Chapter Text
Bruce didn't have the luxury of going on dates outside, even if he were to devise a cover story that justified a reporter being seen in his company. It was too risky, and too much of a hassle. That's why, for their experimental approach to their… situation, he had chosen a relaxed but private setting. He invited Clark to one of his penthouses in Gotham to watch a movie and have dinner. A simple but foolproof event.
He felt a little ridiculous for folding in to the request for a date. This sudden fascination Clark had was probably his golden heart trying to make things better in a chivalrous way, to redeem himself for having kissed Bruce so abruptly. It was a matter of time before Clark realized it was an absurd progression—to go from accident to commitment— but if Bruce hanging out with him would make him wake up from the stupor faster, then he could spare a night. At least he also got to see the man he liked in action. Whenever Clark would come to him to chat about his dates with Lois, Bruce would always zone out, trying to recite the digits of Pi in his head to distract himself so he did not show signs of jealousy.
It'd be nice, Bruce guessed, being the sole focus of his attention for a change.
It was late in the afternoon; the city was still stirring outside. From the glass wall, at the fiftieth-something floor, Bruce admired the sun peeking over the horizon.
He should be off work now.
As soon as he thought it, a knock on the door pulled him from his reverie.
"Did you fly here?" he asked, the corner of his lips pulling up, while giving him entrance to the apartment. "You cleaned up nice."
He had discarded the dorky Clark Kent from the Daily Planet look, opting for a dark blue shirt, rolled at its sleeves, tucked into black, straight-leg pants. Bruce could see that he had tried to style his hair in a different way than usual, but probably gave up when he saw that the hair + gel combo on him just gave 'Superman' vibes, especially without the glasses. He'd settled for loose but slightly produced curls, which Bruce really liked. The whole look paired nicely with Bruce's own black turtleneck and dark gray slacks.
"There's no need for the glasses with you, we already know each other. And I wanted to impress you." Clark pulled out a simple bouquet full of daisies from behind his back with a bashful smile. "I hope you like these?"
"They are my favorite." Bruce accepted. At least they were from now on. He'd never had a favorite flower.
"Really? Great!" Clark grinned, making his way around the home. "What are we watching?"
"Dick suggested The Princess Diaries, but you can just tell me the name of another movie if you are not in the mood for it. I have no preferences."
"No, that's perfect. I love Julie Andrews!"
Bruce nodded and pointed to the dinner table. "Should we eat first?"
"I brought champagne." Clark lifted the bottle. "Can't feel the buzz, but this one has a sweet taste to it. Though you must have better ones lying around. I just didn't want to come empty-handed…"
"I'm sure it's perfectly nice, Clark. Thank you."
Alfred had concocted a great dinner course (Bruce insisted he didn't have to, but his kids had already roped him into their evil plans—whatever those were) composed of his special chicken lasagna, a refreshing salad, and salty prosciutto-wrapped breadsticks to start. Two cups of rich, silken tiramisu waited for them in the fridge. There was also a charcuterie board they'd probably take to the cinema room to snack on during the movie.
He put the flowers in a vase and decorated the table with them. Bruce felt warm inside, seeing Clark light up at the view.
Dinner somehow flowed nicely. Bruce had felt anxious all day at the thought of them sitting awkwardly, trying to not address the elephant in the room. He had imagined Clark's apologetic words as he left the apartment, realizing that he had made a mistake. Instead, they were talking, flirting in between, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"I had never considered that your powers manifested gradually. Your parents must have gone through a lot."
"Oh, yeah. They already had enough with the super strong baby, but I became unmanageable once I got the speed too. I was unstoppable. There was no furniture piece left unturned when it came to searching for Christmas presents."
"Tantrums must have been a nightmare." Bruce chuckled, imagining a little baby with rosy cheeks tearing the house down.
"I may or may not have caused craters along the property." Clark shrugged. "But overall, I think my parents dealt with me and the craziness pretty well. They've always been very patient, even if they couldn't comprehend what was going on with me."
Bruce had met the Kents on a few occasions—nothing like a chat over tea, just dropping Clark off after long missions—and he held them in high esteem. It was admirable how they faced the challenge of raising a superpowered child as their own. They did so despite the constant fear of the truth being discovered, and they succeeded so well that he grew up to become a hero like Superman. Their attitude and morality were what had forged Clark into the great man he fought beside every day.
"What about…" Bruce saw Clark's throat move as he gulped. "Are you able to talk about your parents without it…?"
"Making me break down in tears?"
"Yeah."
The clock ticked. In the silence, Bruce focused on the slow, deliberate rhythm of his breath, willing it to even out.
"I couldn't for a long time, to be honest. Sometimes I'd find my father's favorite book or sense my mother's scent, and I would get seizures or hyperventilate to the point of passing out. Every memory, as precious as it originally was, became… tainted by their murder, and made me have panic attacks. And when it was not the fright, it was the anger. It made me bitter, difficult to deal with. Only Alfred could handle being by my side during those days. It took years of therapy, but I've made peace with it now, to a certain degree. I just wish I had worked it out sooner, so my kids didn't have to deal with it too."
Knowing that his emotional instability had hurt his children was a cross he would always carry. He had taken them in, seeing his own tragedy reflected in their lives, and had hoped he would be enough to help them heal. He wasn't. All of them deserved better than his savior complex. They got along fine now, but they had all left his side at some point, unable to bear the weight of him and his demons.
"If I possessed but a fraction of my parents' goodness, their lives would be better."
"You have raised amazing kids, Bruce." The comforting weight of Clark's hand settled over his. "You gave them a home. A place to belong. A purpose. Perfect parents don't exist, and what your children will remember is that you tried, and keep trying, to make it better. They admire you. And I'm sure your parents would be proud of what you have accomplished too. You have a wonderful family, and you have kept their memory alive. Helping others, growing their company, dealing with your trauma… You just had a lot of things on your plate, and it took time to clear it out, but you never gave up. And that is everything."
His words landed not only as sound but as a physical warmth, spreading through Bruce’s chest and rising to his face. For a moment, he couldn’t speak.
Bruce's gaze, which had been fixed on some distant point on the table, flickered up to meet Clark’s. The usually analytical part of his mind, the part that deconstructed every statement for hidden meaning or falsehood, had gone utterly silent. In its place was a dizzying, terrifying, and exhilarating sense of being seen—not as the Batman, or the billionaire, or the broken orphan, but as the man, Bruce, who had simply tried and failed and tried again. For once, the old, familiar wound didn't ache with its usual sharpness at the thought of the mistakes he could never undo. It was soothed by a balm he never knew he needed, and the sensation was so profound it made his eyes prickle.
"Thank you."
"My pleasure." Clark's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "And for the record, only you could raise such an interesting pack of kids."
He let out a sharp, surprised bark of laughter. "Thank you? I'll make sure they know you find the amusing."
Clark's face turned serious. "Do you want me to die?"
"They wouldn't kill you," Bruce scoffed. He reached to grab his champagne glass, still holding Clark's hand. "Just possibly maim you."
"Possibly?"
"You'd get better." Bruce snorted. He straightened his legs under the table, his foot knocking gently against Clark's. Neither moved to pull away, and their legs remained comfortably tangled.
"So would they. Do they spend all their free time working on their assassin skills?" Clark squinted.
"No, they have hobbies too, of course."
Clark leaned forward, planting his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his palm, eyes lighting up with interest. "Of course."
Bruce mimicked his posture.
"Well, Dick's is kind of related, but he does keep up with his gymnastics training. Jason likes to read, and Tim is great at skateboarding. Cassandra dances; she even has a ballet recital soon. Damian is… still working things out, but he likes animals. I was thinking of taking him to volunteer at a shelter so he can look into it more."
"I wrote a piece on animal shelters recently. I can send you a list of the ones that accept children visits?"
"That'd be very helpful, thanks."
The pad of Clark's thumb stroked slow, calming arcs across Bruce's knuckles. It was a simple gesture, yet profoundly intimate. Bruce blushed, and Clark noticed.
"And your hobbies, Mr. Wayne?" He drawled, one eyebrow arched.
Distracted by Clark's touch, Bruce cleared his throat to regain his composure. "I don't have one, really. Whatever free time I have I either try to spend it with them or rest under Alfred's insistence."
"He's a wise man."
"A true saint. He's the one who kept me alive, in many ways." He set his cutlery down on the now-empty plate. "But he also ruined me. No food can compare to his. Eating anywhere else is a tragedy."
Clark's shoulders shook with his laughter, "Rich people problems, really…"
Bruce kicked him. "You try being raised by an excellent cook and tell me it's easy to enjoy restaurants."
"Martha Kent," he simply said.
"Touché." Bruce accepted defeat.
"I'm just saying, Lily is an awful friend."
"Yes, but there is some reason behind her attitude."
"There's no reason to talk down to your best friend like that when she's just received life-changing news and is under pressure already."
"I mean, you're not wrong, but she's young and immature, and she regrets it. Also, she gets so much better by the second movie, trust me!" Clark exclaimed. He turned toward Bruce, arm slung over the back of the sofa as he focused on him and getting his point across.
Bruce felt the corner of his lips lift in a subtle smirk. "You're getting too invested in this movie."
Clark blushed, fidgeting nervously. "It's a classic."
The light hitting the wall from the projector reflected back and highlighted all of Clark's features. The tall arch of his nose, the dimples, the long eyelashes. And then more. The gentle flush that tinted his cheeks, the nervous flutter of his hands, the drops of sweat rolling down his neck.
Bruce was fucked.
He had been too cocky, thinking his infatuation couldn't get worse. Miscalculation error. Bruce should be disappointed in himself. The more personal time you spent with Clark Kent, the more his endearing qualities shone through, an effect he didn't account for.
"Is it, now? I'll have to ask Dick for more recommendations."
"For our dates?" Clark glanced his way, a silent plea of hope in his expression.
So he was moving forward with the idea of having more of those. Interesting. It could be a bad idea, though...
"If that's what you want…"
"I do!"
Clark's hand latched onto Bruce's own on his lap. A current of electricity ran through Bruce's body, Clark's overwhelming heat both smothering and comforting him. On the screen, scandal, a beach, some yells, camera flashes, drama. Yet, Bruce was more interested in not breaking eye contact with the man in front of him.
Breathing, maybe panting. Then a gasp. And suddenly, more heat, only on his lips. And on his cheek. Clark's free hand cupped his head tenderly. Not to keep him from moving, like on his physical encounters with adversaries that tried to knock him out; no, the touch was both foreign and sweet. Bruce closed his eyes, melting into the moment. He opened to Clark's tongue; more caressing, more warmth. Asphyxiating. Intoxicating. Addictive.
He was on his back, Clark nestled between his legs, careful not to put his full weight on Bruce. He pulled apart for a second to look at Bruce and leaned over to peck on his lips, then his nose, cheeks and forehead. Clark's gaze was soft with unmistakable affection, making him tremble. Bruce kind of wanted to run away, but he couldn't. Once more, he was captured in Clark's embrace, the pressure fiercer and more deliberate than before.
Clark ran his hands over Bruce's body. A worshiping touch that traced the soft and sharp angles of his figure. He hitched his leg higher, pressing on his center. Bruce moaned, taking everything Clark offered. He was in a trance, mind numb. For a moment, the rest of the world ceased to be, and there was only them.
Bruce felt a tug on his sweater, an attempt to free it from the hold of his pants around his waist. He flinched.
"Slow down, Clark," he exhaled, short of breath, between kisses. The man stopped, looking confused.
"Is something wrong? Did I hurt you?"
Bruce huffed, "You did not. Let's just… take it down a notch." And he ran a hand through Clark's curls, like he'd wanted to do since the man showed up (many, many years ago).
"I can do that." Clark nodded excitedly, submitting to Bruce's suggestion. Still, he planted a short peck on his lips before sitting up.
A contemplative hush fell over them, the movie forgotten. None of them really cared about Mia's problems anymore. Bruce sat as still as possible, worried any movement would ignite the flame again. They couldn't, not yet, not even if he wanted it. Clark needed time to figure out his feelings. Bruce needed time to calm his down.
When the credits rolled over, Clark stood up awkwardly, rubbing his hands on his pants.
"I– Should we–" he stuttered. "There's work tomorrow. Not that I'm tired. I could stay, of course. But, it's not proper on the first date. Not that I'm judging! Also I did push earlier–!" He mumbled more. Bruce held back his amused grin. "I should probably let you rest, is what I mean," he finished.
"We both should. Thank you for the consideration." Bruce agreed, taking pity on the clearly embarrassed Clark. "See you another day?"
That made Clark bounce on his feet.
"Definitely. I had a great time."
"Me too."
"I'll call you?" Clark asked, worried.
"I'll answer." Bruce promised.
Ten minutes and a pleasant goodbye hug later, Clark leaped to the heavens from the balcony in the middle of the night, leaving Bruce to stare at the darkness he left behind.
Bruce exhaled in relief, proud of himself for holding back and not giving in to his raw impulse. That had been close.
The way back to Metropolis was short, with Clark flying at an unreasonable speed just because he was excited. Even with pirouettes and vertical jumps through the sky (no birds were harmed during this show), it didn't take more than five minutes, but in his head, he was able to replay the whole evening. Time and time again.
So? How'd the date go, Smallville?
Clark read as he picked up his phone. He'd gotten Lois to be his motivational coach these past days. She understood better than anyone how important and nerve-wracking it was for Clark that he went out with someone with romantic intentions.
Better than awesome :D
"We should do this again" awesome or
"text me when you get home" awesome?
What's the difference???
You sweet summer child, you're so
out of your field
No, im not! I'm great at dating!
Is that why you called me in a panic
over chosing the right outfit yesterday?
I was nervous
Yeah no shit
So you're all in on this then?
Clark hummed happily.
Definitely
Neither the cold water nor the knowledge that he'd have to cover LutherCorp's news conference the next day could wipe the stupid grin off his face.
He really should have gotten his head out of his arse sooner. But he would make sure to make up for the lost time from then on.
Clark walked out of the shower and looked at his reflection in the mirror, a towel wrapped around his lower body. He lifted his arms to brush his teeth and froze.
There was a mark on the bottom right side of his abdomen that wasn't there before.
"Did you have a fight with Big Blue or something?" Hal asked when he approached Bruce.
They had just finished fighting a bio-robotic alien army that wanted to take control over Earth's natural resources to power their own machinery. How original. It had been a tedious battle that ended with the alien general being sent to the Phantom Zone, but not without the cliche promise to "be back". Aquaman, Superman and Flash were on cleanup duty while Wonder Woman led the military and other official parties on the civilian rescue effort. The destruction was not that bad this time, thankfully. Green Lantern and Batman were keeping an eye out for possible attacks, in case they'd missed something.
"Why do you ask?"
"Well, you're always spooky, Spooky, but…" Hal frowned. "He just seems… unusually jumpy around you."
Bruce had noticed.
Clark wasn't avoiding him per se, either in or out of the suit. They had teamed up just fine for this event. And they had repeated their date on multiple occasions, still meeting at Bruce's penthouse for now on his request.
Sometimes they watched more movies, which ended with Clark yapping while Bruce just listened, utterly captivated. One time, Bruce tried to make dinner and ended up almost lighting the place on fire. Clark ate it all anyway, but Bruce couldn't really call someone who could physically eat rocks a good judge of his cooking skills. In other occasions, they just laid down on the couch and talked for hours. No one ever made the invitation to stay over, though; both of them still treading carefully around the edges of intimacy.
Two weeks had passed by with Bruce feeling less confident that he could actually step away. In his defense, Clark didn't seem to want that either; he kept getting bolder with the physical attention, peppering Bruce with kisses when he least expected it.
He was hiding something, however.
Bruce's senses tingled at the tell-tale signs of a secret being kept. There were subtle indicators in Clark's behaviour he'd come to recognize, like the stiffness in his body when their makeout sessions grew too heated and their hands began to roam, or the carefully constructed calm in his expression when Bruce questioned him about recent events in his life.
"Nothing interesting to mention," he'd say.
Clark was making a valiant effort to seem like his usual self, but Bruce saw right through it. He was getting trapped in his own head again, letting his thoughts consume him.
And if Green Lantern—Hal Jordan of all people—had noticed that it happened only around him, then he needed to sort it out.
"Superman, a word?" he asked once they got to the Watchtower.
Clark beamed and followed Batman to his private chambers with a springy step. He didn't seem to have suddenly come to dislike being in his company. So what was it?
Turning on the Kryptonian-friendly jammer to make their conversation unintelligible to eavesdroppers, he walked until he was leaning over Clark, who had already taken a seat on the bed. The man leaned back, eyebrows shot up, drinking in the proximity. Bruce removed the cowl, then swung a leg over his hip to straddle him. The sight was so intimidating and enticing Clark couldn't suppress a gulp.
Bruce wasn't above seducing the secret out of Clark.
Selina would be proud.
"What are you hiding?"
"What do you mean?" he faltered.
"You're nervous. On edge. I let it slide, but now it's not only me who notices. Speak." he said, his voice brooking no argument.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Clark."
His fingers drummed an anxious rhythm on the mattress.
"If you're having trouble, work-related or not, we'd help you. We're a team." Bruce wanted to stress how that 'we' leaned more towards an 'I'—that he, personally, would always be there.
"I know, I promise it's nothing life-threatening."
"Then what's wrong?" he tried again.
For a moment, Clark could only stare, utterly taken aback. He wasn't as good of an actor as he'd like to believe; being too honest came with its disadvantages.
"Is it because of us?" Bruce wondered, cradling Clark's chin between his fingers to make him look at him.
"Not…" Clark bit his lip. "It's not you, it's me."
Bruce snorted, the phrase instantly making him mad. "If you pull–"
"Listen! Listen, give me a minute. Let me just… show you."
He got a hold of Bruce's hips and lifted him up, placing him gently on top of the bed, and took a few steps back. Clark clicked the release button under his armpit so that the fabric loosened around his body and started to pull on the micro zipper. Doubt flooded his mind once more. He had spent so much time worrying about this topic already and had yet to reach a conclusion. What if it messed things up when they were going so well?
Clark's heart hammered in his chest. He shucked off the top of his suit, letting it pool right around his hips to reveal what he thought was a soulmark. Bruce's eyes lit up with recognition.
"I see," he stated, lifting a hand to place over the bright blue sun and moon mark. It looked like a solar eclipse. Clark shuddered at the touch. "When did it appear?"
"…Two weeks ago."
"After the first date?" he murmured, more to himself than to Clark.
"Yeah."
Bruce hummed, "Did it burn?" That indicated if soulmates were around each other.
He shook his head no. "It started grey and became this color pretty fast. But no heat."
"Maybe it's your Kryptonian physiology interfering. You have a different level of sensitivity, to begin with." Bruce speculated, lost in thought while studying the skin. "There has never been news about a soulmark manifesting on alien species. I'd know. This is… confounding."
Despite having wished for something as unrealistic as him suddenly having a soulmark for so long, Clark didn't feel happy. In fact, he was miserable. Before, the fantasy, the idea itself made him giggle like a teenager. He'd spend days as a boy imagining what it would be like if he ever found a soulmate. Now though? When he had found something much better in Bruce? He wanted to laser the thing off. It made him so upset that night he first saw the mark on the mirror, he actually threw up.
The universe had a twisted sense of humor.
"You don't look excited," Bruce noted.
He stood up and helped Clark dress up. Clark was entranced.
How could something feel better than this? Every brush of Bruce's hands across his skin lit up his nervous system like a live wire. A glimpse of his smile sparked a fire in his veins, energy buzzed under his skin at the sound of his voice. This is what he'd prayed for. And it was at risk of falling apart because of something he wasn't meant to have in the first place. A cold dread at the thought of losing Bruce locked his muscles.
If he could go back in time, he'd smack his past self on the head real hard.
"I don't want it. I want you."
Clark waited for Bruce's reply. There was none for a while. The man stood stoic, eyes fixed on the S shield, hand placed over it.
"We need to look more into it."
"What? Why? No. We don't need to do anything." Clark panicked. He grabbed Bruce's hand and led it to his mouth, placing soft kisses on its palm. "We are fine just like this." He leaned into the touch, nuzzling the hand as if seeking comfort.
"But there are soulmates in question. More data is required. What if it makes you sick? This is unprecedented."
"I don't get sick."
"You're also not supposed to get a soulmark."
"I can ignore it. You said you'd ignore yours too. Why would I act differently?"
"Clark…"
"No, Bruce."
"Let's just… cool off."
"No, Bruce, please."
"Clark…" The man clenched his eyes shut, jaw tight. He pulled his hand from Clark's hold as gently as he could.
When Bruce dug his heels in, he never backed down.
Clark braced himself against the desk, as if his heartbreak were a physical blow. The movement surprised Bruce. He quickly grabbed the man's arm and made Clark look at him. Icy-blue eyes clashing with sapphire ones. Both equally despirited.
"Only until we find what's going on." Bruce added. As if that would make Clark feel better. "We need to know."
He denied the idea with a sharp turn of his head.
"Please."
Bruce never begged, yet he was doing it there and then. Clark's jaw went tight, to the point of pain.
"I don't want to."
Clark turned away, eyes clamped shut, trying to reset his thoughts.
"For now," Bruce said.
A heavy silence stretched between them. The insinuation reverberated in his head. Clark's heart broke as he realized Bruce didn't trust him, that Bruce was waiting for him to walk away from their relationship. But Clark wasn't.
So Bruce was doing it first.