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“You’re kidding me, right?” Bruce said. They were standing thirty feet from the flustered taxi driver who was desperately calling for roadside assistance. The cab itself was smoking rather aggressively.
“What?” Clark frowned. “It’s not that far.”
“Not that far?” Bruce sighed. “Clark the manor is twelve miles out of Gotham…we only made it like halfway home, so from here, it’s almost a six mile walk…”
“And?”
“And…” Bruce said. “Clark, I don’t want to fucking walk that far. I’m exhausted.”
“It’ll take like an hour, maybe an hour and a half,” Clark said, scoffing. He lowered his voice. “You’re freaking Batman, Bruce, you can’t handle a little walk?”
“A little walk, Clark, of six miles, at…” he glanced at his watch. “Quarter to eleven at night .”
“Again,” Clark said. “ Batman .”
Bruce poked Clark hard in the chest.
“ Superman ,” he said. “Can’t you just fly us home?”
“Too public, Bruce,” Clark said. “You of all people should know that. It’s a cloudless night and there’s a warm breeze; I guarantee someone would see us and I’m not in costume.”
Bruce groaned. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t,” Clark smiled. He wrapped his arms around Bruce. “You love me.”
“I’d love you more if you just let me call another cab,” Bruce snarked. “Or Alfred! Let’s just call Alfred.”
“No,” Clark said. “Alfred is currently having dinner with his daughter and it would be terribly rude to interrupt him.” He playfully patted Bruce’s ass. “Let’s go. Start walking.”
He did, but it was not without complaint. Clark spent a good amount of the time talking, but Bruce didn’t seem to be up for actual conversation, only pettish muttering, still grumpy that Clark was making him walk home.
Clark talked Bruce’s ear off about news at The Planet and League business for about 2 miles, until finally he had had enough of Bruce’s muttering.
Without slowing down at all, Clark reached for Bruce’s left hand and put it to his left shoulder. Then he reached backwards with his right arm, and grasped Bruce’s right wrist and heaved , pulling Bruce off of the ground and onto his back.
Bruce, stunned, instinctively wrapped his arms around Clark’s neck and his legs around his waist. He stayed silent for a minute, processing the manner in which his husband had essentially slung him over his shoulder.
“What the fuck are you doing, Clark?” Bruce said, finally.
“I’m giving you a piggyback ride, Bruce,” Clark said nonchalantly. He kept walking, his arms hooked under Bruce’s knees.
“Why?”
Clark smiled.
“Because you’re a child.”
Bruce growled.
“I’m not a child. Normal people don’t want to walk six miles in the dark. This is not an abnormal reaction.”
“Maybe not,” Clark said. “But you haven’t stopped muttering since we left the taxi, so I’m hoping that if I carry you on my back, you’ll have a normal conversation with me.”
Bruce tried to move, but Clark’s grip on him was iron.
“Damnit, Clark,” he said. “I can just walk.”
“Oh, so now you feel bad?” Clark teased. “Too late, I’m carrying you the rest of the way home.”
“That’s four miles, Clark.”
Clark smirked. “ Superman , remember? Get comfy.”
Bruce actively resisted getting comfy for over a mile, listening to Clark talk and occasionally actually contributing something significant to the conversation. All at once, after another 25 minutes or so, Bruce’s body relaxed and his cheek was pressed into Clark’s shoulder.
Admittedly, his relaxation made Bruce slightly heavier, but Clark still felt confident he would be able to clear the last two and half miles no problem.
Clark had still been pretty much talking continuously, and he noticed when Bruce eventually stopped responding.
“You asleep?” He asked Bruce.
“Nnnh,” Bruce mumbled. Not quite, but clearly very close to being so.
Clark chuckled quietly to himself, deciding that maybe he would stop talking and let his husband sleep on his shoulder.
A few minutes later, without thinking, Clark began to hum to himself. Just quietly, a tune he had heard Bruce listening to in his study one afternoon.
He was snapped out of his daze when Bruce sighed loudly in his ear.
“Sorry,” Clark said, ceasing the soft music. “I’m keeping you awake.”
“Nnnn,” Bruce mumbled.
Clark didn’t hear him, but didn’t push; he just kept walking.
Moments later, Bruce raised his head.
“Why’d you stop?” he asked Clark.
“Stop what?” he replied. “We’re almost home, I haven’t stopped.”
“Stop singing,” Bruce said, sleepily. “Why’d you stop singing?”
Clark blushed. “I thought it was bothering you.”
“Nnnn,” Bruce mumbled again. “Sing.”
Clark’s blush deepened, but as he continued walking, he began to sing for Bruce, humming softly through the song he knew Bruce loved, and singing through a few that he knew from the radio. He wasn’t the best singer, but his precise muscle control allowed him to carry a tune.
Bruce seemed to appreciate his voice; as Clark finally made his way up the driveway to the manor, he could hear his husband’s deep breathing and slowed heartbeat that indicated he had drifted off.
Clark didn’t stop singing as he pulled out his keys, quietly unlocking the door to the entrance and letting them in. It was after one in the morning, so he wasn’t surprised that when he scanned the manor he saw that Alfred was already locked in his own room.
He continued humming until he reached their bedroom, Bruce still fast asleep on his back.
Carefully, Clark lowered Bruce’s body to the bed, sitting him up and leaning him gently against his chest. His husband barely stirred as he removed his jacket and tie, unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it away. Clark shifted Bruce so that he was lying down, still singing as he untied his shoes and pulled them off, and unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down so that Bruce was just in his boxers.
He kept humming as he undressed himself, sliding carefully into the bed next to Bruce and bringing the sheet up over his husband’s peaceful body. He finished the song he was on before pressing a gentle kiss to Bruce’s forehead.
“I love you so much, Bruce Wayne,” he whispered. He slid down in the bed and rolled so that his back was to Bruce.
Before he fell asleep, he felt gentle hands wrap around his chest and a scruffy chin press into his shoulder.
“I love you too, Clark Kent,” Bruce whispered. “Let’s walk home more often.”
Clark smiled and closed his eyes, laying a hand over one of Bruce’s. Moments later, they were both asleep.