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There have been numerous instances in their years working together that Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne could've easily kissed, but the experience itself was a quiet affair.
It does not happen in the Batcave.
It does not happen in the Watchtower.
It doesn’t even happen after one of the many, many near-death experiences in their respective vigilante careers.
No.
It happens on a late Friday morning when Bruce asks a question and lays a calloused hand on Clark's.
The midday sun is shining through the tall windows of Wayne Manor. Bruce is seated at the head of the long mahogany table, with Clark on his left. They’ve been friends long enough to enjoy the silence, and Clark knows that Bruce hasn’t had enough coffee yet to communicate beyond grunts. So he simply enjoys his day off with Bruce, eating eggs and bacon alongside reading the latest manuscript Lois sent to him for edits.
Bruce, on the other hand, is scrolling through his tablet and sipping his second cup of joe in a mug that says ‘World’s #1 Dad’. The cup is chipped on one end, indicative of the many years it's been since Jason gave it to him. A cracked mug would never exist in Alfred’s cupboards, but this one stays, no matter how broken. Bruce simply twists his hold and directs his lips to the other end of his mug.
He sets down his coffee and stares at Clark.
Clark feels the Bat’s eyes on him and tears his attention away from Lois’ manuscript. He tilts his head and gives him a smile. His face conveys a ‘What’s up Bruce?’.
The man in question says nothing, a blank expression that could mean anything from disappointment to anger or just plain exhaustion. Luckily, Clark has spent a lifetime staring at Bruce to know all his tells. The Kryptonian waits patiently for the man to speak, watching his face and listening to his heartbeat.
He’s heartbeat is elevated, Clark discovers. His x-ray vision notices Bruce gritting his teeth. He furrows his brows in worry. Bruce is building up to something.
Is Bruce… nervous?
Bruce lays a hand on Clark’s. Calloused fingers on invulnerable skin.
Clark is too busy memorizing the sensation of Bruce’s left hand gripping his wrist that he realizes Bruce asked him a question. He snaps back to reality.
“Sorry, what?”
“Can I kiss you.”
He’s pulled back out of reality just as fast. If J’onn were here, he’d see Clark’s mind going insane.
He repeats the question over and over in his brain Can I kiss you Can I kiss you Can I kiss-
Clark Kent has been staring dumbfoundedly at Bruce Wayne for more than two minutes. His hand is naturally warm, but his body temperature is completely unrelated to the clamminess of Bruce’s palm.
Bruce starts to withdraw, but Clark is faster. He catches Bruce’s left hand with his right and pulls him across the table to kiss the lips of his best friend (the lips of the man he’s known forever).
It’s sweet. Chaste.
Bruce Wayne’s lips taste of honey and black coffee. They’re bent over their breakfast, and Clark could care less about his tie getting soaked in Bruce’s coffee mug. He inhales the scent of leather and ultra-strength soap Bruce uses for his post-patrol showers.
Bruce feels more than sees Clark’s smile halfway into the kiss, and the warmth of his mouth tastes like Kansas afternoons. Their kiss is tender and sacred, beyond anything he’s ever imagined.
He pulls away because, unlike a certain Kryptonian, he needs air. Still, out of the two of them, Clark’s the one who looks out of breath. He’s flushed red to the neck, and Bruce’s speeding heartbeat does little to calm him down.
Despite reddening ears, Bruce raises an eyebrow at him.
“That wasn’t an answer, Kent.” he says monotonously, but the slight uptick of his mouth reveals Bruce’s amusement.
Clark rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Their hands stay intertwined.
“I love you too, Bruce.”
“Hrmn.”