulated that clumsy reporter with oversized glasses and messy curls that had initially captured his heart so long ago, so much longer ago than Clark even knew- than he would ever know, because Bruce would not be reciting scrolls of love confessionals to his boyfriend regardless of how strongly he felt. Terse language settled more comfortably on his tongue.

Despite everything he could say in that moment, appreciation for the patience Clark gave his way, irritation for the patience Clark threw his way, love for his partner, fear of the unknown- of the otherworldly threats and overpowered strength… fear of how Dick would berate him when he learned that Bruce Wayne’s ‘fainting spell’ hadn’t been an act, and desire to express all of the conflicting but limitlessly beautiful emotions Clark had shoved down his throat the moment they first met, despite each thought and choice, Bruce kept it all tucked safely inside his mind, to the one area Clark couldn’t x-ray, and said,

“I’m ready now.”

-------------------------------------------------

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“Bruce, are you okay? Your heartrate’s elevated,” Clark asked with bright concern, his grip on the other’s hipbones tightened. He was buried deep inside, seated with his legs crossed underneath Bruce. Bruce’s arms wrapped firmly around his boyfriend's shoulders, and his dull fingernails clawed into soft skin. His hips that had been moving fervently against Clark’s had stalled.

“Clark.” Bruce’s voice stayed flat as he worked on bringing down his pulse.

“What’s wrong?” Clark’s hair was disheveled, black curls clinging to his forehead. His eyes were bright in alarm. Bruce huffed out, then let himself smile, his heartbeat evening out to the normal hummer of sex. Bruce lifted his right hand a few inches above his head, then landed his hand flat on the ceiling. “Oh.” Clark pinkened and started lowering them back down. “I’m sorry.” He repositioned them, laying Bruce back against the pillows and hooking his leg around his hip. Bruce moved with him, thrusting his hips back against his to regain their lost rhythm.

“It’s fine. Just don’t break anything else.” Clark moved into him, making Bruce toss his head back with a needy groan.

“I told you,” Clark grunted, resting his palm against the indent in the wall. His fingers fit it perfectly. “A little spackle will fix it right up. I’ll do it myself. Honest.” He worked up a faster pace, and Bruce could do little more than cling to him, head sliding along the pillow like a ragdoll as he was thoroughly fucked into. “You’re not mad, are you?” Bruce clung to the bar of the headrest to try to keep himself in place.

“I said it’s fine,” he repeated, breathless and pink from the bridge of his nose to his chest. Clark cradled Bruce’s hip with one hand as he continued his perfectly satisfying assault on Bruce’s tight ass.

“Okay, well, I am sorry, but I’m used to fixing my mistakes by now. I grew up on a farm. I’m pretty handy when it comes to fixing things,” Clark casually explained. Bruce nearly went cross-eyed as he held onto the cool bar above his head.

“Uh huh.” He had to swallow to wet his mouth, dried from so much open-mouthed moaning. Clark picked up Bruce’s legs by his thighs and started moving at a new angle. Bruce’s other hand shot up to join his first on the headrest, struggling to keep himself from cumming prematurely again.

“Does this feel good?” Clark asked, tone so soft and sweet he may as well have been rubbing Bruce’s shoulders.

“Uh huh.”

“Is it too fast?”

“Nuh uh.” Bruce felt a bead of sweat roll down his face, then noticed how dry Clark’s skin was. Clark could lift a building without breaking a sweat. Of course, mind-blowing sex at super human speed would do even less to his stamina. He shut his eyes to focus on lasting longer, but then that damned soft hand wrap around his shaft. “Clark!” He tightened around Clark's dick and shot a heavy streak of cum against his chest. He came down from his high with heavy breaths. Clark gradually slowed his thrusts, then stopped, still hard and buried inside. Bruce glared. “Why did you do that?” Clark blinked innocently.

“I wanted to make you feel good.” His large hands smoothed along Bruce’s hips and ass, a massage along the pink marks he had left along the scarred skin there. “Um, are you ready to go again?” It had been approximately forty-five seconds, and Bruce remained glowing red and trembling. But he was not one to back down from a challenge, especially if it meant more of that from Clark.

“...Yes.”

-------------------------------------------------

The sunlight illuminated the bottom edge of the blackout curtain like a string light. Bruce clung onto Clark, on his back, on the cold floor. They had moved off the bed when he complained about getting hot. Clark had offered to freeze the pillow he laid on, but Bruce preferred sticking to ‘humanlike behavior’ during sex, at least for now. Clark was either not getting the memo, or that just wasn’t possible. Bruce had never been the playboy the tabloids painted him to be, but he had engaged in plenty of sexual exploits throughout his life. It was rare for anyone to keep up his own stamina, and he usually left encounters wanting more.

So this was a stark contrast.

“D-didn’t you already cum twice?” Bruce stuttered out. His thighs were fully numb at this point, and his hips ached from overuse. He was positive Clark had finished twice already, if the huge mess inside him and on the floor was any indicator. It turned out having a self lubricating boyfriend made sex messier, a fair trade for better friction, less prep, and also far less breaks to reapply lube.

“Mmm, smart people think in threes,” Clark muttered as he pushed himself hard against Bruce’s abused prostate. His orgasms had gone dry after two, and at this point, he fully lost count. All he knew was that this night had turned into a more intense workout regime than he had ever expected.

“You-you have no refractory period.”

“Yeah, Kryptonians don’t have refractory periods.” Clark casually answered, then abruptly jolted with worry, pausing his hips. “Oh! Do you want to stop?” Bruce, already thoroughly fucked and downright exhausted, considered the question.

“...after this round,” he decided.

-------------------------------------------------

Bruce stumbled down to the empty kitchen table in joggers and a sleeveless shirt. His hair was wet from a hasty cold shower, and his skin remained pink everywhere. Alfred had prepared breakfast at the table. Bruce carefully steadied himself on the edge of the table with his hands before lowering his shaky thighs to sit. He pushed away the steaming cup of coffee Alfred must have poured him and instead went for a tall glass of ice water. He drank it like a man parched, fingers wobbly as he shut his eyes. When he opened them and set the empty cup against the table, there were two sets of eyes watching him.

“What happened?” Dick asked frantically.

Bruce blinked at the concern in his son’s eyes.

“I thought it was a quiet night, but you must have been super busy,” Dick continued. It took Bruce approximately five seconds to regain his composure, and in that time, Dick saw through his ruse. His son threw his hands over his eyes. “Oh my god!” Bruce cleared his throat and reached for a slice of bacon. He was starving.

“How was independent patrol?” Bruce tried to redirect the conversation, but it didn’t work.

“What did Clark do to you?”

“Firstly, I am your father. This conversation is wholly inappropriate. Secondly, what my boyfriend and I do in our private time is a personal matter.”

“I just can’t believe how tired you look. I mean, you didn’t even look this worn after your last encounter with the Joker, and it took you an hour to find and disassemble that bomb-”

“It was forty-eight minutes,” he corrected before shoveling a spoonful of eggs into his mouth.

“I know Clark goes to the gym all the time, even at weird hours of the day because he just needs to work out, but oh my god, it’s like he’s been training for this.”

“Dick, please…” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Like an Olympic All-star of sex. Is he trying to overcompensate? Bruce, are you already paying his bills? That has to be it,” Dick continued, seemingly determined to humiliate his father as much as he could.

“It is rather strange how strong Mr. Kent is,” Alfred chimed in, much to Bruce’s chagrin. He handed a mug of coffee to Dick, then sipped his own. “And where is your boyfriend now, Master Wayne?” Bruce bit the inside of his cheek.

“He’s gotta still be upstairs, right? But I didn’t see him leave,” Dick said, sitting at the far end of the table from Bruce. He usually sat in the chair adjacent to him. Bruce noted he may need a second shower.

“He did leave,” Bruce said.

“...already?” Dick was baffled.

“He had work to attend to in Korea,” Bruce deadpanned between spoonfuls of eggs.

“He is traveling for an interview?” Alfred asked, although a spark of understanding was beginning to alight in his eyes. Dick threw his hands up.

“I did not see him leave. Why did you have him sneak out the backdoor?” he asked, shaking his head. Bruce sighed. It was going to come out sooner or later.

“He’s not doing an interview, and he didn’t leave through the backdoor.” Bruce poured himself more water. His family members regarded him with unfaultering curiously. After swallowing down another gulp, he sighed. “He flew out the window.” Alfred nodded in understanding, then went about serving Bruce another helping of eggs. Dick’s jaw dropped.

“Holy Sex with Superman!” he shouted.

Bruce choked on his food.

“Dick, please.” Alfred bit back a grin.

“Will he be returning here after helping with the flood in Korea?” he asked, taking the new information in stride.

“I’m not sure.”

“I can’t believe it.” Dick shook his head with a bright grin. Apparently fear of aliens did not run in the family. “My new dad is Superman.”

Bruce was too exhausted to correct him. He gathered up his breakfast, then limped upstairs to eat the rest of his meal alone.

The next day, Clark returned with the grace of a gentle breeze, slipping through Bruce’s window still wearing his hero suit. Bruce sat at his desk, the soft glow of the lamp casting shadows over the scattered papers detailing an upcoming Wayne Enterprises deal. As Clark came up beside him, he leaned back in his chair.

“How was the rescue mission?” Bruce asked, voice still raspy from the previous night’s overuse.

“Good. There’s a lot of damage done to the city, but I managed to get people out from under the rubble at least.”

“You were there all day.” He had seen footage of Superman flying throughout the flooded town like a beacon of hope, rescuing stragglers and fixing damage. “You must have done more than that.”

“I did. There was… a lot to do,” Clark said with quiet pride. 

“You helped a lot of people,” Bruce said, letting admiration shine through his tone. Clark beamed, all sunshine and sparkles. “Clark.”

“Hmm?” Bruce felt his heart rate start to increase, but this time it had nothing to do with fear. He swiveled his chair around to face him.

“Come here.” Then, Superman, with his heavy cape waving behind him, reached down and swept Bruce into his arms. Bruce rested against Clark's dense body as he was carried to bed. Bruce, with all of his height and size, sat atop Clark’s lap, legs curled around his body. Leaning in close to his chest, Bruce pressed a kiss to the one free curl on Clark’s forehead. “I think I get it now.” Clark hummed at the touch, leaning into the warmth he provided. 

“Get what?” Clark’s voice was a whisper as he wrapped his arms around Bruce’s waist.

“Why people love Superman so much," Bruce said before a pause. Clark obediently waited for the punchline, an inquisitive look keeping his smile light. "You’re a real standup guy.” Clark laughed softly, fingers weaving through Bruce’s hair. His grin grew, dimpling as his expression turned playful. 

“Ah, I see you have taste.”