Chapter Text
If you asked him, Clark Kent would say he was perfectly content with the way his life had developed so far. He had a nice day job as a reporter at the Daily Planet that he loved, and an exciting second job helping others, which he also loved. To make it better, in both his civilian life and as a superhero, Clark managed to befriend what he considered the best people in the world. And he'd also had a good upbringing in a loving family. They weren't rich, but he would never insult his parents by implying that had left him wanting for anything.
Every so often, he would wonder what his days would look like if his planet of origin had not blown up to pieces with his birth parents still on it; would he still be the same Clark (or well, Kal) as he was now? He would have different values perhaps, but he liked to think that he would have the same heart. Other times, his mind ran curiously around the idea of what it would be like had he not arrived on Earth when he did, landed where he did, or if it wasn't the Kents who found him. That scenario was probably the scariest.
He would be eternally grateful for the simple mercy of being adopted by Jonathan and Martha Kent.
Clark's life, as rocky of a start as it had, was filled with love and support—he didn't even know of said tragic beginning until he built his Fortress of Solitude and talked about it with Jor-El's synthetic memory. The kryptonian special effects technology that he got with that story session? 10/10, will never forget. Up until that slightly traumatizing moment, his biggest emotional crisis had been his parents admitting to not being blood-related to him at the tender age of seven years old (little Clark had been inconsolable that day), and that is objectively pretty mild compared to other alternative horrors an immigrant extraterrestrial could encounter. He'd had it pretty good.
So no, he wouldn't say he lacked anything, but what he would do is admit that he was envious of not being able to experience things the same way humans did.
Back when he was a boy, there was nothing Clark wished for more than to be human. If he was, his parents wouldn't have forbidden him from joining in on children's play, fearing he would unintentionally reveal his secret by hitting too hard or running too fast. If he were human, he would have gone through regular teenage growing spurs, getting growing pains and dealing with an incoming beard, instead of worrying about lighting up someone or something in fire because he realized that, hey, I can shoot lasers from my eyes now! If he were a human, he wouldn't blow up the barn's walls with a sneeze on the extremely rare occasions he caught a cold, or suddenly start floating while dreaming (which meant not sleeping over at friend's houses until he got it under control). It had been quite the oddisey.
Adult Clark, however, thought fondly of those moments. Yes, it had been difficult at the time, but he'd gotten over the trials by staying positive and working hard, just how his parents had taught him to. And that persistence paid off; he had exceptional control over those abilities. His powers, which would bring him to tears once upon a time, were now his pride and joy; they were the reason he could continue to help others and make the world a better place.
There was just one small thing Kryptonian Clark could never get over, though.
Holding back to keep his identity and his loved ones safe? Piece of cake. Wrapping his head around the concept of his parents not being his "real" parents? He overcame it by realizing that no amount of blood (or terrestrial birth) would make them more of a loving family than they already were. But realizing that humans had 'soulmates', and he, as a completely different species, did not? Heartbreaking.
The concept fascinated Clark as soon as the teacher brought it up in biology class in 6th grade. He always knew Ma and Pa Kent were meant for each other; he just hadn't realized how true those words were until that lesson.
Humans were brought into the world knowing that the universe had assigned them someone to accompany them on their journey (wasn't that poetic?) and they would recognize each other because they carried matching 'soulmarks' that were perfect mirror images. This mark would heat up at the proximity of their destined someone, and the intensity of its color would change depending on how strong the feelings of the other person were. Humans usually got their mark on a random place of their body after the age of twenty, which made teenage years a nightmare for Clark because everyone at school constantly talked about their soulmates. They theorized what soulmark they would get, or where it would be located, or how they would meet their special other, and Clark could only nod along, knowing his fantasies would remain just that: fantasies. He was doomed to nothing but wishful thinking. To be a permanent prisoner of his own what-ifs.
Clark knew that life wasn't a fairytale and that even though soulmarks were a thing, not every person "destined" to be with someone actually got together with that individual. At the end of the day, it was a matter of compatibility. Still, his feelings of exclusion remained, because unlike humans who didn't want their bond or who tried it out and had it fail, he had no option at all. He wasn't even human. To make matters worse, Clark was the only Kryptonian (except for his cousin Kara, but, family, ew) in the universe. He was the living embodiment of loneliness. And when he learned what soulmates could be if things went right while looking at his parents, he yearned for that sense of belonging.
J'onn didn't seem to understand it when Clark wanted to talk to another alien about the topic. Of course, he hadn't grown with this concept being flaunted at him like Clark did, and to his defense, he already had been married to the love of his life, M'yri'ah, before tragically losing her, so he felt no need or desire for a soulmark. On the other hand, Arthur, who had grown up in human society, didn't get a mark either. Being half Atlantean seemed to be enough for the universe to disqualify you from the race. He didn't seem to mind; he was desperately in love with his wife, and Mera and he led their kingdom in perfect synchrony. No one would dare doubt they were made for each other. Diana, another superhuman being without a mark, enjoyed her independent life like no one he'd ever seen before. She had her romantic endeavors and cared deeply, but she was as comfortable with a companion as she was on her own and always looked at him weirdly (but not unkindly) when he shared his thoughts on the matter.
If only Clark could open himself to the opportunity, maybe he'd love someone deeply enough so that the idea of them not being destined to be together would not bother him. He thought that's what Lois was, once; yet, every time he saw the gray mark on her ankle, he felt like jumping through the stratosphere. His insecurity and sense of inferiority wore them out until the relationship couldn't take it anymore. It was a very depressing ordeal. Thankfully, their affection managed to morph into something gentler and more companionable, so they remained friends. They were kindred souls, after all, and Clark loved working with Lois.
There hadn't been that many love interests in his life, regardless of his desire to find his special someone. Besides Lois, he'd only ever had a crush on another person, Lana Lang, when he was still attending school back in Smallville. It never amounted to anything, but it left him with fond memories of a youthful first love.
He sometimes wondered if there was something wrong with him. He wanted to love, but when it came down to committing, he got scared. He wanted reassurance, but words weren't enough. He believed there was someone out there for him but obsessed over the question "How would I know? "
Clark's emotional volatility frustrated even him.
"B, do you have a soulmate?" he boldly asked the only human around him who he had never seen earnestly involved with someone.
Yes, he knew he'd had a thing with Catwoman and many others whose names Clark didn't even bother to learn, but those associations never lasted. Bruce's seemingly shallow understanding of emotional bonds was a constant source of frustration for Clark. It was irritating to see how Bruce reduced profound emotional connections to trivial flings. Sometimes Clark would seek out Bruce with his enhanced hearing, accidentaly intercepting the whispers and promises between him and his current semi-partner. He would then feel a spike of offense in the fact that the Batman threw such words around so carelessly—even if it was just flirting. Love was serious business, and he thought Bruce should reflect that in his romantic endeavors. Clark wasn't a prude (maybe), but he would feel shamefully relieved when Bruce would walk away from them. Whatever those were, they were not Bruce's destined ones.
He had to have one, though.
Bruce turned around on his chair at the command desk of the watchtower and looked at his teammate like he'd grown a second head.
"What brought this on?"
"Nothing," Clark chirped. "You just never mentioned it, and I was curious. Kryptonians don't have those. Not that you have to reply, honestly. I just thought, since we are friends, it would be nice to know, you know?"
If Bruce noticed the nervousness in his voice, he was kind enough to ignore it.
"I don't," he simply replied, turning back to his previous task.
Clark's head snapped unhealthily fast. "What do you mean? You don't have a soulmark?"
"I have one," he argued, eyes still on the monitor. "Just never met them, and I'm not interested in doing so."
"Why? Isn't this, like, an exciting and important event for humans?"
"Not everyone wishes to be in a relationship, Clark."
"BUT! It's such a cool concept! I think it's nice that you get a sign that tells you who you are meant to be with. It's like, the universe telling you you're a perfect match."
"You can be with someone even if you are not soulmates. You dated Lois just fine."
"And look how that turned out." Clark rolled his eyes while huffing.
"With a great, long-lasting friendship."
"But that's not what I want!" he exploded. Silence followed.
Clark paced around the room to calm himself down, and when he turned to Bruce, he had taken off his cowl and was facing him.
He wasn't expecting to get as heated as he did. His best friend not looking interested in relationships was nothing new, he had mentioned it before (Clark had gotten pouty that time too; blame his romantic heart). But he just couldn't understand it: Bruce was cool, and caring, and handsome, and intelligent, and rich, and he would be an amazing partner, yet he chose not to even try. It drove Clark insane. Bruce ignored his soulmark, and there he was was, practically dying to get one.
Clark ran his hand through his hair, trying to soothe the bitterness away.
"What is happening, Clark?" Bruce questioned; his tone demanding for clarity.
It was only the two of them in the room. The other League members either had a day off or were patrolling in their respective sectors. Perhaps Superman should do the same soon. After he vented, of course.
Clark grabbed a chair and sat beside Bruce, his shoulders slumping in defeat. The overthinking and stress had been gnawing at him more often lately, and it had finally gotten to him—just as Lois had warned it would if he kept fixating on unnecessary details. Now, with his head clear, he could only feel foolish about the outburst.
"I know that the human soulmark is not a definite sentence," Clark started, "but it is a possibility that will always be there. I live on Earth and interact mostly with humans, which makes them the primary group of interest when looking for a relationship."
"And you worry that you, by not having one, cannot compete." Bruce finished.
Clark gave a slow, weary nod.
"What if I meet someone, and we're happy, but their special other appears?" he asked, his voice low. "What if being with their soulmate could make them happier? I can't take that away." He looked down at his hands. "And when that happens... what am I left with?"
Over the monitors, multiple voices were heard through the speakers. Voices reporting status, requesting backups, throwing jokes around and interacting with each other as a group. But up there, in space, it was only Clark and Bruce having a heart-to-heart, isolated from the world below.
"Was that what ended it with Lois?"
Clark thought about it for a second. "No, but also yes? It wasn't all. We are better off as friends, and now we know that, but it was one of the factors. I was too fearful, and nothing she said could brush it aside. It's not like I was scared of her leaving me behind… more like I didn't want to realize that I was not meant to be by her, or anyone else's, side, kind of?" The chair screeched as he leaned back. "Soulmarks make me feel more alien than my powers do. Pathetic, isn't it?" he whispered, feeling fragile.
"It's not." Bruce declared, the resolute tone making Clark lift his gaze.
Batman could be scary to encounter on a poorly lit street, even to metahumans. But the man behind the mask? That was just his best friend, and the way he sincerely listened to his concerns and provided comfort was one of the reasons why.
Bruce leaned closer and continued, "Clark, you are more human than anyone I've ever known. You're a beacon of hope for the people that look at you from afar and a source of happiness for those who are close. You are loved because of who you are and not because of what you have, or don't have. There's no need for a soulmark to prove that you are special. You already are."
Clark's heart was beating faster with each word that left Bruce's mouth; the honest look in his eyes, which proved that the usually taciturn vigilante meant every single one of them, almost made him cry. He did a bit, to be honest, but he hurried to sweep the runaway tears that dared to glide down his cheeks. Bruce didn't comment on it.
"Thanks, B." Clark let out a wet laugh. "This is so embarrassing."
"Pretty on brand for you."
Clark nudged him on the shoulder in retaliation for the joke, earning an amused grin from the bat.
"I wish I could stop caring, like you."
Bruce grinned and stared into the distance; he seemed to be considering his next words. "I do care. A lot. But I already know the pain of losing someone dear to me," he explained. "I'm… grateful that I haven't met this 'ideal individual', because I'd want to run away if I did. I'm also the worst partner someone could ask for. A traumatized lunatic running around the streets, playing hero while being distressingly susceptible to lethal injuries. And I'm not stopping, no matter who asks. I could not give them what they want or give them the security they deserve. There's no need to terrorize anyone with being bound to me. It's not fair."
It was hard to picture a frightened Bruce. He was the glue that held the team together. Superman might be the cavalry, the muscle that lifted the heavy weight others could not, but Batman was the brain, the calculating mind that made things work. If there was trouble, he was the one that came with a solution. In times of crisis, Batman kept level-headed, pushing forward and never giving up. Risk assessment, counterplans and emergency management were his specialties. He didn't allow weaknesses, and he closed up like a vault.
And yet here it was, in his ice-blue eyes; the fear and the panic that Bruce normally didn't allow to show. Only in front of his most beloved people did he let his guard down. Those could be counted on one hand, and Clark beamed at the knowledge that he was one of the fingers.
Yeah, Bruce was right; he could feel special even without a mark.
Now though, his own contentment would have to wait. His partner was being unusually open, and he couldn't ignore that.
"Pain is inevitable, B. I know it sounds hypocritical coming from me, and my earlier breakdown, but you cannot build walls around yourself and not let people in because you're afraid to love. Walls can be climbed. People could go in and never leave; we have no way of knowing."
Bruce shifted awkwardly in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the vulnerable shift this conversation was taking.
"Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game."
Bruce's eyes lit up with recognition. "Don't quote Hilary Duff to me."
"You know that movie?" Clark jolted upright excitedly. Mood: effectively lifted.
"I have children. I know chick flicks." More precisely, he had Dick Grayson. And all that entailed.
"See, you do have meaningful relationships."
Clark used the wheeled chair to slide over to Bruce's side. The man grumpily accepted that even if he were to move and put distance between them, Clark would most certainly chase him around the room if he wanted to, so he remained still, shoulder to shoulder with him.
"And while you never meant to, you already are surrounded by people you care for. What is one more?" Clark added, throwing Bruce a charming smile to lighten up the mood.
For a 'solitary hero', the Bat (extended) family had an astounding number of members. Batman was friends with a lot of his League coworkers, too.
"Logically, I know." Bruce groaned. "I'm just saying, it'd be better to not burden someone with my emotional baggage. And even if I managed to leave the… unease aside and looked for that type of affection, I'm not fun to be around anyways."
Clark frowned. That also could not be ignored.
"No way. You're the funniest person I know."
Bruce gave him an unimpressed look.
"Not in a 'joking' kind of fun. I just always feel better when I'm around you; you're one of my favorite people in the world."
"You like everyone, Clark, even those who don't deserve it." Bruce retorted, arching one of his perfectly pointy eyebrows. Clark always thought they were hilariously cute, but he wouldn't risk telling Bruce that.
"I so do not. I have standards." He poked Bruce in the chest, leaning closer as he narrowed his eyes in offense. "And that doesn't even apply to you. You're attentive, kind, and cool. Very likeable."
With the excitement of the moment, Clark had leaned closer than he'd meant to. Looking down, he could see the small details he hadn't noticed on Bruce's face before, like the little mole on the corner of his left eye and the one on his chin. His skin, though hiding small scars only Clark could see, was healthy and soft-looking, just like you’d expect from Brucie Wayne; he had shaved recently too. Clark let his eyes travel around, taking notes on his findings, until they landed on the healing wound on Bruce's mouth.
Clark tilted his head without thinking, his lips finding Bruce's before his mind had even processed the movement.
A surprised moan made Clark open his eyes and jump from the chair, sending a hand over his mouth. He looked at Bruce, who was sporting a similar shocked expression on his face.
Clark had not planned for the conversation to turn this way.
He had no idea why he had leaned forward. They were just talking about their worries, like normal friends did. Like they did on occasion. The difference was that not in a single of those previous encounters, had Clark ever wondered how his friend tasted or noticed how attractive he was. Or more like, he knew (knowledge), but now he knew (understanding).
The alarm that signaled an incoming member teleporting to the tower diverted their attention. The boom of the machine could not overpower the sound of his beating heart in Clark's ears.
Flash walked through the arch holding multiple bags of takeout and spotted them standing awkwardly in the room.
"I had a late shift. Stopped a robbery on the way. Got hungry," he reported, and continued gulping down his food.
Clark looked at the clock; it was around 9 p.m. in Metropolis.
"Right. I have to go." He turned to look at Bruce, who was very determined on not meeting eyes with him.
He had screwed up.
"B–"
"Don't mention it. It's fine." Bruce cut his words.
"What's fine?" Barry asked, oblivious to Clark's inner panic.
He had to apologize and do it fast, or Bruce would never talk to him again. Before he could even take a step in his direction, the man opened his mouth.
"There's a hurricane in the Caribbean, Superman. You should head over there."
The information on the screen indicated a category 3 event was making his way through Cuba and Jamaica. He bit back a curse.
"I'll call you. Answer the phone."
Giving a high five to a confused Barry, he left.
Bruce had, in fact, not answered the phone.
If there was someone you never wanted to play hide-and-seek with, that was Batman. Not even a metahuman like Superman could compete with the level of proficient stealth the man had. If he didn't want to be found, you simply wouldn't.
That's how he spent the next days flying around Gotham's streets trying to catch a glimpse of the legendary Dark Knight. Easier said than done. He wished Bruce's inner circle would give him a hand, but what he got was "He left early" (Alfred), "I don't think you'd find him even if I helped you" (Tim), and "What's it to ya'?" (Jason) instead.
You'd think, having all of his powers, this would be easy, but that man was elusive when he wanted to be. And he trained his Robins to be as evasive as he was; not even Dick, who he thought he was very close with, budged at his request.
He was fighting back a wave of frustration, four days into his search, when he finally spotted a dark silhouette standing on top of the Wayne Industries building.
"B," he exhaled happily, landing on top of the roof.
It was difficult to read his micro-expressions when he was wearing the cowl, but Clark tried anyway. Bruce's posture was stiff, different from the 'ready to spring to action' stance he used on the field. He clenched his hands at every approaching step Clark took, making him wonder if he should prepare for a punch. The split on his lip had already healed, too, though Clark tried not to focus too much on it. In few words, Bruce was pissed. Surprise.
"About what happened on the Watchtower…" he started.
Bruce, once again, jumped in to interrupt him. If it were anyone else, Clark would start to feel mad.
"You were emotional and vulnerable and naturally searched for comfort. I was there. Let's leave it at that and move on."
Clark didn't like the implication of those words.
"Are you saying I would have kissed anyone who gave me a pat on the back?"
"I'm saying that you were a worried mess and our talk made you relax. It brought you a sense of security, and you reached for more instinctively."
He rolled his eyes. "What am I, a dog? Bruce, I wouldn–"
"Did you mean to do it?"
"Well, no, it was impulsive, but I–"
"Then what do you want it to mean?"
"I–"
He paused.
He didn't know.
Clark had spent days searching for Bruce just because he feared the man would cut him out of his life over his misstep. He never even planned on what he was going to say once they finally faced each other. Maybe he was a dog, chasing without thought.
"You were vulnerable. I am your friend. We are adults. There's work to do." Bruce ordered, putting an end to the discussion. "I'll see you in tomorrow's JL meeting."
Then he rappelled down the building.
The word 'friend' was a deafening roar in the quiet of Clark's mind.
He hated how it sounded now.
Chapter 2
Notes:
I was able to make edits and post today instead of tomorrow >:3 Not much sooner, but hey, it's something ^^
Thank you so much for all the lovely support!
Buckle up for a little bit of drama~ And let me know what you think!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Brucie Wayne liked playing around. He attended parties with a different beauty on each arm, rarely bothered to learn their names, and flirted with anyone humanoid enough to keep him out of a straitjacket. He only graced the front pages for his legendary parties or the occasional reckless accident that would leave him sidelined for days to show the world how much of a wreck he was.
Bruce, on the other hand, did not like to be played with.
His past relationships had failed as a combination of unfortunate factors, such as his fear of commitment with Selina, or the absolutely insane and unhealthy dynamic that he had with Talia. He also actively avoided even thinking about the concept of a soulmate.
It had been a magical thing when he was a boy: listening to his parents' romantic story and picturing himself with a lover, living a happily ever after. Thomas and Martha Wayne had been a happy couple—a generous pair who were as kind to their city as they were to each other. Bruce adored them. Their loss shattered him with a devastation so profound, Alfred was convinced he would be burying his young master if he didn't pour all his effort into helping Bruce stand back up.
It had been a painstakingly long process, one for which Bruce would always be indebted to Alfred. He had given him ways to deal with his pain and reasons to keep living—but the fear remained. If that level of agony came from losing his parents, how would the disappearance of his other half feel?
By the time his soulmark appeared, Bruce had deviated all his attention to the Batman, and he had resolved to live the rest of his days alone.
There were flings here and there. Ephemeral encounters in which he had thought maybe a convenient partner, one that didn't demand love from him, that didn't require attachment and responsibilities, could be the best solution.
Those hadn't worked out either.
Bruce had sworn off relationships altogether—he'd even reduced his one-night stands to a minimum—to save himself the heartache. The risks he took with his kids were already enough to drive him to the edge regularly. To care was to open a door to a pain he could not afford.
So, when he'd opened up to Clark about his issues with loss and his inadequacy as a romantic partner, the last thing he expected was for the man—whom he'd promised to only admire from a friendly distance—to kiss him in the middle of their workspace. Especially after said man had been having a meltdown over not feeling connected to anyone.
Not that he wanted Clark to turn the kiss into a relationship, but Bruce expected his friend to respect him enough to not use him as a warm body to console his wounded soul.
There had been no ill intentions behind the action, just impulses, and Bruce understood that. Just remembering the guilty look on Clark's face made it clear. At the end of the day, Clark didn't know what effects this simple action would have on Bruce, that he would overreact that much.
The week he'd spent avoiding Clark was, honestly, just pettiness. Because for a being with such powerful eyes, Clark could be remarkably blind.
Clark couldn't see how Bruce saw him.
He didn't see how Bruce's gaze had shifted over time, didn't feel the change of its weight. He didn't know what it was like to slowly start seeing a friend as something more, nor had he suffered in silence while that same man dated someone else. Clark had never felt the fear of his own feelings becoming a nuisance to their cause.
It had been two tortuous years of yearning over a man whose radar he wasn't even on. Of trying to school his expression into an impassive mask, of working on techniques to slow down his heartbeat so Clark wouldn't notice how it skipped when he was around. Not that it mattered, since he probably wasn't even paying attention.
Bruce always knew there was no chance of anything happening between them. Not only was the soulmate thing not an option, but Clark had never shown interest in men—let alone in him. This unrequited love was a debilitating liability; an irrational, uncontrollable variable, and he despised it.
So no, Bruce didn't feel bad for sending Clark on a frantic chase. Let the man have a taste of desperation for himself, after Bruce had spent years with his stomach in a twist over the smallest of gestures. Especially since this entire mess was the product of a meaningless peck, courtesy of the Man of Steel himself.
"Sooooo Big Blue dropped by earlier," sang Dick in his Nightwing uniform as he tumbled onto the roof Bruce was brooding at.
His first child was probably the last person he wanted to encounter at that moment. Not because he didn't love him, but because he knew too much. Which was not what he needed at the time.
"He looked eager to find you. I didn't tell him anything, though." He smiled smugly, ignoring Bruce's silence. Brats, he had raised brats. "It was kind of sad. Did you guys meet?"
"Yes."
"Did you punch him?"
"No."
"Are you on talking terms again?"
"Yes."
"Did you kiss?"
"Yes." Bruce startled. Pause. "Wait, no–"
"Finally! Oh my god, I thought I would die of frustration seeing you guys tiptoeing around the obvious. So much for the world's greatest detective," he mumbled the last bit on a lower voice. "but you guys finally figured it out."
"Nothing happened."
Dick hummed, not believing it for one second. "Then why the flag-less capture the flag around Gotham?"
Bruce's brain was not working as it usually did. That too was Clark's fault.
"It meant nothing. And it won't happen again." He finally accepted, knowing evasion would only fuel Dick's curious flame.
At least if he admitted to his heartbreaking reality, his son would take pity on him and keep him company.
"But B, that man has had the hots for you for a while too."
In the distance, he heard the police sirens. Checking the radio, he learned the police were chasing a common burglar. He was not needed yet. He couldn't escape yet.
"He does not. Never had. Never will."
"How did you guys end up kissing, then?" Dick scowled, not understanding what was going on.
Bruce sighed. "He just had an emotional breakdown, and I was there to provide comfort. That's all it was. He came to apologize for it."
His son was laboring under the ridiculous notion that Bruce's infatuation wasn't one-sided, his evidence being the simple fact that Clark enjoyed his presence.
Dick, indeed, looked crestfallen at his words and leaned forward to give him a hug.
"Should I kick his ass?" He said with mock seriousness.
Bruce looked skyward, as if praying for patience, but a chuckle escaped him in the end.
"I'll be fine."
He was used to picking up the pieces and putting himself together.
He had meant to respect Bruce's decision and store the memory of the kiss in a little box, throw it in the back of his mind, and never look back.
Except.
He liked organizing, and that led to getting entertained with what he found along the way. And what he had found while holding onto the box was that he was, in fact, more attracted to his best friend than he had noticed.
Clark always knew, and even proudly repeated aloud, that Bruce was a catch. He was the definition of "rough around the edges", but once you got to know him and were counted as one of his own, he became the most loyal person in your life. Bruce defended his people to the point of self-sacrifice. Clark now understood this stemmed from a fear of loss, a preference for leaving others behind rather than suffering their absence.
Selfish fool. He constantly underestimated how many lives would shatter if he were gone.
Thankfully, Clark was invulnerable and set on being Bruce's shield. He had done so for years. Often he succeeded. The fewer times he failed left him staring with a cold, hard passion at Bruce's still form in the medbay. He hated those moments most of all.
Since that kiss, Bruce had done an exceptional job in acting like it never happened.
Clark, however, had not. He kept staring at Bruce's lips, searching for his icy stare, standing a little too close for comfort. Other team members were used to Superman exhaustingly chasing around Batman, so they didn't even flinch at the sight.
A part of him wished Bruce would react, even if just a little.
Clark remembered the feeling, the electric surge that had shot through his body when he kissed Bruce. It had been tender and brief, yet utterly exhilarating. The sensation had positively destabilized him, sending him into a panic so sharp he'd wanted to flee. Now, the moment replayed in his head on a relentless loop, taunting him.
For days, Clark had danced around the possibility that his fixation with memorizing Bruce's heartbeat was born from a not-so-friendly feeling. More like supra-friendly. Beyond friendly. To the point it was embarrassing to even go over the memories.
The more he looked, the more he realized his past reactions—getting frustrated with Bruce's relationships, feeling disappointed that Bruce didn't want a partner, finding random things about him endearing—weren't exactly "straight."
Sure, it hadn't been romantic love straight away. But attraction?
Yeah. Definitely.
His own heteronormative thinking had chalked it up to him being particularly fond of Bruce. And could anyone blame him? Batman had been the coolest person Clark had ever met before AND after they exchanged contact info.
It was natural for him to be so fascinated with Bruce that he never stopped to process and understand.
He had now, though.
And boy, was he down bad.
It was like a fog cleared in his mind, and suddenly everything Bruce did seemed ten times more amazing; Clark simply could not look away.
If he encountered news about Batman in the newspapers, he cut them out and added them to a scrapbook. If there was a Wayne event, Reporter Kent volunteered to cover it just to catch a glimpse of the man in his handsome business attire (of course, his articles would remain top-notch and professional; his job was on the line, after all). At his other job, Clark made sure he was the first to arrive at JL meetings to impress Batman. He was the one who listened most attentively when Bruce spoke and the last to leave, only following B's dark silhouette. Batman called for reinforcements? Superman would be there faster than a rooster could crow.
Admittedly, the intensity of his feelings scared him a little, but he was a man with a newly found purpose. Was he still sad about his lack of a soulmark? Yes. Did the knowledge of Bruce's own freak him out? Embarrassingly so. The only thing stopping him from having another breakdown was the reminder of Bruce's distaste for destiny (or love in general). He was slightly comforted by the fact that his imaginary competition with Bruce's soulmate would be tight, because the man wanted them both as far away from him as possible when it came to romance.
But Bruce had told him he was special and lovely (maybe not the last one). And if Bruce said it, then that meant Clark had a positive opinion to work with. A way into his heart. He had to give it a try.
So, he decided, he was wooing Bruce.
How?
He still had to figure that one out.
"B, the truck is speeding through Roosevelt Avenue." Red Robin's voice informed through the comms. He was following the escaped group of Scarecrow henchmen on his motorbike, while Batman and Robin were in the Batmobile, driving through a different path.
"We'll intercept them in Lincoln Street."
Batman stepped on the car's accelerator as he skillfully dodged Gotham's traffic. The lights flashed dizzingly fast through his peripheral vision, but he was used to it, to the streets and the craziness that resided in them. He knew the place like the palm of his hand.
The tall buildings of the city made it feel like it was swallowing you whole. Some people even believed Gotham was alive. Bruce could get behind that. After all, Gotham was his true love. The object of his devotion.
Which is why he wouldn't let an insane criminal drown it in a cloud of terror.
"Oracle, Robin and I will soon make contact with the vehicle carrying the fear gas. We'll get them on the docks. What's the ETA on the GCPD?"
"They'll be there in fifteen minutes."
"Damn it!" Tim's yells startled them. "They changed routes. The truck broke through the blockades on Kane Tunnel." They hadn't considered it an option. The path had been closed for restoration work, but it didn't sound like a problem for criminal minds.
Bruce revised Gotham's maps in his head. They were trying to run away from the city through Vincefinkel Bridge. If that shipment got out of the city, it would be enough to terrorize the whole country.
"Hold tight, Robin." He swivelled the steering wheel abruptly, getting a few aggressive honks in the process. Fair.
They passed by Gotham's Superior Courthouse, ten minutes away from the bridge. Hopefully there was enough time.
"Batman, traffic has been effectively stopped from going on the bridge."
"We're on the bridge on standby. We'll stop them as soon as we see them."
As soon as he muttered the words, the vehicle approached them at high speed. Batman launched the harpoon so they couldn't back up and escape once more. But that was not what they had in mind.
The henchmen drove faster, launching the car off the bridge. It smashed through the barrier, scattering concrete across the street before plummeting toward the abyss below. A fittingly dramatic move for the subordinates of a deranged, failed psychologist turned supervillain.
Batman put the Batmobile in reverse and ignited the afterburner to keep them from being dragged into the Gotham River. If the truck crashed into the water, they risked contaminating it. And given the number of tanks inside it, the gas would rise in a cloud over Gotham, sending the city into a panic.
The vehicle shook.
"Father, it's not working," hissed Damian from the passenger side.
With a final sputter, the afterburner died. The truck remained suspended, a dead weight they could no longer lift.
"Robin, exit the car and call Nightwing."
"No. I can help."
"You can by listening to my orders."
"But fat–"
"Damian! Out, now!" If his plans didn't work, his son wasn't going to be dragged down with him.
He saw a familiar red and blue blur fly by.
Suddenly, the pull on the Batmobile ceased. Batman watched the tension release from the line attached to the truck, and a moment later, the vehicle reappeared on the horizon from which it had launched itself.
Superman's beaming smile greeted them while he carried the machine as if it weighed nothing. As soon as the wheels touched ground, he froze the handles on the doors so the evil underlings inside could not escape. With it being a security van, they couldn't shoot their way out either.
"Fugitives apprehended," Batman said over the radio, an angry vein jumping on his forehead. "Tell the GCPD they can approach with caution."
He was this close to pulling out the kryptonite fragment he kept on his belt.
If Clark Kent showed up on one more patrol of his, he was going to start lining his suit with the stuff. They had a deal: Batman handled Gotham (and surrounding territories), and Superman watched over Metropolis. Any collaboration required careful discussion beforehand. So why did this overgrown Boy Scout keep randomly appearing during active car chases and drug busts Batman and his team were already working on?
It was getting on his nerves.
The GCPD was now rounding up Scarecrow's men and putting them in handcuffs. They had arrived on the scene fifteen minutes after Clark's appearance, delayed by the traffic jam leading to the bridge. The moment he finished briefing the officers, Bruce stalked over to Clark.
"I work alone," he told Clark.
The man had the gall to look in Damian's direction.
"Tt. We had it under control. You were not needed in this operation." The boy hissed. Bruce was kind of surprised at his son's sudden animosity, but he let it slide. "Return to your city at once."
"Long time no see, Robin." Clark smiled.
"And yet, Nightwing, Red Hood, and Red Robin can't seem to be able to get rid of you. Begone, now, before I force you to," and he lifted up his sword.
To Clark's merit, he merely spared an amused glance to the child.
"Robin, stand down." Bruce ordered.
"I have to protect Batman."
Charming, but not the time to dwell on the boy's particular display of affection.
"Superman is not a threat, Robin," he tried again, putting a hand gently on the weapon.
"They said he was 'after your ass', that must be code for elimination." Damian spat, and both Bruce and Clark choked on air at his words. "Get behind me. I'll eradicate this fiend."
"You can't."
"I know how to." Oh, he bet he did.
"NO."
The child tsked and walked away. Damian was getting better at obeying these days, it had been hard but rewarding work. Bruce would have to keep a closer eye on what his brothers taught him, though. He returned his attention to the man in front of him, deciding to leave that for another day. There were more pressing matters at hand than questioning the bad influence that were his kids.
"You've been trespassing. Why?" he growled. Clark gave him a cheery smile.
"I wanted to do something nice for you."
"Interfering with my cases is not nice."
"But working together is more fun, and I'm very useful to have around. I'm good at taking orders, especially yours."
Sometimes, looking at Clark felt like staring straight into the sun—dazzling, brilliant, and utterly overwhelming. His blinding optimism was both irritating and refreshing. But Bruce's patience was wearing thin. He had tried being the bigger person. It had been a month since Clark's... episode, and Bruce had, for the most part, been civil.
Of course, he'd also used his leadership role to strategically assign Superman in the opposite direction to his own whenever possible during League operations. Bruce didn't need a distraction when his life was on the line.
But other than that, he had behaved.
"You have your own city, Superman. Are you abandoning Metropolis to come play hero in an already protected town?"
If he had to be meaner to get this precious face out of his sight so that his heart could finally settle down, then so be it. Clark's expression crumpled at his words.
"I just wanted to help…" he whispered.
"Because you're after my ass?" Maybe that one was a little too mean.
Superman was not saying anything, though. He was actually blushing.
"Those are… rather crude terms. Not exactly. But, I would like to hang out? Off duty, I mean. I was hoping you'd invite me, but I'm okay being proactive on this," Clark blurted, red from head to (probably, since he was in suit and it didn't show) toe.
Bruce froze on the spot.
Then he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Superman..." he began, his voice heavy with disapproval.
"I know! I know you said to put a pin on it. And I wanted to respect that, but I can't stop thinking about it," he tripped over his words.
The police had finished their work, and they were now the only people on the closed-off street. The road was effectively closed up until the city got rid of the debris. The silence felt immense.
"I can't stop thinking about you."
Maybe Crane had actually succeeded, and this was all Bruce's nightmare. He clenched his teeth, waiting for the dark turn to happen, for the toxin to twist his deepest fantasy into an emotional scar that he would never recuperate from, and leave him in a terrible mood for days. Instead, he got Superman making puppy eyes at him. Ridiculous.
"B? Are you alright?"
"Is this a joke to you?"
Clark's eyes became saucers. "What? No! This is serious business! As serious as fighting Brainiac!"
"You want a date."
"Yes." Clark nodded, face hopeful and filled with want.
"Over a random kiss?"
"Over the realization that you're great and I liked you more than I thought." Clark corrected, lifting up a finger. "Snowballed by that kiss, yes."
If someone had told Bruce that morning that he would be semi-confessed to by the guy he had carried a torch for for years, he'd throw them in Arkham, no questions asked. But the man's face looked sincere.
"I thought you were straight."
"I thought so too."
"You've only ever been interested in women. You are straight."
"The internet says 'So is spaghetti until it gets wet'."
Bruce groaned, slightly disgusted (internally entertained).
"You are a professional reporter relying on internet meme knowledge to establish your argument."
"It is my duty to be informed of the happenings in the world. Earthly and digital."
"Forget about it. There will be no hanging out."
"B~" Clark whined, lifting a hand to hold onto Bruce's arm.
"Would you kiss already!" A voice yelled from the distance.
From the roof of a low-rise building overlooking the scene, Dick and Stephanie started whistling and catcalling. Tim and Duke were putting all their effort into holding Damian back without getting injured by his swinging sword, while Jason and Cassandra simply covered their faces in shame, seeing their father's awkward game of flirtation.
They were all grounded.
Bruce rubbed his temples, sensing an increasingly painful headache settling in. This whole business with Clark wasn't just affecting his mental stability; it was now starting to rob him of sleep. Without his consent, his mind replayed images of Clark’s gentle smile, the way his hair sparkled in the sun, the comforting weight of his hands, and the breathtaking sapphire blue of his eyes.
It was unnecessary to say he hadn't been sleeping well because he was trying to distract himself from the spiral of doom that was his adoration for Clark. Nothing good would come out of indulging in the fantasies. He had surrendered the field before the battle could even begin.
What he hadn't accounted for was Clark's refusal to accept his surrender.
"Just one night. Whenever you choose." He leaned in slightly, whispering the last, hopeful bit: "Though hopefully soon."
The blood rushed to Bruce's head. Was he blushing, or was he having an aneurysm? Inconclusive.
"Just one date, and then you'll let it be?"
Clark bit his lip. Even when it could benefit him, he would not lie.
"One night, with an open mind, to understand what's happening between us and what we can do about it."
Bruce started to protest. "There's nothing bet-"
"Ah-ah!" Clark put a finger against his lips, effectively silencing him. Bruce was momentarily paralyzed by the feeling. He continued, “Open-minded, ok?”
One tick, two ticks.
“Okay.” Bruce accepted.
Notes:
Guys, you don't know how much I had to hold back from putting 'bat' in front of everything during the chase scene XD
The batharpoon
The bataccelerator
The batcomms
I was STRUGGLINGGGG
Pat me on the back, please <3
Chapter 3
Notes:
Sorry for the delay, I had a horrible week 三三ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ Thankfully, in times of crisis, we have Superbat~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
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.
Notes:
Only Clark is pure enough to excuse the hot mess that is Lilly Moscovitz from Princess Diaries (｡>﹏<) We love a man who sees the best in everyone <3
Happy date time didn’t last, sorry guys _:(´ཀ`」 ∠): Sad puppy Clark time, let's go! (>᎑<๑)/♡
Chapter 4
Notes:
Guys, I overestimated my planning skills (｡•́︿•̀｡) I knew Ao3 loads quite easily at any Wi-Fi strength... but the platform I use to write my stuff (Ellipsus–because I don't trust Word anymore. Fuck AI) does not!
JA!
So the 4th Chapter was held hostage by my weak ass Wi-Fi during the weekend trip I had with my family to a small town (ó﹏ò｡) I was so confident in uploading on Friday! Ugh, next time I'll save it as a draft here... we live and we learn lol
But hey, at least this makes for a nice treat at the start of the week, I hope?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The aftermath of Bruce walking away wasn't nice. It was petty, filled with scornful glances and imperceptible frowns.
In Clark's case, it was another pathetic, one-sided game of wild goose chase, one he could never win against a master of escapism like Bruce. Not even his messages were going through; no matter how many times he checked, they were left unread.
B, can we talk?
Bruce
Bruce, dont be like this
(17) Calls — Rejected
B
B, please talk to me
Bruce please
The stubborn man never deigned to give him an answer.
At first, he tried to look at the bright side. Would it be too mean for Clark to admit to being a little bit happy about the idea that Bruce could be pouting because he was jealous about his soulmate?
Clark knew for a fact that they cared for each other. You don't spend years beside someone without learning to read them, to identify their patterns, their ticks. He knew Bruce like the palm of his hand, on a level no one else could. There were years of carefully laid bricks that got them to this level of familiarity. Clark could pick up the sound of his heartbeat from kilometers away, he could hear his whispers between millions, and know how he would move next in the middle of a battle without the man having to give instructions out loud.
It's how close they've come to be, to be point of calling each other best friends, that allowed Clark to see just how much his presence affected Bruce during those days they were bassking in the excitement of their new type of relationship. No one else could see how much his pupils dilated at the sight of Clark, or how he shifted his body weight to be closer to him; and if they were not standing next to each other already, Bruce would skillfully find his way to his side. It inflated his ego immensely, but he wouldn't gloat.
Sadly, his positive attitude didn't last long. On the other hand, them being tight was a double-edged sword, because he could also see how much Bruce did not want to be around him at the moment.
If Clark thought he had dealt with an evasive Batman before, boy was he wrong. The version he was dealing with now would make him think Bruce was a figment of his imagination. He even checked his clothes for a micro-tracker, in case that was how the man was managing to elude him. Was he sheltered in a lead bunker? Had he left the planet just so he didn't have to sit down and talk with Clark?
The only thing stoping him from doing a universe-wide search was the fact that their teammates talked about their dealings with the Bat constantly, and that the news continued reporting on Batman's prowess on the TV and in the papers, other than that, the man practically didn't exist. Clark would give it to Bruce: he was competent, even in the middle of a personal crisis. Saving the day while avoiding Superman—that was no easy feat.
By the first week of silence, Clark was tired and frustrated. And he hated feeling like it, but he was angry too. At him for his stupid honesty that made him reveal the mark to Bruce. At Destiny, for playing genie wishes on him, with the "be careful what you wish for" nonsense. At Bruce, for leaving him behind.
Mostly at Bruce, as of lately. Clark was particularly vexed by his reluctance to talk things out. The selfishness, the way he had walked out on him while he begged for a chance, as if Clark's opinions and wishes meant nothing, as if they meant nothing.
He didn't want to talk? Okay then, they wouldn't. Not even when Bruce couldn't hide anymore and showed his face in Star City for a team-up with Green Arrow, Black Canary and Wonder Woman to hamper InterGang's attempt to take over Star Labs latest research on Almeraci weaponry; not when the League celebrated J'on's Earth birthday (the day he had come to the planet) and they had to fake-smile for the pictures; nor when Clark was put in charge of the Wayne Charity Gala due to his previous enthusiasm for the company's events. Thankfully, Cat Grant had also been there, and she took over the interview part with CEO Bruce Wayne while Clark pretended to take notes.
On the surface, they looked normal, or at least there were no comments on their behaviour so far, but the cracks were there, waiting for the final tap to shatter the façade.
He hated every minute of it all.
Every day he left his apartment and looked around. Now he shared another feature with the people around, pulling him closer to humanity, just like he had wanted once. His body now carried a soulmark, but Clark's future looked bleak.
He always worried that his partner's human soulmate would be the biggest issue in a relationship; his brain couldn't wrap around the idea that it would be his mark the one to ruin his chances at happiness. Oh, the irony.
What he had come to accept was that what he had desired for was an honest, deep connection with someone. And yes, usually a soulmark meant that. But the affection he felt for Bruce? He couldn't imagine his feelings for a stranger matching them.
How could you come even close to the familiary and comfort, to the unspoken understanding between them?
If he didn't know the skin would regenerate as new, he would heat-vision the stupid thing away. Maybe he could guilt-trip Bruce into staying with him if the mark was no longer and he was injured because of it if he just ripped the piece of meat out of his abdomen with Kryptonite or something.
But no, that would be a horrible thing to do. He wanted Bruce to want to be with him, to choose him, not to feel obligated to stand beside him.
By the second week of silence, Clark was dissappointed and heartbroken.
He stayed at the Fortress for days, running all imaginable tests on the mark, trying to get a sense of what was going on.
It was a dead end too. There were no records of a mark similar to this one across the Kryptonian database. Some other alien species, when choosing mates, had preferences for sounds, some emitted pheromones to attract a partner, others reacted to chromatic displays; but at the end of the day, it was all random and subjective for each individual, nothing quite like the way soulmates operated for humans.
According to the system, he was still 100% kryptionian. Jor-El was confused too about the manifestation of a human trait in his body and couldn't provide an explanation.
His next stop was not one where he would find clarity, but comfort.
"Hi, Ma," he smiled softly, walking into the kitchen to the sight of Martha Kent making blueberry muffins.
"Welcome back, honey!" She exclaimed and ran in his direction to give him a hug. "You didn't say you were visiting."
"It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing."
Martha wouldn't be convinced by his pretend nonchalance, though.
"You look sad, sweetheart," she gently murmured, and then it all came crashing down.
No amount of strength or restraint was enough to keep him from crying in front of his mother, especially as disoriented and hurt as he was. He told her everything: about his feelings of alienation during childhood, the despair of being all alone in the universe, the sudden affection he developed for a man (the reaction was surprisingly tame for this one), the confusion at the appearance of the soulmark, and the fear of losing Bruce forever if he didn't find a way to convince him to trust in him and not the mystical force that was pulling them apart.
"He saw the mark and bolted," Clark wailed. They were sitting in his parent's living room with Jonathan, who had arrived home to his crying son and almost had a heart attack. "I haven't been able to even get a word out before he dissapears. He possesses a remarkable skill for directing the flow of conversation and strategically escaping from what he thinks are unfavorable circumstances."
Martha ran her hand through her son's hair. "And why do you think that is, sweetheart?"
"That he's good at avoiding me?"
"That he wants to avoid you, or that he feels that he has no other choice but to do so."
Clark sighed, "Well, he once mentioned not wanting a steady partner because he was afraid to lose them like he had already lost someone special to him before. But I'm fine, invulnerable. And I told him that I liked him and wouldn't leave, that I didn't care about the soulmark."
"And do you?" asked Jonathan this time. "Clark, we know you always were a very romantic fellow, and that your heart was broken when you learned soulmates were exclusively a human thing. We get it, really. I've always been thankful to have found your mother." He looked up and smiled at his wife, fondly. "You used to talk about how you would find a partner of your own. And now you have that chance. Are you sure you're okay with letting the dream go?"
It made sense for them to question his resolve. After all, he had genuinely lamented his mate-less existence for quite some time—and in front of Bruce, no less. But now, there were no doubts in his mind.
"I did find him, Dad. He is my dream. Soulmate or not," he finally said.
"All right," Martha accepted. "And that's fair. But don't you think that this could be a factor in why he's taking a step back? Maybe he's worried about what he would be taking from you, rather than what he could offer you."
"There's nothing to worry about. He's perfect." Clark’s brow knitted in confusion.
"And does he believe that?"
He hesitated, thinking of Bruce's blatant disregard for his own well-being and his warped sense of self-worth. "Br– He's… a little insecure. Thinks too little of himself. Never understood why. He's the best person I've ever met, apart from you guys." He grabbed his parents' hands. "But he only ever sees the worst when looking in the mirror."
"It seems to me like you've got your work cut out for you."
"Yeah."
"So you have to put in extra effort to make it work, son." Jonathan patted him on the back. "Great things only come with great effort."
"If he's not able to see his own worth, then you have to show him, honey. You like this boy, yes?" Clark nodded. "Then make sure he knows that. If he's feeling down, help him back up. If he doubts, reassure him. If he pulls, don't push, chase, and sit beside him. Be patient, but confident. So that he knows you're exactly where you want to be, and you won't be going anywhere."
"You think I can pull it off?"
Jonathan caught him in his arms. The same large arms that used to engulf him when he was a child, but now could barely cover his imposing figure.
"Of course! Our boy can do anything he sets his mind on."
He'd better live up to his parents' idea of him.
The Earth was not having a great month.
It turned out the raid on Star Labs they had stopped was not the only target InterGang had their sights on. LuthorCorp was going to have a lot to explain later when the authorities questioned why the company was stashing alien technology without the proper legal documentation or even reporting it to the government.
For now, however, they had to focus on recovering the weapons that had already been acquired. The problem was that these lunatics had somehow allied themselves with the Lords of Chaos—a group of magical entities who seek to spread discord and anarchy across the universe. They certainly seemed to be putting in the effort to accomplish that goal. The dangerous fusion of technology and magic had the Justice League calling in Zatanna and Doctor Fate to support Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Flash, Superman, and Batman, who were struggling against their opponents' mystical abilities.
Bruce, in particular, hated magic.
Or more than "hated", it annoyed him greatly to deal with it and its unpredictable outcomes. Working with magical allies, he was forced to recognize its existence, but he wouldn't say he trusted it. What couldn't be explained through science was outside of his set of skills, and he hated being left in the dark.
The air of Metropolis screeched with energy as the battle continued. There were around fifty members of the dark alliance, armed and ready to reduce the place to ashes.
Batman saw Wonder Woman take on a guy in a mechasuit and tear the machine apart with her bare hands, only to draw her sword and move right on to another group. Green Lantern hovered ahead of her, his willpower manifesting as a massive, shimmering green gauntlet that crushed his opponents, incapacitating them.
A blur of crimson lightning zig-zagged through the mayhem as Flash ran across the streets, punching as many people as he could. Even if it didn't neutralize them, it at least drew their attention away from the others. He proceeded to run in circles, dragging a bunch of them into a man-made tornado and sending them crashing into each other mid-air.
Simultaneously, Zatanna floated above the scene, her stage magician's elegance a stark contrast to the ugliness below. She saw a cultist about to fire a beam that would turn the ground into lava and pointed a defiant finger.
"Dniw dloc wolb!" she chanted, freezing a couple of figures along the way.
It was chaos.
He himself was fighting a guy in Apokoliptian armor, right after knocking out a caped figure before they could finish summoning who-knows-what. The sensory overload was too much, even for him. Maybe that was why he failed to see the huge cannon being aimed in his direction. He couldn't identify the technology, nor predict its effects.
"Batman, watch out!"
It was too late.
In the stretched seconds of a slow-motion nightmare, Bruce saw the trigger depress. A beam of yellow energy lanced toward him, and a cold, certain knowledge settled in his gut: he couldn't move fast enough to avoid it.
In a blur of primary colors, Superman threw himself in front of Batman, shielding him an instant before the blast slammed into his chest.
NO, Bruce wanted to yell.
The hit made Superman take a few steps back, a little disoriented. Batman threw a bomb that sent the attacker flying, hopefully taking him out of the fight.
Using his heat vision, Clark blew up the majority of the guns he could set his eyes on, and waited. The ray had not burned his skin; it bypassed it. Thinking his invulnerable body was safe, he turned to check on Bruce.
Then he collapsed.
Clark did not feel a wound. He felt a void. And then fire. His body twisted and churned. A scream tore from his throat. His limbs were paralyzed; he was dizzy; his heart was overworking yet his lungs refused to breathe. He wondered if he was being pulled apart. It was pain like he had never known before.
For the first time, his body understood true mortality.
He passed out.
Batman caught the unconscious man mid-fall. "Superman! Hey, listen to my voice. Can you hear me?" His frantic screams broke through the street and caught one of his team member's attention.
Doctor Fate sent ten or something more of the caped figures to an interdimensional jail and floated in their direction.
"Superman, open your eyes." A cold wave of dread washed over him, seeing the man did not react to his words. He shifted his attention to Doctor Fate. "We need to get to the Javelin and get him out of here."
"There is no time." Doctor Fate announced. The helmet began to glow, emitting rays from the eye sockets. A light wrapped around Batman and Superman, and suddenly they were in the Watchtower's infirmary.
Batman sprang into action, turning up the scans to monitor Superman's status. He was getting paler by the second, and his skin felt cold where Bruce touched him. The data came out, and it was not looking good, either. The laser he wass hit with was some type of cellular disruptor, emitting a beam of high-frequency, meta-photonic radiation. This created a microscopic, contained energy surge that literally caused cells to tear themselves apart from the inside out, faster than Superman's body could regenerate. Without a high dosage of yellow solar energy, it would be fatal. Doctor Fate was manipulating energy to keep him alive, but it wouldn't be enough.
Jumping to set up the solar lamps, Bruce set the machine to its maximum power output and shone them towards Clark on the stretcher. He could try to inject some of the League's special alien medicine into Clark's bloodstream to help speed up the process, but that would require a Kryptonite needle to penetrate his skin, and Bruce wasn't sure his body would withstand it at that moment.
The wait was the worst. Bruce paced in front of the monitors, analyzing every reading for a sign of deterioration or improvement. He hated not being able to do anything. If there was a burn, he could sanitize the wound and cover it; with a stab, he could stitch it up; a broken bone, he could help reset and immobilize it. But in this case, the only thing he could do was stay and observe.
Diana contacted them forty minutes later. They had finished apprehending the villains, but they wouldn't be able to return yet. There was a lot of cleanup to do. But she asked about Superman's status, and Bruce could only tell her that he was alive, all while trying his best not to let it show that he was dying inside.
Before leaving to deal with the agents of the Lords of Chaos he had captured, Doctor Fate turned to Bruce and sang in his annoyingly numinous voice, "You cannot run away from what is written in the stars, Batman, especially when they have been rearranged so gently to your benefit."
Bruce really hated magic.
When Clark opened his eyes, an intense beam of light hit him square in the face. It took him a moment to adjust, but he recognized the replica of the Kryptonian Regeneration Matrix he had installed in the Watchtower for emergencies. Thank the gods for his foresight. What surprised him most wasn't that he was alive, but that the person sitting vigil beside him was the one he most wanted to see. They were alone in the medbay; Batman had likely sent the other League members away to deal with the aftermath of the battle.
"Br–" he coughed. His airways were dry, as if he had not had a drop of liquid in a month. The reaction made him hurt all over.
"Here, drink some water." A cup appeared in front of him, but he couldn't muster the energy to grab it.
They really got him good, wow. Even if he didn't succumb to the cannon's effect, it had clearly drained him. Seeing his struggle, Bruce brought the glass closer to his lips and fed it to him slowly so that he wouldn't choke. There was no emotion in his face.
"Thanks." Clark whispered, sensing the upcoming talk would be difficult.
"You were unconscious for eight hours." Bruce informed him, voice even. "It will probably be another day before you're at full capacity."
"Great."
"You almost died."
"I know."
"You put yourself at risk by getting in front of that laser."
"I did."
"That was stupid."
"That was necessary." Clark corrected.
"It was certainly not. If Doctor Fate had not teleported us here, your organs would have shut down. Your cells were dying at an accelerated rate. You wouldn't have survived the trip."
Clark could see his nostrils flare.
"If I hadn't done that, you'd have been evaporated immediately," Clark declared, as a matter of fact. He felt bad for making his team worry, but now he was certain he would probably be the only one with a chance of surviving that weapon. Bruce unquestionably wouldn't have. "Would you not have done the same for me?"
Fiery anger flashed in Bruce's eyes, a stark contrast to the rigid control of his jaw.
Don't say it.
"You collapsed in my arms, Clark." Bruce ground his teeth.
For that, Clark was actually sorry. He could only imagine how he would feel if it had been Bruce the one that was lying on the bed.
"I couldn't let you be the one to take the hit, Bruce," he confessed, voice breaking along the way. "I'd rather it be me, taking the heavy punches."
I can't say it.
"The others were at risk too."
"But you're the one I need to live the most."
"In exchange for your own life?"
Clark tilted his head, looking at Bruce with an accusatory brow. "Are you really in a position to criticize others for self-sacrifice?"
It will ruin everything, don't say it.
But he couldn't stop it.
Bruce growled, words spilling out, “This is precisely why I didn’t want to care.”
Clark watched as Bruce's composure shattered, his face crumbling into a mask of pain. Despite the fog of his weakened state, Clark gathered every ounce of his strength to lift his hand and grasp Bruce's trembling one.
"But you do care, Bruce, in the same way I care about you. At least that's what I want to think."
Bruce tried to even his breathing once more. Control was slipping out of his hands and he didn't know how to rein it back. He was lost.
"You have a soulmate."
"And I wish them the best. I already decided you are the one for me." Clark declared, forestalling whatever protest Bruce was about to make.
He took this chance to gently run his thumb around Bruce's hand and examine him. There was a bruise forming on his cheek, and blood had crusted around his nose. Hopefully, it wasn't broken. Clark used his x-ray vision, even if he felt like it was splitting his head in half to focus his eyes on the skill, and confirmed that this time they had managed to flee the battlefield before the man had managed to break a bone. Good. Overall, his condition was better than he expected, considering the overwhelming amount of enemies and their abilities. And yet, Bruce's features contorted in anguish as he looked away from Clark. The issue with his soulmate still floated in the air, and for someone who claimed to not care for destiny, he really was fixated on Clark's, to the point it caused him pain. Bruce was such an enigma.
"I can't ignore my mark, but you can ignore yours?"
Bruce finally exploded, “This isn’t about me. It’s about you being impulsive and thoughtless. You react like a beast to the slightest provocation without considering what comes next. Our entire world turned upside down because you fell for me after one kiss. You want me to believe that? I’m not blind. I know what and how I am! It doesn’t make sense. Then you get a soulmark, the same one you were crying about not having days ago, and suddenly you dislike the idea? How can I trust your fickle mind and poor judgment?” he jerked his hand back.
His inner demons were rising to the surface again. Backed into a corner, Bruce reacted with desperate fury. The words came out harsher than he intended. He needed to pull away, to collect himself before his temper got the better of him, before he showed his true, ugly face, and crossed a point of no return.
"I like you for the man you are, Bruce. Not despite the monster you believe yourself to be."
Bruce's breath hitched as he squeezed his eyes shut and replayed the memory of Clark's lifeless body on the ground in his mind.
"I don't know if I can do this, Clark."
This being opening his life to yet another person that could become his weakness. Not only that, the recent turn of events proved that he would be Superman's Achilles' heel, his second Kryptonite. Bruce felt a deep weariness, not of the body, but of the spirit. Could they be the heroes the world needed them to be if they constantly were concerned about each other?
His relationships with his own family were still shaky—a telling sign of his struggles to connect with anyone. What if Bruce messed up? He was twisted. People grew tired of him and his obsessive habits. He was still mourning the loss of his parents, had nearly lost his mind after Jason's death, and lived in a state of constant dread over his kids' nightly patrols. Though Clark was the most powerful being on Earth, he could still be killed. For a human like Bruce, the world presented a thousand more lethal possibilities every day. The worry would never cease on either side.
A pressure was building behind his eyes. Bruce just couldn't see a way for them to work.
"Then let me show you it's possible." Clark lifted his hand to cup Bruce's jaw. He continued once the man met his gaze, "We can be our biggest strenght, if you let us be. If you cannot trust yourself, trust me."
And Bruce wanted to, so desperately.
Clark's eyes glistened with unshed tears, full with hope once more. Pleading. Relentless.
Still.
Bruce walked away.
Once more.
Away from the pain and the fear. Away from what he thought was an unreachable picture of the future, from dreams he never expected to come true. Away from the man that carried the same mark as he did.
Notes:
Bruce's hand: [exists]
Clark: It's free real state
Sorry the sad times are not over yet XD Please forgive Bruce's dramatic emo phase, he's just a stubborn child ૮₍˶Ó﹏Ò ⑅₎ა Also, if you could ignore my mumbo jumbo on the laser's effect? I don't know if the physics make sense, I studied literature lol so all we need to know is "Laser go boom, Clark go ouch"
Good thing is, I learned a new word with this chapter: numinous. Me quite like.
Chapter 5
Notes:
I'm sick ( ´ཀ` ) My brain is not braining. But I've come to put y'all of our misery XD
Enjoy and let me know what you think~ (๑>•̀๑)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
If he wasn't such a coward, he'd be in Clark's embrace, hearing childhood stories and dissecting movie characters while sipping on whatever cheap drink Clark found on the way to Bruce's home. Instead, he was hunkered down in the Batcave, security system at maximum level, and not returning anyone's calls.
He needed to think.
For two days, he'd managed to keep Clark off his back by lying about the Joker breaking out of Arkham Asylum.
"Nothing appeared on the news because Gordon didn't want panic to spread in the city", he had invented. The man had offered to help and was quickly dismissed. "We can handle it", he had added, earning a confused look from Tim, who was with him in the car.
To his luck, Arthur had requested backup with a Trencher invasion on Atlantis, and Superman, who had no need for breathing, was the perfect candidate.
"I thought things were going well with Clark?"
His security system, of course, didn't work against his kids. Dick leaned against the console of the Batcomputer and crossed his arms. He was wearing regular clothes instead of the vigilante suit, so he had come specifically to demand an explanation.
"They were."
"But?"
Bruce's mouth snapped shut, making his son groan.
"Why are you the way you are?"
"Are pop culture references appropriate for interrogation? I taught you better than that. It is a nice show, though."
"Don't try to distract me with my love for good TV." Dick squinted his eyes.
"Low-hanging fruit."
"Bruce, tell me?" he pleaded instead.
Bruce let out a sigh, sitting back on the chair.
"He has a soulmark," he confessed.
"What? HOW?" 'Surprised' wasn't enough to describe Dick's reaction.
Bruce gave a shrug, a transparent act of indifference they both saw through. He cared deeply, not just because the issue challenged their very concept of humanity and threatened to change the world, but because it involved the man who had charmed him.
"Well, you can't let that get between you guys. The soulmate thing has never bothered you, either." Dick argued, flaunting his hand around. "Does he know who it is?"
"He doesn't–"
"Then let it slide! There are tons of people who are not with their soulmates! I'm not either."
"–But I do."
Dick frowned, grabbing the secondary chair and letting himself fall into it, his gaze fixed intently on his father. "Explain."
"His soulmate. I know who it is." Bruce declared, as he rubbed his temples. The whole situation was giving him a headache, a problem his poor diet and lack of sleep would only magnify. Alfred would surely dose him with something later to get him to rest, which was its own kind of headache in the making.
"Do share with the class."
Bruce's response was a silent, stubborn tilt of his head. He stared at his son until understanding settled on his expression.
"You are his soulmate," he sang out, not bothering to hide his amusement. "This is insane! I have to tell the guys."
"No, you're not telling anyone. Sit down." Not taking any chances, Bruce also quickly confiscated Dick's phone.
Dick exploded in laughter, "Oh, this is gold. You've been pining for years, and you're destined to be together? This has got to be a book. It's so good!" The slaps on his legs as he fought for breath were an overkill, Bruce thought. The fun stopped abruptly. "But then how come you haven't told him?"
"I panicked when I saw his mark. Told him we should take a break, kind of, while we figure out why it showed up."
"You broke up with your boyfriend over being his other half?" Dick fixed Bruce with a pointed stare. "Bruce, tell me this isn't you refusing to commit, again."
But it was, he just wouldn't say it out loud.
The truth of it all was that, when this all started, Bruce was convinced Clark would get bored at some point after dallying around with him and eventually ditch him. Instead, what he had gotten was an improbable semi-betrothal, and he was freaking out. His fight or flight response activated, and before he could think it through, he'd already blurted out the worst combo for a sensitive soul like Clark's. Just remembering the broken look on his face made Bruce wince. He really had messed things up that time.
He had considered just keeping the mark a secret for life. After all, Clark seemingly couldn't tell they shared the connection, and Bruce had managed to never show his in all their years of friendship. What was a few decades more?
And then, Clark had taken a shot for him. The panic he experienced over Clark almost dying made his fear even worse, leading to admitting to his interest in Clark and yet another crashout. Collected as the Bat was in the face of lethal peril, it was the matters of the heart that managed to reduce him to his most pathetic self. It was no surprise that his own son pitied him.
"It isn't healthy, we have told you that."
"I know. I didn't mean to handle the situation so poorly," he groaned, burying his head in his hands.
"You are deserving of love. You are capable of love. We are all testament to that. Your kids, Alfred, Barbara, Kate, we adore you. And we want you to be happy."
The burn of his throat threatened to unleash a sob. He was then engulfed by Dick's comforting hug.
"There is no need to run away. You can work this out together, that's how relationships work. They can be complicated, but they're not scary." He continued, ignoring the shake on Bruce's shoulders.
How do you tell your partner that you are their soulmate right after breaking up your relationship, running away from them on multiple heart-wrenching occasions despite their pleas, and sending them to a semi-war under the seas just so that you didn't have to see their face?
For all the money he had at his disposal, Bruce didn't think there was anything he could buy Clark to make up for it. None of the gift cards at the supermarket quite fit the scenario either, which was a terrible reflection of their repertoire.
Objectively, he knew that the best course of action would be to just pick up the phone and call Clark so they could have a talk, but see, Bruce Wayne was very gifted in a lot of fields: emotional intelligence just was not one of them. He was very pleasantly surprised that he had not raised his children to be bigger psychopaths than they already were. That, more than Clark's soulmark, was the real miracle.
While Bruce was whacking his head, wondering how he could best approach the subject with a man he had been actively avoiding for days, Clark decided to take the matter into his own hands and show up at the manor with a grandiose bouquet—a mix of daisies with other types of flowers—between his arms once again. Bruce could feel the ugly head of his panic raising up again.
"What are you doing?"
"I've come to the conclusion that if this soulmark thing bothers you so much, it is because I did not smother you in enough affection." A proud, confident smile spread across Clark's face."So here I am, on the first of my re-branded wooing attempts." He extended the flowers in his direction.
"Clark."
"Bruce."
"You're being difficult."
"Right back at you." He shot him a roguish wink.
Bruce didn't know whether to punch him or kiss him.
"Hello, Alfred!"
"Master Kent." Alfred greeted behind Bruce with a gentle smile. "What a delightful surprise. Will you be coming inside? The weather is not looking favorable, even for you."
Alfred was lying. The weather channel predicted a sunny day.
"I'd love to!" Clark exclaimed, jumping at the opportunity. Still, he had the decency to look at Bruce for permission before stepping in. "If that's okay with you?"
"… You can come in."
Clark practically vibrated with excitement. He placed his arms around Bruce, leaning to place a kiss on his cheek, and nudged him into the foyer, a hand still placed on his waist. Stunned as he was about the whole ordeal, Bruce could only let himself be guided around like a rag doll.
Luck was on Bruce's side for once, since none of his kids were present at the moment. It was daytime; they were either studying or working (or, in Jason's case, likely up to no good but somewhere else), and he was thankful for that. He could imagine Dick's smug smirk with no issue; there was no need to make it a reality.
The quiet click of the study door announced Alfred's departure, leaving them surrounded by the scent of old books and the simple lunch he had brought.
"What's your plan?" Bruce's jaw tightened, not knowing what to do now that they were alone. It hadn't gone well because of him last time.
"I told you. I'm putting all my effort into making you trust me."
"I heard that part. But how?"
Bruce's arms were locked tightly across his chest as he settled down on the velvety green chaise longue. Clark followed, sitting close enough to see the shadow of a beard on Bruce's jaw and the signs of fatigue tinting the skin around his eyes.
"By never giving up on you, no matter how hard you try to make me."
Neither of them spoke a word after that, opting to enjoy the brittle peace of their silence. For a moment, they could pretend nothing was wrong. Admittedly, Clark was still mad at Bruce for storming out of the Watchtower when he was still recuperating and couldn't chase after him.
But then, he remembered the want in Bruce's eyes back in the infirmary; he had seen the way his body reached for him right until fear took over. Bruce wasn't indifferent to him, he just had trouble with letting people in. So he had fled, much to Clark's disappointment.
Clark was fine with meeting him in the middle and giving the man some space to organize whatever nonsensical thoughts he was having—just enough so that he wouldn't think Clark had stopped trying. He was persistent and loyal; he'd work his way into Bruce's fortress one way or another.
"Don't push me away, Bruce," was all he asked.
Clark gave him a look that was both long-suffering and deeply fond. Bruce felt the fragile honesty in that voice like a physical blow, threatening to bring him to his knees.
There was really no point in fighting it, was there? The fear amounted to nothing when compared to the pain of seeing how much his rejection had hurt the one he claimed to love. No matter how much he preached about solitude, deep down he yearned for companionship—always had. And Clark looked so eager to offer his, so why was Bruce making it so difficult for both of them?
The irritation Bruce felt with himself must have been plain to see for others, because Clark shifted to face him on the sofa and cupped his face in his hand.
"Forget everything else. Just answer one question: do you like me?"
A sharp breath caught in Bruce's throat. He felt caged, alarms went out in his head, right until Clark's thumb feathered across his cheek.
"Tell me that, and I'll do anything you want," he whispered, softly, as you do when dealing with someone who is terribly scared.
Bruce remained frozen. Clark could hear the blood rushing through his veins, his heart thundering against his ribs. His eyes darted frantically, scanning the room. Was he looking for an escape route? Clark didn't know. The only thing that mattered was that Bruce stayed still, and that he wasn't trying to pull away.
"If you want to slow down, we can. If I'm doing too much, I'll tone it down. Just tell me what you need, Bruce, and I'll move heaven and earth at your request."
Timidly, he put a hand over Clark's. Bruce caressed Clark's skin, soothing them both as he made his decision. Whatever it was that he had been waiting for, he found it in Clark's eyes. His own gaze shifted, the fear in them melting into quiet determination.
He tugged their interlocked hands down, pulling Clark's body with the motion until they landed on his back. Clark's free arm shot out to regain balance, his hand planting firmly beside their heads so that he wouldn't crush Bruce under his weight. Not another word could be spoken before Bruce captured his lips in a searing kiss.
It was intense, raw, and divine. The clash of tongues, the soft breaths.
Bruce grabbed the front of Clark's shirt, pulling him closer and popping a few buttons in the process. Not that Clark cared; he gladly closed the remaining distance between them. He snaked an arm around Bruce's back to support him. For all the years he'd spent complaining about having to learn to control his strength, he was proud of himself for sticking to it, since it now allowed him to hold Bruce with just enough force to make him gasp but not enough to hurt him in his excited state.
A hand found its way through Clark's hair and tugged. It didn't hurt him, really, but the sensation, the possessiveness behind the gesture, made him let out a soft moan. He felt Bruce's smirk against his lips and then let go of his inhibitions as he deepened their kiss.
Suddenly he was flipped on the sofa, Bruce looking down on him as he sat on top of Clark's hips. Heat pooled at his stomach.
"Do you think there's anyone else who can make me like this?" Bruce growled, fervidly sliding his fingers across Clark's naked torso. "That I'd act this desperate…" he gasped, grinding against Clark's groin. "This eager to touch…" Another slide of his hips drew a whimper from Clark, who grabbed onto Bruce's waist. "This delighted at the prospect of going on dates with someone I had no feelings for?"
The movement was driving Clark crazy; he barely registered the words. He could only lie there, taking what Bruce gave him. Every slide, every movement—it was all calculated, as if Bruce knew exactly which buttons to push to make him shudder with pleasure.
"Bruce, please," he pleaded, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes at the overwhelming sensation.
"Please what?"
"Move faster, harder, please."
"Why don't you move, boy scout?" A devious smirk played on Bruce's lips. "Show me what you can do."
Clark complied, pushing up into Bruce's softness. Even through the fabric, the friction was maddening. Bruce's groans intensified, growing higher and breathier. He looked sinful on top of Clark, letting him manhandle his body, yet his gaze remained domineering, locked on Clark's eyes. Daring him to push further. A wave of exhilaration swept through Clark. He sat up, Bruce settled in his lap. He unfastened his own belt and pulled down the zipper. Bruce did the same, and then his hand closed around them both. Clark latched onto Bruce's mouth once more, biting, tugging, consuming him like a starving man. With one hand he cupped the back of Bruce's head; the other one slid down to squeeze Bruce's bottom, grinding them together. If he was drooling, he didn't notice and honestly didn't care. All his focus was on the feeling of Bruce.
Clark left one last peck on his lips before moving to Bruce's neck, sucking on the pale skin. The thought that the beautiful column would soon be littered with marks—his marks—filled him with a fierce sense of joy, and he redoubled his efforts. Bruce, however, pulled him away by the hair.
"Behave," he commanded. "Not too many. It's a hassle to cover them up."
Clark would give him the deed to his apartment if he asked him to at that moment. Instead, he continued licking and softly biting, drinking in the music of Bruce's raspy moans.
"Be a good boy for me, Clark. Come on."
The motion of Bruce's hands quickened; their breaths hitched as one. Clark's entire being hummed with a sudden, raw energy. Bruce's body trembled, and then they fell over the edge together, utterly lost in the sensation.
Bruce collapsed against Clark's chest, spent. They clung to each other as the last waves of pleasure subsided. He noted the stains on their shirts and pants, still loosely hanging off of their bodies, and hoped no one would look too closely. Bruce made a mental note to give Clark a change of clothes before he left.
"So you do like me," Clark gushed as soon as he regained his ability to speak.
"Didn't think you were actually listening."
"Believe me, I was paying attention. I can multitask," he smooched Bruce's forehead.
Bruce huffed a laugh, the exasperation clearly feigned. He lifted his head to give Clark a look of tender amusement. "I now know that. We'll put it to the test in the future."
"Oh, will we?" Clark pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. Mission failed.
He dove in for another makeout session, but a knock at the door interrupted them. They scrambled to tidy up.
"Master Bruce, Master Damian has returned from school. His extracurriculars were cancelled," Alfred muttered from the other side of the door.
Bruce cursed under his breath.
"Ok. This is going to sound horrible, but you need to leave."
"I could just say hello?"
"I mean this in the best way possible, but you look fucked. Damian has been… sensible, around the mention of your name. And there's around 500 grams of kryptonite missing from my vault." Bruce scrambled to get the sweater he kept there for cold nights from the drawer. It should be big enough.
Clark's eyebrows shot up, catching the piece of clothing in the air. "He has access to your kryptonite reserves?"
"He doesn't now. I'm working on retrieving the quantity unaccounted for, but he's sneaky." He rolled his eyes, equally impressed as he was annoyed at his son's skills. "It's safer if he doesn't see you, especially like this."
Clark was inclined to agree.
"Okay. Only if you promise I'll see you on Friday," Clark declared.
"Sure," Bruce yielded, too satisfied to keep fighting what he wanted. "Where are we going?"
"It's a surprise. Just dress comfortably. It's no fancy place, but I hope you'll like it."
"Sounds good to me. Seven?"
"I'll pick you up."
After planting one last, passionate kiss on him, Clark opened the window and flew away.
Bruce caught sight of himself in the mirror on the wall. He looked positively ravished, his neck littered with bite marks even after asking Clark to hold back. The stains on his wine-colored shirt were unmistakable. Combined with the hickeys, there was no way to explain the disheveled appearance without sending Damian into a rage fit.
He decided to put all his hard-won vigilante skills to a new purpose: sneaking into his own room without being seen by his youngest.
The issue with the soulmark remained a mystery.
Bruce's mark had been a depressing gray for so long that he'd grown used to it. Many people never met their soulmates; he had assumed he would just be one more number on that list. That feeling only intensified when he started taking an interest in Clark. How could a mere mortal compare to the sun that had already made his way into his heart? There was no comparison, even if he never meant to follow through. Acting on his feelings was never part of the plan. Clark Kent was too pure, too good for him to taint.
Yet, the universe had laughed in his face, and he couldn't even feel mad. He was dumbfounded; there were no reports on interspecies soulmates, even within the intergalactic database of the Watchtower. Had he desired with such passion that he had somehow manifested their connection?
Bruce rolled his eyes at his own tacky line of thought.
Right.
It seemed he would just have to accept that the rules were being bent for them.
Bruce turned his attention to picking his outfit for the night. What did "comfortable" mean, exactly? His wardrobe was, sadly, composed of three types of clothes: formal suits, turtlenecks, and basic tees for training, with not much variety of color to brag about. Dark jewel tones were the most exotic it got.
Sighing, he picked out a pair of black jeans he had never worn before. Jeans are casual, right? He paired them with a green, knitted, high-neck sweater and hoped for the best.
It startled him when he caught a glimpse of bright red on the bottom left side of his abdomen while putting on his top. The sun embracing the moon. Oddly fitting. It had started off as pink, but got more colorful in the passing days until it got to its current state. That did numbers in Bruce's head.
Usually, soulmarks shared the same color; in their case, and to his great confusion, they differed: Clark's was blue, and his shone a vivid crimson. This was another fact that made him doubt the veracity of their connection. Furthermore, Bruce's mark didn’t heat up in his soulmate's proximity; if it weren't for Clark showing him his own mark, Bruce would never have known they were linked.
He remembered Oliver talking about it, how the burn had led him to Dinah. The intensity of the reaction was supposed to grow more and more intense until you recognized your soulmate.
Was it because Bruce and Clark were already around each other for long periods of time and pretty frequently? That didn't make sense. Was the difference in coloration because he hadn't admitted to the connection to his partner that they were soulmates and didn't plan to do it until recently? Perhaps. There was only one way to find out.
"Hey B, Clark is at the door," Tim let him know, standing at the entrance of the room with a devilish look in his eyes. "Just so you know, Dick is trying to keep Damian from strangling him."
Of course he was.
To Dick's credit, he had managed to throw the glowing green dagger away, far enough so it didn't affect Clark. He needed to raise his allowance. Jason, on the other hand, who decided to make the best use of his energy by laughing and recording the scene on his phone, was getting his reduced.
"Damian. Get off of Clark."
"This alien filth dares lust after you, Father! It must be corrected at once!"
"Dami, we don't use those terms, it's not nice," Dick admonished his little brother, wrapping his hands around his small torso and pulling. The boy was a leech, he wouldn't let go.
"What I'll do cares not for niceness," Damian seethed, and he threw a punch to Clark's face, who of course intercepted it gently.
"I promise to treat your father the way he deserves, Damian."
"Tt. That would be accomplished by ridding him of your presence."
"At least he only made one weapon," Tim commented, admiring the chaos.
"Because Bruce changed the lock system to the vault before he could get more green ouchie rock," Dick added, finally managing to pull the boy off, and taking a few steps back. He covered his mouth to stop the angry complaints.
"Green ouchie rock? What are you, fucking five?" A visible shudder of cringe ran through Jason.
"Why do you always kill my fun, little wing?"
"Your fun is a type of torture in hell, dickhead. Why are you so corny?"
Dick gasped, "I'm not corny, I'm spunky!"
"Who uses the word 'spunky' to describe themselves while trying to say they're not corny?" Tim argued.
"Very spunky," Cass agreed, appearing out of nowhere.
Bruce ran a hand across his face. This was a prison of his own making. The only consolation was the endearing look Clark was giving to his kids, fascinated by their particular antics.
"We'd better get going," he said, taking advantage of the fact that his kids were distracted fighting each other.
Big mistake.
They all turned their heads and stared menacingly at Clark.
"Sure, be back by 3 a.m. the latest," Tim grinned, humor not quite reaching his eyes.
"Have fun and be good," Cass ordered, voice cold and final.
"And remember, Damian can't get a hold of the kryptonite, but I have my ways," Jason smiled dangerously.
"I'll bring him safe and sound," replied the man of steel, earning his epithet.
Bruce let the wave of embarrassment wash over him. Stepping in Clark's direction, Bruce made him turn on his feet and exit the place as quickly as possible. Before closing the door, he fixed them all with a murderous glance that promised a stern talk later. Once outside, he turned to apologize to his companion.
"I would say that they're not normally like this, but I can't. My parenting skills bear… interesting results."
"Don't worry about it. I think it's nice."
Bruce narrowed his eyes. "That they want to harm you?"
"That they love you to the point of risking life imprisonment."
"That's one way to describe it," he snorted. "Are we taking my car?" He asked, seeing no means of transportation around.
Clark extended his arms, giving him his usual puppy smile.
"No."
"Yes!"
"I'd rather take my helicopter."
"The place is in the middle of the woods, you can't land it there. I'm also more comfortable," Clark teased, dimples showing.
Bruce couldn't really argue against that.
Soon, they were flying, Bruce nestled into Clark's chest with his arms wrapped around the other's neck. The heat radiating from Clark's body made the night breeze tolerable. Bruce's heart fluttered like a trapped bird against his ribs.
"Enjoying the view?" Clark asked.
"… Yeah." Only he wasn't talking about the scenery.
The cabin he took Bruce to was a thirty-minute flight away—though that was probably Clark slowing down in consideration of his human body not being able to withstand a higher speed—within the mountains of what Bruce calculated was somewhere in North Dakota.
Clark surprised him by pulling out the keys to the place. Inside was a cozy one-room arrangement. A kitchenette, a double bed, a dining table, and a small two-seater sofa occupied the room. The room was warmed by a fireplace set into the wall opposite the entrance.
"Is this yours?" Bruce frowned, not remembering this place in Clark's information file.
"Technically, it's my ma's. She got it from a late cousin, I believe? Only I come here, though. It's kind of far."
"A second Fortress of Solitude," he quipped. "And people call my cave an overkill."
"Well, at least I don't go around putting 'super' in front of all my paraphernalia like a certain someone," he nudged Bruce on the ribs.
Bruce laughed in disbelief at Clark's teasing, "Did you bring me here to insult my branding strategies?"
He walked into the room to escape the mockery, but Clark didn't let him get far, dragging him into an embrace and peppering his neck with kisses.
"You've already been to my fortress. I wanted to show you something new. Somewhere I've never brought anyone to before," he whispered into Bruce's ear.
"I see," he answered, a pleasant warmth spreading through his body. "And what do you have in mind for this occasion?" Turning his head, he kissed Clark's chin to provoke him.
Sadly, the man didn't take the bait. "Promises were made. This will be a PG-13 date."
"Pity."
"Hey! I'm working hard to woo you in a gentlemanly manner." He let out a soft laugh.
"I'm already wooed. You, on the other hand... I could pamper you more to make up for my misstep?" The offer was reinforced by the swing of Bruce's hips against him.
It was quite tempting.
"Nope, we're stargazing tonight." Clark held his ground. Every instinct screamed to abandon the plan, but his will remained firm.
Bruce couldn't say that he hated the romance enthusiast in Clark. There was something about having his total opposite show him delightful things he would never otherwise experience that he found deeply appealing. Also, watching Clark be so adorable greatly heightened his enjoyment of the events.
Stargazing was something he'd only ever done for navigation—pure practicality. But with Clark's telescope set up outside the cabin, he could finally see the charm; though, if he were honest, most of the allure was hearing this gentle giant of a nerd gush about the constellations and their myths. All in all, it was a lovely occasion. Clark had even prepared a lovely meal, including a handmade cherry pie. Bruce added it to the list of his new favorite things.
Something told him he would be having more of those in the foreseeable future. But if he wanted that, they needed to clear some of the fog in their relationship.
"I'm sorry about leaving you that day in the medbay," he finally said, his voice thick with regret.
"It doesn't matter."
"It does. You almost died, and I was too much of a coward to stay."
Clark leaned his head on Bruce's shoulder. "Well, I did cry myself to sleep that night."
Bruce pulled back. Horror washed over his face, a reaction that made Clark laugh before doting a kiss on the tip of his nose and returning to his original position.
"Relax, it was a lie. Payback for your bad behaviour, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce scoffed, "And people say there's no dark side to you. Oh, how they have been fooled."
"Only you get this side of me. Take it or leave it."
Bruce nuzzled into Clark's hair.
"I'll take it."
Once the clock hit 2:30 a.m., Clark diligently picked him up in his arms again to bring him home.
It dawned on Bruce, stupidly belated as he tiptoed his way around the manor, that he had forgotten, once again, to bring up the soulmate topic.
Notes:
So, finally, we moved forward with their relationship, yeih! ૮₍´｡ᵔ ꈊ ᵔ｡`₎ა Sorry I made you guys suffer, I hope the pain made Bruce finally giving up on being an ass more satisfactory >:3
This was my first time writing smut, so maybe it sounds awkward? not sure, i'm okay with it :P
Also, if you're wondering why the Earth has new threats every couple lines in this fic… idk :) No rest for the wicked i guess lol
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