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Bruce was tired. It had been a long patrol, full of minor difficulties that snowballed into aches and cuts and bruises almost everywhere. His ribs screamed when he got out of the Batmobile and he was halfway to the showers when he noticed something unexpected on the cameras.
Upstairs, next to the patio, Clark Kent hovered just above the hood of the Aston Martin, chin in his hand and his eyes trained on the hidden camera. Bruce wiped his face and considered the feed before he pressed a button to unlock the front door. Clark perked up at the sound and floated to the front door, winking at the camera before slipping inside. When Bruce finally made his way upstairs, after he finished stripping out of the Batsuit and washed the dirt of Gotham’s underbelly off his skin, he found Clark half-way to the ceiling, peeking into the lampshade facing the ceiling.
‘Hey.’ Clark levitated closer and tilted Bruce’s chin so he could look down at him. ‘Alfred needs to dust the inside of that lamp.’
‘Does he, now? You’d be shocked to find out that my valet doesn’t quite reach that high up.’ Bruce hooked his index fingers in the belt loops of Clark’s jeans and pulled him closer to the ground. Clark sank with elegant ease, resting his hands on Bruce’s shoulders as his toes touched the ground. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I thought I’d come by and say hi.’ Clark brushed his nose against Bruce’s jawline, up his cheek, nuzzling closer and exhaling a delighted breath when Bruce caught his lips in a kiss.
‘Don’t you have work in the morning?’ Bruce murmured against Clark’s mouth.
‘Yes, but I don’t need to sleep.’
Before Bruce could reply, Clark kissed him again. Bruce wondered if he’d ever stop feeling like he was falling when they kissed. (He never needed to worry, he knew. Clark would always catch him.)
‘Unfortunately, I do need to sleep.’ He pushed Clark away with a thumb against the dip of his chin. ‘Come to bed with me?’
It didn’t take long for Bruce to undress and he watched Clark from the bed, his toes curling under the sheets, his head leaning against the headboard. Clark stripped out of his clothes with faux-conceited movements. He revealed an expanse of perfect skin, perfect muscles, perfect coarse hairs curling from his chest to down, down. Bruce looked at Clark, naked but for the tight boxer-briefs that left so little to the imagination. His mouth was dry.
‘You’re making me wish I could fuck you tonight.’
‘You can’t?’ Clark teased, climbing onto the bed and trapping Bruce between his hands, nuzzling his forehead against Bruce’s skin, kissing his way down Bruce’s chest.
‘I’m tired and old.’
Clark lifted his head, eyes warm with coy excitement and pure affection. He fluttered another two kisses against Bruce’s bruised pectoral. He leaned back, curling his fingers around Bruce’s.
‘You’re not that old.’ Clark said and pressed his lips against Bruce’s wrist. ‘And I know you don’t like hearing me say so, but I enjoy being with you even when we don’t have sex.’
Bruce grunted in response and Clark laughed, leaning in to steal kisses from Bruce’s mouth. Bruce didn’t want to say anything, not now, not yet, but Clark was wrong. Bruce loved hearing that Clark liked to be with him, that Clark wanted him for reasons other than fucking. And yet, those were the things that fed Bruce’s fear. Clark made it seem so easy. Love – the kind of love Bruce had known, the kind of love Bruce expected – was hard and painful. He found it difficult to trust himself to trust the promise that he saw in Clark’s eyes, felt in his touch, heard tumbling from his beautiful lips. Still – Clark made it so easy to love.
‘I’m in love with you.’ Bruce said.
The words surprised him as much as they surprised Clark. He froze, his lips against the edge of Bruce’s jaw, his hands curled in Bruce’s hair. He pulled back to meet Bruce’s gaze, Clark’s eyes a shade of Technicolor blue that didn’t quite seem real. Then again, neither did Clark.
‘You’ve never said that.’ Clark frowned, the creases in his forehead gone almost as soon as they formed. ‘Though I guess I’ve never said that either.’
‘You’re easy to read. I’ve known for months.’
This was true and a lie. Clark carried himself with such honesty that it always caught Bruce off-guard. It had taken a long time for Bruce to learn him.
’Well, seeing as you said it first…’ He licked his lips, his smile veering to nervous before settling back to contented, warm and gleaming. ‘I’m in love with you. And I’d like to sleep here tonight. If you don’t mind.’
‘Tonight it’s just sleeping.’ When Clark opened his mouth to protest, to insist that he knew that, Bruce continued. ‘Tomorrow morning, however…’
‘But I have work tomorrow,’ Clark complained without any heat.
‘I’ll write you a note.’ Bruce felt Clark’s grin when they kissed. ‘I’ll be back. I’m going to brush my teeth.’
Bruce tapped Clark’s thigh and Clark leaned into the touch before rolling off Bruce’s lap. He stretched diagonally across the bed, digging himself into the sheets.
‘I’ll keep bed warm for you.’
As Bruce worked his way through his night-time routine – with more steps of skincare than Bruce felt should be necessary, but who was he to argue with success? – he thought about what Clark had said. Bed, Clark said, as though the left side of the bed had always been reserved for him, as though the bed belonged to them both, as though Bruce wasn’t going to fuck it up and push him away. I’m in love with you, Clark said, repeating the words Bruce hadn’t meant to say as though it was nothing at all. Easy, so easy.
Back in the bedroom, Clark was sprawled under the white sheet, showing perfect skin with that perfect brush of hair over his chest, beautiful and whole and somehow wanting Bruce. There was a glass of water on Bruce’s nightstand. Clark must have brought it from the kitchen for him.
‘Come on. You said sleep.’
Bruce turned out the lights and he let Clark pull him into his arms. He curled himself against Bruce, all-encompassing and gentle. He stroked his fingers over Bruce’s back and side, over his shoulder and up his neck. Clark didn’t carry the sun in his skin, but every time he touched Bruce, sliding his fingertips down his spine and brushing kisses over his shoulders, Bruce could feel the warmth of him seep down to the bone. Bruce couldn’t help but lean into each touch, yearning for more of that sense of safety he had never felt with anyone else. Worlds could rise and fall, and Clark would remain inexorable, bright and hopeful without a stain on his heart. It was more than Bruce could ever hope for.
Wrapped in Clark’s celestial warmth, Bruce drifted off. He slept well.