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Clark felt like dying on the spot.
His body was radiating too much heat and he could hear his friends having a good laugh at his expense. He saw Hal even snorted so hard, the man started choking. Good for him.
Clark sort of wanted to disappear. He saw Bruce with a miniscule smirk that only a person with heightened vision would notice.
Nope. He definitely wanted to disappear, preferably forever.
The Dark Knight was in his full regalia sans the cowl, but that only made everything more horrifying to Clark.
Imagine your crush making fun of you. It was horrible.
Clark would have shuddered if he could and suddenly had a fleeting thought of resurrecting Zod just so the general could kill him.
Boy Scout, you idiot, Bruce would say if he could read Clark's mind. Clark knew him too well, he already knew Bruce would save him from this humiliation—or at least, after Bruce had his fair share of fun. That thought made Clark glare at his partner.
Bruce saw it, the smirk leaving his lips as he cleared his throat to get the attention of everyone. “If you want the party to last, you better leave Kal alone now.”
It might have sounded like he cared about the party, but the league obviously knew it was a threat. And ignoring a threat from Batman would be one of the worst decisions in anyone's life.
Nodding in agreement, everyone scattered around the Watchtower, some to arrange more decors, others to eye the food prepared in the cafeteria and, like the majority, to avoid the wrath of the Bat. Some were still laughing though as they left while Barry and Diana gave Clark a teasing smile and a pat on the shoulder before going.
Not for long, the laboratory where the incident happened was almost deserted, leaving Bruce, who was staring at Clark, and Clark, who was avoiding Bruce's eyes.
Clark was glaring at the mistletoe above them instead, as if it was his sworn enemy (earlier, it was). “Zee said mistletoe. I heard it. I swear.”
Bruce stepped into Clark's space and took Clark's face in his hands as he sighed, his eyes seemed full of exasperation and fondness. “Boy Scout, you idiot.”
Clark began to snicker, but then he looked at Bruce—really looked at him.
It was paradoxical that the Bat's gloved hands, that had punched and broke many faces and objects, were now holding his face with care and delicacy.
Clark felt the air got knocked out of his lungs because of... of everything. At the sight of the man in front of him, at the feelings he was receiving from him, at Bruce in general, particularly when he was looking at him with so much warmth and tenderness.
“How about we put your mistletoe in good use?” Bruce murmured, placing a hand around Clark's nape while the other caressed Clark's chest where he—Clark was sure as hell—could feel the pounding of his heart.
Clark swallowed, trying not to look as eager as he was feeling though he had a feeling Bruce knew anyway. “Yes,” He whispered, then nodded as an afterthought while he repeated, “Yes.”
Bruce didn't waste another second and sealed their lips. It was soft and short—quite different from what they had expected and imagined—but it was, nonetheless, exhilarating and the best damn kiss the both of them ever had.
When they pulled away, they were wearing identical smiles that rivalled the brightness of the fairy lights that adorned the hallways of the Watchtower. Clark never knew Bruce could smile like that. It made his heart stutter.
He couldn't stop blushing as Bruce watched him. He could feel Bruce's affection merely from the way his thumb unconsciously caressed him just behind his ear.
Clark knew he was screwed, but he was screwed in a good way. He wouldn't have it—whatever he and Bruce were now—any other way.
“Happy holidays, Clark.”
“Happy Hanukkah, Bruce.”
With a megawatt-smile, Clark kissed Bruce again and the latter hummed in contentment, kissing him back.