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The Watchtower was suspiciously quiet when Batman exited the Zeta tube. Dusting the shoulders of his cape from the leftover rubble dotting the black fabric, Bruce glided down the halls with a stern frown on his lips.
He hadn’t been at the Tower for a few weeks, distracted by an unfortunate return of Hugo Strange that left him with dark circles and a stern warning from Alfred to at least pretend to get a night’s rest. Worst of all, he had not heard from Superman since becoming a recluse — again. The man had been off-world with Diana, attempting to bridge a peace agreement between two warring alien planets.
Though Bruce would never admit it, he had grown accustom to his, as Dick would call it, ‘wellness checks’ when Clark didn’t see him out of the suit for more than a week straight. He was used to Kal calling him, sending him quippy messages about his day, the different countries he visited while saving the world on a smaller scale. Bruce never responded, but Clark was long used to mindless chatting to the void that was his best friend. Still, he braced himself for the wide toothed grin and concerned puppy dog eyes the moment he stopped by to talk to Clark while he finished his shift on monitor duty. Bruce also prepared himself for the higher energy speeder that spent more time running to grab snacks than actually surveilling the screens.
What he didn’t expect, however, when he paused at the doorway, was Hal Gordon to be sat on the monitor desk... and with his feet up on Clark’s armrest, cackling as though he had just heard the best joke of his life. Worse still was the way Clark’s hand rest on the curve of the Lantern’s ankle, rubbing the joint softly, with fond amusement in his eyes as he watched the Hal wipe away fake tears.
“You’re pulling my leg,” Hal said, no one in the room yet to catch on to the wavering shadow in the doorway. Bruce watched as Barry tutted, sat at Clark side, and seemingly dragged himself away from his open bag of chips and back to whatever conversation the three of them were having.
“He answered the question. It’s on you if you don’t like the answer.” Barry shrugged, gaining an appreciative nod from the Meta.
“It's not that I don’t like it — I’m just saying it’s ridiculous.” Hal shook his head, still gasping for air. Bruce frowned, stepping further into the room with caution.
“Diana agreed with me!” Clark laughed, waving over his shoulder as though the Amazonian would suddenly appear before them.
“And then quietly excused herself to the bathroom, cackling with each step. Yeah sure, she totally thinks your decisions on marriage are good ones.”
Bruce faltered, brows shooting up in alarm under his cowl at Hal’s comment. Marriage? As far as he knew, Clark and Lois Lane had broken up over a year ago. He had never mentioned dating anyone new, let alone someone worth marrying. Unless he just hadn't told Bruce. Unless he knew about Bruce's... Bruce forced the thought out his head, alongside the lingering anxiety.
“Okay, okay — new one because this is getting boring,” Barry cut in. Rubbing his hands together, the blond’s brow creased in thought before a wicked grin pulled at his lips. “Oliver Queen, Bruce Wayne, Lex Luthor.”
Clark bit back a groan. “That is not fair!”
“You can’t bring in Ollie. If he finds out we all want him dead he’ll kill us first.”
“And Lex?” Clark added, a scolding look on his face. “That’s just cruel.”
Barry raised his hands defensively, but his expression stayed wickedly set on Hal. “Fairs fair, you brought Iris into this earlier.”
Hal grunted. “Fine. But just to cover my ass I’ll marry Oliver. Just for Supes, Lex can have an… unfortunate encounter with an alligator.”
"I appreciate that." Clark smiled up at the Lantern as Bruce bit back the taste of bile in his throat. Steeling a fake look of seriousness, Clark poked a finger at Hal's thigh, adding, "but no violent deaths, I can't endorse that."
"Ever the Boy Scout," Hal murmured, ignoring the following jab to the back of his knee.
“You gonna join us, Spooky?” Barry suddenly called over his shoulder. If he wasn’t still reeling at the mention of his secret identity and Clark's affectionate touches to Hal, Bruce would have laughed at the startled jumps from Clark and Hal at his acknowledgment. As it stood, he remained scowling, especially when Clark gripped Hal’s ankle tighter to stop from toppling off his chair.
“They can all die,” Bruce said and Clark gaped at him.
“Oliver literally saved your life last week!”
“I will give him a proper eulogy for that.” Bruce shrugged and Hal laughed.
“That’s cold. You sure you’re not a vampire, Spooks?” He grinned, lazily reclining back against one of the monitors. At a warning squeeze to his leg by Clark, he sat back up. “Talk about soulless.”
“Personally, I’d marry Bruce Wayne,” Clark said, slowly tapping on Hal’s ankle. Bruce looked up at him in alarming, watching a sheepish smile break out across Superman’s face.
“You’d marry Bruce Wayne?” Hal looked at Clark like he had grown a second head. “Of all the options, that’s— that’s what you’re going with?”
“He seems like a lovely guy,” Clark explained, a bright pink dusting his cheeks. Bruce tilted his head, catching the slightest shake of Clark’s legs under the desk. Was he… nervous? “Every interview I’ve had with him he’s shown nothing but a good sense of humor and an incredibly charitable heart.”
“And boy does he seem to give charitable access to his bed too,” Barry interjected, a broad grin stretching across his mouth. “I bet he’s got one of those memory foam mattresses. God, I’d gladly let him leave an imprint of my face into it after a night of fun.”
“Barry!” Clark shouted, affronted. The speedster just gave him a fiendish look before glancing at Batman. He had yet to move further than the middle of the room, maintaining a weary distance. “Care to add your two cents on that Bats?”
“I think we should all know less about each other.” He drawled slowly, hazarding a glance at Clark. There were two ways he could play what he said next, neither the most optimal if he truly thought about. Slowly he nodded at Clark, the closest thing to a sly grin Batman would dare to produce spreading across his lips, and said, "That being said, I'm sure Bruce Wayne would be happy with Superman as his arm candy for the rest of his life."
Clark beamed at his response before laughing. “B, did you just make a pop culture reference? Either you've hit your head or Nightwing’s back in town.”
“I am aware of popular culture terms outside of the Robins, Kal.” Bruce frowned, mildly offended at the insinuation. “But yes, though he returned to Blüdhaven last night.”
“Shoot. I had no idea, maybe I’ll stop by to see him after my shift.”
“He would… appreciate that,” Bruce grunted out. Though he was fond of Clark’s almost paternal care for Dick, it was moments like this that reminded him of why he refused to share his identity with any of the league.
“Nope, no. I’m not letting this go,” Hal interjected and Bruce sighed internally. Exhibit A. “Bruce Wayne? As in Top Ten messiest people of Gotham? As in can’t keep his pants up to save his life? That’s who you want as a husband?”
Clark frowned. “You and I both know the tabloids are more exaggerative than anything else.”
Hal continued to gape at him.
“The man has fallen into not one but two wedding cakes.”
“And a champagne fountained,” Barry added and Clark smiled.
“See, he’s harmless!” The Meta exclaimed, joisting Hal’s ankle until he pulled out of his grip enough to kick at Clark’s chest. Catching his foot, Clark squeezed the toe before resting it on the edge of his thigh. Bruce fought down the taste of bile, barely managing a nod as Diana re-entered the room.
“I see you have managed to pull Batman from his shadowed cave.” She smirked, resting a hip on the desk’s edge by Barry’s chair. In her hands she held a steaming cup of coffee and looked at Bruce with faint amusement.
“Hn.”
“Clark said he’d marry Bruce Wayne, which I think would raise a lot of ethical questions about their past interviews,” Hal goaded, sticking out his tongue at Clark’s affronted look.
“An interview is an interview, even when the interviewer is on all fours under the subject of interest’s desk,” Barry quipped and Diana gasped.
“I very much doubt that he would do such things in his place of work,” Diana chided, turning to look at the silent Bat. “I’ve heard your work place’s behavioral standards are very rigorously upheld and I’m sure you’d never make your cleaning staff endure anything like that.”
For a moment the world froze. Across the room confused frowns broke across each League members face as their gazes drifted from Diana and onto the frozen Bat. Suddenly Bruce felt his cheeks grow hot, though outwardly he remained impassive.
“No fucking way.” Hal broke the silence.
“This has to be a prank,” Barry said slowly, flicking his eyes between Diana and Bruce. The Amazonian had the decency to look apologetic. “He told you his identity!”
”And you just stood there, letting us making idiots of ourselves?” Hal tutted, offering Bruce a fake look of betrayal. “That’s cold, Spooky.”
”Batman did not confide in me his identity, for I was not aware it was still secret. I assumed it was now public knowledge based on recent events and this conversation.”
Bruce frowned. ”Recent events?”
”You’re Bruce Wayne.”
The words were spoken so softly it was almost missed. It was as if everyone had forgotten Superman’s presence, a rarity for a man who seemed bigger than life itself. At the feeling of eyes on him, he looked up. His expression was impossible to read. Slowly, Clark removed Hal’s leg from his own, ignoring his protests, and stood. With a single glance to Bruce, he floated out of the room.
Barry and Hal exchanged a look while Diana looked back at Clark’s retreating figure.
"I am terribly sorry–" Diana began, but Bruce was quickly following after Clark.
It took until they reached the Zeta tubes for Clark to acknowledge the shadow behind him. With a heavy sigh he seemed to brace himself, Bruce watching the muscles in his neck tense and relax until he rolled his shoulders and turned around.
"I had no intention of letting things get that far. I was going to tell Hal to leave you to your work–"
"All this time, it was you," Clark said, voice still a low whisper. At Bruce's tilt of head, he let out a wry chuckle. Lips curling at the sides in disbelieve, Clark levelled a confused look at him. "The private conversations we had, introducing me to Dick knowing we'd met a million times. Why did you never say anything? Why couldn't you trust me?"
"It wasn't a matter of... distrust." Bruce found himself struggling to find words. At the dip of Clark's smile he scrambled for an explanation. "There never seemed to be an appropriate time."
"You have literally bled out in my arms," Clark said, blunt. "And your, potentially, final words were 'Make sure to file the extent of my injuries properly in your mission report'."
"Not one of my finest moments, but it still stands. After what happened in Central City–"
"See, I knew you would bring that up!" Clark interjected. "I missed one hairline fracture and you spent almost an hour of the meeting talking about the issues that come from medical record negligence."
"It is a problem, Kal. Both in the League and broader society."
"That's not what this is about."
Bruce frowned, fighting the urge to shift on the spot. He kept his heartbeat level, knowing from the twitch under Clark's eye that he was listening.
"What is this about then, to you?" He hedged careful. When Clark's face broke out in a low flush, he dropped his gaze and sighed. "I did not take any of the comments to heart. I am aware that Bruce Wayne– that I'm an unsavory public figure. I did not mean for your limited array of options in Barry's game to tarnish Superman's brand."
“What? No, jeez, it’s not that— B, come on." Clark's expression was pained. Starting to walk forward, he held a breath before releasing it slowly, cautiously watching how Bruce eyed the diminishing space between them. "I don’t care who you are under the cowl, I’m just embarrassed you didn’t say anything. You just let us talk so obliviously about you, just stood there and listened, it’s embarrassing – humiliating even.”
“I apologize for the discomfort my presence brings you.” Bruce’s lips pressed in a thin line.
Clark threw his head back, letting out an exasperated groan. ”You are impossible, you know that?”
“I do, yes.”
"Genuinely frustrating and purposefully dense sometimes."
"I've been told this before, by many people."
"You called me 'arm candy'."
"I may be obtuse but I am not blind, Kal." Bruce scowled, the expression deepening at the thoughtful yet smug look Clark threw back. "Though that was not one of my finest comments, I do apologise for what I said."
"For the World's greatest detective, you lack a lot of observation when it comes to your social circles," Clark pressed on, releasing a breath through his nose. "It has never been subtle, you know, but I just thought I was reading things wrong on both sides and figured it was time to give up."
Confusion ran over Bruce's face as Clark took a final step forward. They were nearly toe for toe. He could make out every shade of blue in Clark's irises, the light dusting of freckles on his face from the summer heat. If it weren't for the fond uptick of his lips, Bruce's heart would've been slamming in his chest waiting for Clark's temper to final kick into gear.
”Sometime, being around you for too long, it makes me wish I could rip my hair out.”
”That too I have heard," Bruce said, quietly and startled when Clark placed a warm hand on his shoulder. "Though somewhat rephrased.”
”Or push you into a wall," Clark continued, grip tightening. "And kiss you until you shut up.”
”That—” caught Bruce off guard. His eyes widened, heart rate accelerating as Clark's smile grew. "– would come with a lot of issues, the cowl is quite restrictive to move in. Hence the menacing growl and forced articulation."
"I was hoping the cowl would be on less often now." Clark shrugged and then his eyes widened. "Not that I don't like your suit! The ears are very cute."
"My cowl is not cute," Bruce said, affronted.
"Right, sorry – you are vengeance, how could I forget?" Clark teased, shaking Bruce's shoulder when his frown darkened. "B., just tell I've not misread all this, or else I'm about to look incredibly foolish."
"I'm not sure what there is to misread because I don't know wh–" His words were cut off by the firm touch of a mouth against his own. Bruce's eyes shut of their own volition, shoulders tensing on impulse at the perceived sudden attack before he relaxed into Clark. His hands somehow found themselves gripping the back of Clark's head, pulling him away abruptly. At Clark's startled expression and lips parting in an obvious attempt to apologize, he quickly unclasped the cowl and gave him a pointed look. "Like I said, it is more restrictive than I would like for these types of scenarios."
"You get into a heated make out session in costume a lot?" Clark quipped, a lazy grin on his face. "Wait actually, no. Don't answer that."
Bruce pulled Clark back in, tangling his fingers deeper into his curls and twisting his head down. While he usually resented the alien being taller than him, Bruce allowed himself an appreciation of how easily Clark moved to meet him. The warmth of his tongue against his own as his back suddenly met the cold glass of the wall behind him. When Clark's mouth dragged along the curve of his jaw, biting at the juncture between it and his neck, he let out a noise he would later refuse to accept as being a whimper. A hard thigh pushed between his legs, all but forcing Bruce to straddle on it. It was when he opened his eyes and his gaze fell on one of the many cameras he had installed in the Tower, Bruce pushed Clark away.
"I will have to wipe these tapes later," he murmured, ignoring Clark's pleased chuckle.
"Might as well keep them offline, because this won't be the last time I'll be doing this to you," Clark replied, then flushed. "If there is a next time, I guess, and this isn't a momentary thing allowed because of some secret brain haemorrhage you haven't told me about yet."
"... there are rooms at the Watchtower for a reason." Bruce gave him a blunt look.
"Yeah," Clark said, dazed as he ran a finger along the front of the Batsuit. "But you look really pretty pressed against the glass. Like a star only I get to touch."
Bruce sputtered at his words, fighting the urge to preen and a disgusted pinch fell over his lips. Catching sight of it, Clark merely rolled his eyes and pressed a deep kiss to his mouth. This time, Bruce will admit to his whining and the frantic scratch of his hands along Clark's shoulders. He was unsure if he was pulling him closer or trying to smack some sense into him. It was only when a pair of broad hands dug into the underside of his thighs and hoisted him upwards did Bruce speak.
"No superspeed, it makes me feel ill," He warned and Clark shrugged.
"The wall is perfectly fine with me."
"Kal." The name was spoken with such scandal it almost seemed at odds with the face who was expressing it. Clark paused for a second, eyes truly taking in the sight before him. Bruce Wayne, flustered and with eyes full of want, embarrassed at the idea of Superman fucking him silly against a cosmic backdrop. He considered pinching himself for a second.
"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted for this moment?" He said, voice one of wonder. "How many times I had to stop myself from touching your hand in meetings and settle for a firm shake of your shoulders. Or making sure I didn't linger the few times you let me hug you, let me say how scared I was of almost losing you. Wanted to kiss your lips red whenever you'd smile, and usually at Diana's jokes. I really had to beat the jealousy out of myself at that one."
"It was difficult, just before, seeing you in the monitor room." Bruce swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue as Clark watched him with a patient but lost smile. "Laughing with Barry and... Hal. Seeing you touching Hal so intimately. I knew you two had grown close, but I guess I took the way you both orbited around each other, always touching in one way or the other, as confirmation of my existing presumptions."
"Presumptions?" Clark's brow creased. "Presumptions of what?"
"That you and Hal were... potentially an item."
At the words Clark gaped at him, then his face broke out in a bright red as he laughed so hard Bruce could feel his chest quivering. "You thought... Me and Hal? Oh my gosh, Bruce. You... you are something else."
"Hn."
"Sorry, I'm sorry. Give me a second." Clark shook his head, raising a hand to wipe at the wetness under his eyes before placing it back under Bruce’s thigh. “That's, that's precious."
"If you are done mocking me, I'd like to be released from your hold so I can go home and drive the Batblade off a cliff."
"Oh, Bruce, no. Jeez, I thought we already went over this." Clark scrambled, tightening his hold on Bruce when he attempted to break free of him. At the stern Bat glare, he merely shifted his hands to cup the taunt flesh of Bruce’s ass and met his glare with a look of content. "You really do need to read the room more."
"I read the room perfectly fine, Kal," Bruce countered. "You were caressing Hal’s leg, letting him run them all over you, placing them on your thighs. Like you said yourself, you lack subtlety."
"Firstly, I did not caress Hal. He has a hairline fracture he refuses to get looked at, I was merely massaging it." Clark spoke slowly, as if trying to appear trustful to a spooked animal. "Also, I'm pretty sure he's in love with Barry and trying to get a rise out of him with all that other stuff."
"If you say so."
"I do say so, but you're insanely stubborn when scared of being hurt." Clark shook his head. Then, to make sure not a single word was missed, he placed Bruce’s feet back on the ground and took hold of his face in both hands. The Bat fought back a flinch as Clark stared at him dead in the eyes. "Hal is just a friend, a great one who has been yelling at me for months to get out of my head and confront you. There is no more to him and I but friendship. Nothing else, B. I promise. I love you."
Bruce fell silent. "Oh."
"Yeah. I love you, Bruce."
"Hn." Bruce's gaze dropped to stare at Clark's chest. The crest stared back at him, bright and inviting. It took him a moment to realize he could reach out, could feel it against his fingers in an intimate way he never allowed himself to before. As he did, running his fingertips along each groove, Clark's breath hitched and he felt a pair of lips graze the top of his head. Their movements were slow, almost reverent. Bruce cautioned a glance back up, watching as Clark pulled away enough to smile back at him. Slouching forward, he sighed as Clark's hands guided his face down until his cheek was pressed against his reminder of a home he had lost long ago.
"Need me to say it again?"
"Okay," Bruce said, his eyes closing when Clark did just that. He didn't fight back his smile, or the pleased hum that escaped him, just muffled back against the crest, "That's good."