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Sometimes– sometimes– it’s easy for Clark to forget that the man he’s dating is a billionaire. Bruce dresses almost entirely in black t-shirts and sweatpants when he’s not working, he buys his eye makeup from a drugstore right outside the Wayne Tower, and he probably owns a total of one piece of diamond jewelry– a singular earring.
But he is also constantly reminded of it, in various ways. Bruce has never quite swept Clark off his feet with his wealth, because Clark would hate that, but he’s not shy about it for other things.
At all.
—
It’s almost Dick’s first birthday with Bruce and Clark after they took him in, and Clark feels far too stressed about it.
He’s turning ten years old. What does one buy a ten-year-old?
“I say we build him a gym,” Bruce hums, looking at the (currently) very short list on what they plan on getting him. “There’s space on the 31st floor, I’m sure.”
Clark blinks. “A gym? For a ten-year-old?”
“You don’t want him in the Cave,” Bruce says flippantly, and Clark barely refrains from frowning. “So we could build him an at-home gym for him to practice his acrobatic skills.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about that,” Clark purses his lips.
“It isn’t training,” Bruce replies, almost exasperated, by his tone. “His skills that he already has are important to his family history. It may be important to him to continue to practice and keep up with that part of his culture.”
“Okay, fair,” Clark concedes, rubbing a hand over his face. “But how much would it cost?”
“Twelve thousand for his starting setup,” Bruce replies instantly. Clark stares at him.
“Absolutely not,” Clark shakes his head. “We’re not spending twelve thousand on one gift, especially since we agreed on multiple.”
“I’ve spent nearly thirty thousand on the Cave equipment in the past three years,” Bruce replies. “Compared to that, it’s fairly reasonable.”
“No the heck it isn’t,” Clark exclaims. “Twelve thousand dollars, Bruce? That’s almost the same as my yearly college tuition was. Absolutely not.”
“It does not financially cause a problem,” Bruce drawls, looking over at Clark. “And it is important that we respect his culture and origins. If you refuse to let me bring him to the Cave, then we will have to agree on an alternative.”
“Don’t make this about that,” Clark huffs, leaning against the side of Bruce’s desk. “That’s a different conversation, B. If we want alternatives, then hire a coach or something, which is a much more effective use of money in the long term. I’m not dropping twelve thousand on a personal gym for a kid who’s barely reached double digits.”
“Good thing it isn’t your money, then,” Bruce replies, not looking up from his paper. Clark takes a deep breath, heaving out a sigh.
“Okay, fine,” Clark concedes, holding his hands up. “You do what you want with your money, Bruce. I’ll figure out my own gifts for him.”
“Hm,” Bruce replies, still looking down at his list.
“Fine,” Clark says, to no one in particular. “Fine, then.”
Bruce doesn’t reply, so Clark just walks out of the room. What he needs right now is to go flying, think up some reasonable gifts for his kid.
“Twelve thousand,” Clark mutters, taking off from the top of the Tower once he’s sure no one sees him. “Holy heck.”
—
“Happy birthday, champ,” Clark grins, scooping Dick and throwing him over his shoulder. Dick giggles helplessly, flailing in Clark’s grip.
“Hey,” he tries to fight back against Clark, but he’s laughing too hard for Clark to even bother pretending to be affected by the kicks and punches.
“Clark,” Bruce huffs, walking past them holding some candles. Alfred made chocolate cake with strawberries, and Bruce was placed in charge of picking which candles to do. They haven’t celebrated birthdays with candles in the Tower since Bruce was still a child, so he and Clark had ventured out into Gotham to find some cute, blue ones. Dick was especially particular about how perfect the candles had to be. “Set him down.”
Clark complies, rubbing his knuckles gently against Dick’s hair as he drops him back down. “You ready for cake, little man?”
“Please,” Dick groans. “It smells so good. Why did we have to wait so long to eat it?”
“You needed dinner first,” Bruce replies, and the three of them sit down, Alfred joining them right after. “A growing kid needs a nutritious diet.”
“I’m the only one at school who gets carrots in his lunch,” Dick groans. “No offense, Alfie, your food is still amazing.”
“None taken, Master Dick,” Alfred replies, smiling slightly. “What piece would you like?”
“From the middle,” Dick replies immediately. “Always the best part.”
Alfred nods, maneuvering the cake cutter best he can to get a large slice out of the middle for Dick. Clark sticks the candles on the piece, and Bruce lights them.
Once they’re done singing, Dick waits only a moment for Clark to take the candles off before he’s shoveling cake into his mouth, grinning. “Why can’t I eat this every day?”
“Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” Bruce and Clark say in unison. Clark shoots Bruce a grin, who returns a soft smile. Bruce continues, taking a bite of his own slice. “You’d get sick of it. And, you need to keep in shape for your acrobatics practice.”
Clark refrains from sighing, hiding behind his dessert. Dick lights up, swallowing his food.
“What?” He asks, eyes wide. “Acrobatics practice?”
“Yes,” Bruce nods, and Clark can feel his eyes glance towards him. “I’ve hired an extremely talented personal coach to do acrobatics with you however regularly you wish, to allow you to keep up with your skills.”
Something in Clark’s chest melts, and something of a dopey smile breaks out on his face.
Dick grins even wider, looking between them. “Really? How talented?”
“Not as talented as your parents, of course,” Bruce says gently. “But she’s incredibly skilled, and she’ll allow you to maintain your skill level, if not improve.”
“Oh, my God,” Dick says, voice in awe. His eyes well up slightly, and he launches around the table, nearly tackling Bruce in a hug. “Thanks, B.”
“I don’t get all the credit,” Bruce looks at Clark, hand cradling the back of Dick’s head. “It was Clark’s idea. I just found someone capable enough.”
Clark looks back at Bruce, eyes soft. Dick pulls away from Bruce to take a turn launching at Clark, wrapping around him in the best bear hug a ten-year-old could attempt on an alien quadruple his size.
“Thanks,” Dick whispers, arms wrapped tight around Clark’s neck.
“You’re welcome, kiddo,” Clark melts, rubbing Dick’s back. “Happy birthday.”
“Happy birthday, Dick,” Bruce adds, a small smile across his features. “We got you other stuff as well.”
Dick stays in Clark’s lap, eyes wide. “You got me more?”
“Yes,” Clark and Bruce say at the same time. Bruce huffs, and Clark ruffles Dick’s hair again. Clark sets Dick back in his chair to reach for the gifts he got, and Bruce pulls out a list.
“So,” Bruce clears his throat. “I also decided to gift you a mini-fridge–”
“Excuse me?”
—
“Jason,” Dick whispers, and Jason looks up from his chapter book.
“What?” He asks, eyeing the keys in Dick’s hand.
“I got the keys to the Batmobile,” Dick whispers again, looking around with a grin. “Wanna come drive it with me?”
Jason’s jaw drops, and he immediately scrambles. “Yeah, yeah, let’s go, before Clark hears!”
“Shh,” Dick hushes him, grabbing his hand and running with him down to the Garage where the Batmobile is. “Bruce and Clark are on a date right now, so Clark won’t be listening too hard for us, but still. Be quiet.”
“Okay,” Jason whispers, still a touch too loud for Dick’s liking. Dick unlocks the Batmobile, hopping inside the driver’s seat. Jason goes around to the side, sliding in next to him. “But we can play music, right?”
Dick pauses. “Well, if Clark doesn’t know where it’s coming from specifically, yeah.”
“Yeah,” Jason grins, snatching Dick’s phone to hook it up to the Batmobile speakers. “D’you think they can play music? Or just his weird screechy sounds?”
“No, they can play music,” Dick waves a hand towards the panel, sticking the key in the ignition.
“Password?” Comes the automated voice of the car. Dick freezes, eyes widening.
“Cooper Road,” Jason replies, pressing play on full-volume Queen hits.
“How did you know that?” Dick yells over the blasting music, the car whirring to life around them.
“‘S where Bruce and Clark met,” Jason yells back. “Clark said that Bruce set the passwords to that. Then later he told me where it was.”
“Okay,” Dick cackles, pressing the button to open the Garage door. “If it works.”
—
Bruce and Clark stare at the two children, faces completely different. Bruce’s face is blank in disbelief, with Clark’s expression flickering between various levels of angry, impressed, and horrified.
“You told Jason the password?” Bruce turns to Clark, eyebrows furrowed.
“No!” Clark raises his hands, eyes wide. “He figured it out!”
“You shouldn’t have given him the tools to figure it out, Clark,” Bruce frowns, dropping his face in his hands.
“We didn’t wreck it too bad,” Jason retorts, but his voice comes out nasally from the bandages on his broken nose. Dick nods in agreement, jostling his arm cast.
Clark’s eye twitches. “You’re both hurt.”
“But we’re hurt,” Dick grins, wiping his hair out of his face with his free hand. “So, you can’t be mad at us. Because you have to take care of us now.”
“I am very upset about you being hurt,” Clark says slowly. “And I will take care of you until you are completely healed. I am also extremely frustrated.”
“It’s fine,” Dick shrugs. “We’ll heal up eventually. And it was super fun.”
“Yeah!” Jason pipes in, and Clark is trying really hard to not simultaneously laugh and cry at the way his voice is congested. “It was awesome.”
“But you guys broke an arm and a nose,” Clark sighs, crouching down to be more their level. “And you crashed a multi-million dollar car.”
“That’s not the issue here,” Bruce replies, and Clark shoots him a glare.
“They wasted millions by doing this,” Clark says, looking between his boyfriend and kids.
“But that’s not the issue,” Bruce repeats slowly.
“It’s relevant!” Clark stands up, looking alarmedly at Bruce. “They can’t think it’s okay to not be careful with valuable things.”
“Clark, I can easily replace and upgrade it,” Bruce looks at him, blinking.
“That’s not the point,” Clark heaves a sigh. “They need to learn to treat things with respect, no matter how easily these things can be replaced by your money.”
“Hm,” Bruce hums, looking back at the boys. “Don’t do it again.”
Both boys nod, Jason’s sniffles making a truly awful sound. “Okay.”
“But–” Clark waves a hand between them. “This requires discipline, B. Of some kind.”
“What do you propose?” Bruce asks, looking between Clark and the boys.
“Dick, no training for a month,” Clark points at him.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Dick holds up his cast, and Clark’s eye twitches again.
“Jason,” Clark turns to the younger one. “No…”
Clark blinks at him. All Jason really does is read and follow Dick’s terrible ideas.
“Jason,” Clark clears his throat. “I’m taking away your books at 9.”
“What?” Jason squawks. “That’s so early!”
“You should be going to bed at 9, if not earlier,” Clark says, crouching back down. “No more staying up too late reading, okay?”
“Fine,” Jason frowns, lip quivering. Clark immediately panics, reaching out to him.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Clark gushes, frowning. “Tell you what, you can stay up until 10 on weekend nights, okay?”
“Okay,” Jason sniffles, blinking sadly at Clark. Clark frowns even more.
“Okay,” he echoes. “It’s almost bedtime, sweetheart, you want me to tuck you in?”
Jason nods again, and Clark scoops him up.
“Hey, why does he get special treatment?” Dick holds up his good arm, looking at Clark in disbelief. “He was the one who unlocked the Batmobile!”
“You were the one who stole the keys,” Bruce interjects, and Clark adjusts his grip on Jason to be more careful of his broken nose. “You know he’ll do whatever you ask.”
“But–” Dick frowns, but falters. “Fine. I can’t even train anyway.”
“Time for you to get to bed, too,” Clark holds out his free hand to Dick’s good one. “I’ll give you your medicine to sleep, okay?”
“Okay,” Dick frowns, and Clark holds Dick’s hand while he carries Jason upstairs to their rooms.
Once they’re both put to bed, Clark joins Bruce in the Garage, where he’s surveying the wrecked car.
“How much do you think you’ll need to repair it?” Clark winces, bumping shoulders with Bruce.
“I’m going to repair and upgrade,” Bruce replies. “It should only amount to six million.”
“Only?” Clark chokes out, staring at his boyfriend. “How do you even spend that much on a car?”
“I use very advanced technology,” Bruce replies. “It’d be even more expensive if it wasn’t technology Wayne Enterprises developed itself.”
Clark blinks. “Gosh, B, really? Six million?”
Bruce nods.
“Lois can never find out I’m dating you,” Clark says, voice strangled. The corner of Bruce’s mouth curls up. “She’d crucify me.”
Bruce shrugs, looking over at him. “Hm.”
Clark exhales exasperatedly, but a smile slowly breaks over his face. “Y’know, the kids are sleeping now.”
“You don’t say,” Bruce hums, suppressing a smile. Clark grins a bit wider, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the elevator to the penthouse.
“Matter of fact, I do.”
—
“Diana,” Bruce hums. “Come in.”
“Hello, Bruce,” Diana greets, smiling as she walks in.
“Hey, Di,” Clark smiles, joining them in the foyer. “What’d you bring?”
“Hello, Kal-El,” Diana nods. “Donna is trying her hand at baking. I’ve brought her third attempt of brownies.”
“Third?” Clark chuckles. “They must be good by now.”
“She has honed her practice,” Diana echoes the laughter, and Bruce leads them to the Cave.
Once they’re down there, Bruce projects a 3D model in the air, waiting for Diana to examine it for a moment.
“A satellite?” She asks, reading the digital label.
“That’s what it will be known as to the public,” Bruce replies. “The ‘satellite’ is actually a building that will exist in space as a functioning base for the Justice League.”
“What about the Hall of Justice?” Diana furrows her eyebrows.
“It’ll be the face of the Justice League,” Bruce replies. “The base that the public knows of. For protection reasons, however, there needs to be a base that is not known by the public and not easily accessible, if at all.”
“But a space base would also decrease accessibility for the heroes unable to travel outside the atmosphere,” Diana points out, and Bruce nods. Clark stands to the side, nearly vibrating in excitement.
“We’ll use the zeta tube system,” Bruce says, a ghost of a smile on his face. “It’ll require a couple billion to make it fully functionable, which may take a few months, but by then, I’ll be done building the building itself.”
“Hm,” Diana hums, considering. “What will we call it?”
“The Watchtower,” Bruce replies, and Clark grins. Bruce rolls his eyes, a minimal movement that’s etched with fondness for Clark to see.
“He’s got the whole thing planned out, Di,” Clark grins, gesturing to the layout. “Rooms for the staple members–”
“Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, the Flash.”
“-and plenty of rooms purposed for surveillance, training, meetings, and anything else you’d need,” Clark finishes, and the huff that Bruce lets out is laced with affection.
“I see,” Diana nods. “You’ve thought this out.”
“When does he ever do anything without thinking it through?” Clark teases. “He’s been planning this for ye–”
“Clark.”
“A while, Di,” Clark corrects himself, smiling at Bruce. “There’s nothing he hasn’t thought of.”
“What about costs?” Diana looks between them. “Surely this needs incredible funding,”
“Wait, how are you going about funding this?” Clark turns to Bruce, tilting his head.
“It will be entirely funded by the Wayne Foundation,” Bruce replies, looking at them both with a perfectly even expression.
“Entirely?” Clark squawks. Diana’s eyebrows raise, and she looks between the two of them again. “B, you told me this project is 13 billion.”
“That is correct,” Bruce replies. “I will be providing all 13 billion dollars.”
“Hm,” Diana shrugs. “Convenient. I didn’t realize you were quite so wealthy.”
“I try not to Google his net worth,” Clark mutters. “You’re seriously paying for the whole thing?”
“Yes, Clark,” Bruce raises an eyebrow. “I told you this.”
“No, I would’ve remembered,” Clark shakes his head. “This kind of thing?”
“I told you last week,” Bruce turns to the Batcomputer, typing away. “Thursday.”
“You mean the Thursday last week when I got shot with Kryptonite?” Clark blinks, rubbing a hand over his face. “Really, B?”
“Well,” Diana interrupts, glancing at them amusedly. “It sounds like a wonderful idea to me. Do you need my help setting it up?”
“You and Martian Manhunter,” Bruce nods. “Clark, as well, of course.”
“Why don’t you just buy some help?” Clark throws his arms up.
“Just for the record,” Bruce continues typing. “You’re implying I should buy the help of another trio of an Amazonian, Kryptonian, and Martian?”
“Uh,” Clark purses his lips. “You get my point.”
“Hm,” Bruce rolls his eyes, and Diana laughs.
“I’ll be happy to help however you need me, Bruce,” Diana smiles at him. “I am eager to see how this plays out.”
“13 billion,” Clark mutters, and Bruce and Diana exchange an amused look.
“Diana, are you staying for dinner?” Bruce asks, and Diana nods.
“Yes, if I am welcome.”
“Always,” Bruce nods, stepping away from the Batcomputer. “Let’s go upstairs, shall we?”
Diana links arms with Bruce, and they start heading upstairs, a shell-shocked Clark following behind them.
Donna’s brownies end up being incredible.
—
“Bruce,” Clark furrows his eyebrows, looking across the bed at the slightly-sleeping man.
“Hm?” Comes the half-conscious response. Clark rolls closer to Bruce, resting his face inches from the other’s.
“Bruce,” Clark whispers, his attempt at quietness half-hearted. Bruce cracks an eye open.
“What?” He grumbles, face smushed against his pillow.
“We need to set up savings for the kids,” Clark whispers, eyes wide.
Bruce opens his second eye, lifting up slightly from the pillow to squint at Clark. “Are you serious?”
Clark nods. “Yeah. What if something happens? We need to make sure that they have completely safe, completely reliable savings.”
“Clark,” Bruce groans, dropping his face back on the pillow.
“We don’t have to talk about this right now, I just thought I’d bring it up.”
“If you brought it up it means you wanna talk about it,” Bruce huffs, sitting up. The covers fall around his waist, leaving his bare upper body on display. Clark has to force himself to stay on topic.
“Okay, fair,” Clark grumbles, sitting up next to him. “I know you have a crap ton of money, but you really can never know what will happen. I just– wanna ensure that they’ll be financially stable with savings if they so need them.”
“Clark,” Bruce says slowly. “I already set up their savings.”
“What?” Clark blinks.
“I set Dick’s up the day after we took him in,” Bruce yawns, leaning against the headboard. “Jason’s while we were going through the adoption process. I’m not naïve enough to think there’s no chance my wealth could be taken from me.”
“Huh,” Clark leans back against the headboard as well. “I guess I forgot how obsessed you are with contingencies.”
“Hm,” Bruce huffs. “I grew up privileged, Clark. I want to make sure that Dick and Jason are able to grow up with that, too. I don’t want them to be worrying about their next meal– again.”
“Oh,” Clark sighs, shoulders dropping. “Why didn’t you talk to me about it?”
Bruce hums, rubbing a hand over his face. “It felt like something that was my responsibility, only. Since it was my money. I… didn’t want you to feel like you had to contribute anything. I can cover all their needs and more.”
“Okay,” Clark purses his lips. “I get that. But I would like to know. You’re right, I’d probably try to contribute. But it’s been almost two years since we took Jason in.”
“I know,” Bruce nods. “I should’ve told you.”
“At least I don’t have to worry about that anymore,” Clark chuckles, pushing his hair out of his face. “What are the accounts like?”
“I have a savings account for college for each of them, as well as money set aside for them to invest if they so wish,” Bruce says. “On Dick’s next birthday, I’ll talk to him about it.”
“How much are in the savings accounts?” Clark asks.
“I put the minimum amount for the highest-costing Ivy League school, times two for grad school,” Bruce replies. “So by the time they get to college, they’ll 100% have their tuition covered, and whatever is left over is for college expenses. Anything else they need, I’ll cover.”
“Gosh,” Clark says, voice awed. “Are they insured?”
Bruce gives him a blank look. “Yes, Clark, they’re insured.”
“Just checking,” Clark waves a hand.
“I feel like I should be offended by your lack of faith in me,” Bruce deadpans, lying back down.
“I can be a nervous person,” Clark replies, face burning.
“I know, Clark,” Bruce raises an eyebrow, smiling slightly in the sunrise rays. He gives Clark a once-over, shrugging. “And, if I’m already awake…”
Clark grins.
—
“Hey, Clark,” Harper greets, already tossing him an elevator pass. “He’s in a meeting right now, but you can just go on up.”
“Thanks, Harper,” Clark smiles, pausing as he surveys her. “Should you really be watching Youtube on the job?”
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Harper winks at him, chewing some sour gummy worms. “Besides, I gave you your pass, didn’t I?”
“What if I’m an imposter?” Clark raises an eyebrow. Harper offers him a gummy worm.
“How would someone even get away with that?” Harper wrinkles her nose. “You’re put in as ‘Kal Wayne’ in all the logs. No one would know it’s you coming and going.”
“But what if they saw me on the security cameras?” Clark asks, chewing on the candy.
“I am not gonna entertain this hypothetical scenario with you, Clark,” Harper rolls her eyes, spinning around in her chair. “Just head up.”
“Okay,” Clark huffs, smiling. “See you around.”
“See ya,” Harper calls over his shoulder, the sounds of her Youtube video resuming.
Bruce is, in fact, still on his business call, leaning back in his chair as voices talk on the other side of the screen. He glances up when Clark walks in, not quite smiling, but his expression shifts to something softer. Clark sets the bag of food he brought on the end of the ridiculously large desk, grabbing his own food and sitting down across Bruce, where the camera can’t see him.
“Let’s wrap this up, I’m scheduled for lunch,” Bruce says, drumming his fingers against the desk. “Louis, run the profit margins by me again.”
“In the past six months, we’ve made 11 billion from Wayne Tech, 783 million from Wayne Pharmaceuticals, and two billion from Wayne and Dent Law. Due to the tragedy surrounding Dent, we’re collecting 30% of his revenue. The rest, of course, is still being donated to his family.”
“And the distributions?”
“Seven percent, two percent, and four percent, respectively. 50% of that was sent to the Wayne Foundation, with everything else distributed between the foster care system and the metro system.”
“Good,” Bruce nods. “That’ll be all.”
He ends the call, closing his computer and reaching for his food. Clark stares at him, dumbfounded.
Bruce takes a second to grab his food before noticing, pausing and staring back at Clark. “You’re staring.”
“Those numbers are ridiculous, B,” Clark rasps, anxiously sipping his Fanta. “That’s the money coming in and out of your companies every six months?”
“It varies,” Bruce replies, arranging his food in front of him. “We’ve been earning more revenue in the Law firm, and making more since Harvey’s disappearance.”
“More?” Clark squawks. “How did I not know any of this?”
“You never asked,” Bruce replies, turning his attention to his food.
“I feel like,” Clark says slowly, voice still nervous. “As your partner, I should have more knowledge on your income.”
“It didn’t feel necessary,” Bruce shrugs. “We never have to worry about money, if that’s what you mean.”
“I– no,” Clark sighs. “I mean, clearly we’re not strapped for cash. But I guess I should’ve asked before now.”
Bruce doesn’t reply, humming as he houses his double bacon burger.
“Y’know, you can eat fast food more often if you like it this much,” Clark raises an eyebrow, eating his one.
“No, not great for my regimen,” Bruce replies. “I just haven’t eaten since I got to the office.”
“You didn’t have anything delivered?” Clark asks.
“As if Harper would bring anything all the way upstairs,” Bruce huffs. “I knew you would bring some.”
“You’re welcome,” Clark smiles, rolling his eyes.
“Hm,” Bruce replies, in his ‘thank you’ tone of voice. He looks at Clark after a moment, a smile ghosting his lips so sincerely it nearly sends shivers down Clark’s spine. Bruce just watches him, smiling, not saying anything. Clark feels like he should be scared for his life, but the look is so genuine that all Clark really feels is his complete and utter adoration for the other man.
“I love you, Clark,” Bruce says quietly, face flushing slightly as he says it. Clark is fairly sure that the words might make him melt, but he’s still relatively solid.
“I love you, Bruce,” Clark says, grinning. “A heck of a lot.”
Bruce laughs– exhaling through his nose, of course– and turns back to his food. “I made a reservation for us at that Vietnamese restaurant you like.”
“For when?” Clark perks up, smiling.
“Next Thursday,” Bruce replies, staring down at his food.
“Okay,” Clark chirps, adjusting his glasses.
“Hm,” Bruce hums, resuming eating.
They sit in silence for the rest of the meal, eating Bruce’s ‘cheat meal’ fast food of the week. Clark is beaming.
—
Over the years, Clark and Bruce have found a select few restaurants that are either inconspicuous enough for them to go to on occasion, or they know the owners well enough to go regularly. Clark’s favorite restaurant is a Vietnamese one, a restaurant owned by another extremely wealthy Gothamite family who always ensure a private dining area for the couple. The food is incredible, and the friendship between Jack Drake and Bruce Wayne gives them an opportunity to go consistently without worrying about paparazzi or invasive customers.
A private dining area is important to them for many reasons– no cameras, no easy public access, and a dimly-lit room just for them means the ability to talk more freely, even if they still can’t be entirely uninhibited.
“Did Barbara tell you she and Kara just went on their third date?” Clark hums, munching on his spring rolls.
“Barbara never tells me anything directly,” Bruce replies, squinting slightly at the candle next to Clark. “She simply bragged about ‘bagging’ the stronger Kryptonian.”
“That seems… in character,” Clark chuckles, eyes roving over Bruce’s face. “You okay, B? You seem distracted.”
“Thinking about a mission report,” Bruce replies, but Clark can’t gauge if he’s lying when his heart has been just beating faster than usual all weekend. “Green Lantern’s trip to Nitrylia.”
“Wasn’t that open-shut?” Clark replies, tilting his head. Bruce shrugs, and Clark is further curious about Bruce's strange behavior, but doesn’t push it. “Also, did you see the report cards I hung up on the fridge?”
“No, not yet,” Bruce finally looks at him, and he relaxes slightly at the indirect mention of their sons. “What do they look like?”
“Jason’s all A’s and Dick is all A’s with one B,” Clark smiles, pride swelling in his chest. “Jason’s holding to our promise that a straight report card will help his argument for starting training.”
“Is Dick’s B in Chemistry?” Bruce asks, and Clark nods.
“Yeah, with the teacher who hates him,” Clark confirms, stealing a sip of Bruce’s wine. It tastes much, much more expensive than Clark’s Shirley Temple.
“I could still have her fired,” Bruce scowls, not bothering to swat Clark’s hand away. Clark wrinkles his nose at the overwhelming tastes, setting it back immediately. “Wine will still overwhelm you every time you drink it under a yellow sun, Clark, I don’t know why you keep trying it.”
“Maybe I’ll get a taste for it,” Clark frowns, and takes a big gulp of his own drink. “And firing his teacher might only make things worse.”
“Hm,” Bruce replies, and Clark huffs amusedly.
“You can’t imprison her, either,” Clark smiles. “I don’t think she’s done anything wrong.”
“She has no reason to dislike him,” Bruce scowls.
“Well,” Clark winces, chuckling slightly. “He did manage to blow up three beakers while working with school-safe materials.”
“I really shouldn’t be allowing him to experiment in my lab,” Bruce furrows his eyebrows. “Either way, he’s still a teenager.”
“He blew them up on purpose, B,” Clark laughs. “If he blew up beakers in your lab, then you’d see the issue.”
“Hm,” Bruce echoes again, and Clark rolls his eyes fondly.
“You’re impossible,” Clark smiles, beaming at the love of his life in the quiet of the candlelit room. Bruce just huffs, and for a moment, he just watches Clark, blue eyes locked on his own.
“You’re staring,” Clark smiles.
“I lied,” Bruce says, voice plain. Clark blinks.
“About what?” Clark stares at him. “Did you break the coffee pot again?”
Instead of saying anything else to him, Bruce places a small box on the table, right in front of Clark’s spring rolls. Clark freezes.
“We talked about marriage,” Bruce replies. “I said it wouldn’t happen until the Watchtower was completed. That’s what I lied about.”
Clark still doesn’t say anything, staring at the box and internally thanking the Kryptonian gods that his biology doesn’t require him to breathe.
Bruce clears his throat, messing with the cuffs of his immaculately ironed dress shirt. “Open it.”
Clark finally comes back to his body, looking at Bruce with wide, shocked eyes. He takes the box, careful to not break it with his hands that could tear planets in half. Inside the black velvet is a simple silver band, and Clark immediately knows that it’ll fit him perfectly.
Something else catches his eye, and he looks at Bruce curiously. “This isn’t a native Earth substance.”
“No, it’s not,” Bruce replies smoothly, holding his gaze. “It’s Kryptonian metal, sculpted from the spaceship that brought you to this planet.”
Clark stops breathing again, throat closing up and body feeling as if it’s going to implode in on itself. “...How?”
“When I found out about your heritage, you told me that you didn’t know the location of the ship that brought you here,” Bruce says, and his heart is still beating too fast, eyes still slightly too shifty with nerves. “When I asked for your parents’ blessing, I also asked to see the spaceship.”
“You welded Kryptonian metal,” Clark rasps. “How did you even do that?”
“It wasn’t cheap,” Bruce replies. “And it wasn’t fast. But it was worth it.”
“How much?” Clark asks, heart still pounding. “How long?”
“Four years and well over fifty million dollars,” Bruce replies, and if Clark wasn’t immune to mortal things such as heart failure, he would’ve dropped dead right there.
“Bruce,” Clark rasps. “Fifty million?”
“Clark,” Bruce replies, tone even despite the clear nerves radiating off of him. “This is what I wanted to do for you.”
Clark finally moves past shock and promptly starts crying, hands cradling the small box with impossible care.
Bruce’s eyes widen, and his heart rate picks up even more, hands reaching out to blanket Clark’s. “Clark-”
“I can’t believe it,” Clark grins, blinking tears away. “You’re such a romantic.”
Bruce blinks, nervous expression bleeding into a soft smile. “It felt like necessary symbolism.”
“It’s romantic,” Clark rasps, staring down the ring. “You’re incredible, Bruce. You’re so incredible.”
Bruce swallows, watching Clark. “Is that a yes?”
Clark stares at him, bewildered and still grinning. “Yes, Bruce, it’s a yes.”
Bruce smiles wider, averting his gaze in what Clark knows is his attempt to save his dignity.
Clark takes the ring out of the box, and Bruce looks at him again, moving his hands to slide the ring onto Clark’s finger.
“I won’t be able to wear it on my ring finger,” Clark hums, beaming. “But it does look nice here.”
Bruce nods, holding Clark’s hand gently. “It does. And it’s customized to be a good enough fit for both your middle and ring finger.”
Clark grins at him, pulling his hand towards his mouth and kissing Bruce’s knuckles. “Of course it is.”
“I tend to think ahead,” Bruce replies, voice slightly strangled.
“Really?” Clark raises an eyebrow. “I couldn’t tell.”
Bruce inhales sharply, and Clark tangles their fingers together, tracing his thumb across Bruce’s skin.
“I love you,” Clark says, eyes locked on their intertwined hands.
“I love you,” Bruce rasps, the words so sincere and gentle that Clark feels like his heart stops for the third time this dinner.
“Oh, Rao, B,” Clark’s throat closes up again, voice watery. “It’s so beautiful. Holy hell, I love you so much.”
Bruce doesn’t reply, but his expression is so clearly fond that Clark doesn’t need to hear the words to know just how proud Bruce is of himself, how adoring he is of Clark. It goes unsaid.
I love you, he sees.
We’re in this forever now, he sees.
Clark sees it all on Bruce’s face, and he feels the unshakable, definitive love between them. Ten years since they met, and he’ll never doubt their love again. The rest of their lives together, and he’ll never, ever doubt again.