Work Text:
Clark floated into the monitor room and frowned immediately. Someone was standing next to the monitor and pressing random buttons, causing a series of beeps to be heard.
"Hey! What are you doing?" he demanded and flew over to the mysterious intruder. "You shouldn't be--"
He stopped. And then had to stifle laughter.
It was Bruce, except he was wearing a suit with the jacket missing and his white dress shirt untucked and half unbuttoned. The tie was hanging loosely around neck, his hair was wild, and a flush was settled over his face.
Bruce turned and stared at Superman, squinting. "Oh! You're here."
Clark wrinkled his nose at the strong smell of alcohol that came from Bruce's breath. "You're drunk, aren't you? How'd you manage to get up on the Watchtower?"
Bruce shrugged lazily. "Uh, I dunno. I don' even remember how I got drunk in the first place. . ." He trailed off, then hiccupped. "I been tryin' ta get back to. . .where the hell do I live again?"
Clark raised an eyebrow. Okay, so, this was new. Clark had witnessed the Batman in many states: feverish, delusional, angry, tired, and drugged out of his mind. But never had he seen Bruce so. . .relaxed. Or drunk. He didn't even think that Bruce drank, what with his strict diet and all.
Bruce swayed a little and Clark steadied him. He let a small smile grace his lips. "I think we should lie you down somewhere."
"What for?" he whined, even though he'd never admit to doing it.
"Because you're drunk, and I should probably get you some water, too. . ."
"I don't wanna go to sleep." Stubbornness crept in his voice.
"Do you want Wally to see you like this?"
"No. . ." he burped loudly right in Clark's face and put a hand on his chest, wincing. "Ugh. That wasn't good."
"No, it wasn't." He eyed Bruce's wobbly legs. "You gonna be able to walk by yourself, or am I going to have to carry you?"
Bruce held his arms out in a sort of "Carry me" gesture. Clark rolled his eyes a little and easily slung Bruce over his shoulder.
"Onward!" Bruce suddenly shouted, while Clark used one arm to support his legs. He huffed out a chuckle and they made their way into the corridor.
"You have a nice ass," Bruce commented drunkenly, and he must have lifted his cape away from his backside because Clark felt a sudden rush of air from the AC down his spine.
"Do I?"
"Yes. But, it's upside down, which is weird. . ."
"Because you're hanging upside down, Bruce. I'm carrying you."
". . .right, right. Explains why it feels like I'm floating." He burped again. "That, and I think I drank a little too much."
"You think?" Clark snorted, but couldn't keep the humor out of his voice. This was just priceless, and he probably wouldn't let Bruce hear the end of it.
"Can I touch it?"
"Touch what?"
"Your ass. It's so nice."
"Uh. . ."
Bruce was quiet a minute. Then. . .
*SMACK!*
"Hey! Bruce. . .!"
Wally chose that moment in time to zip past them, but Clark heard him skid to a halt and he reappeared in front of him in a red and yellow blur.
"Hey, Supes! Whatcha. . ." He stopped. "Who's that?"
"Is that Wally?" Bruce asked, kicking his legs. "Is it? I can only see your ass. I can't see him."
"Is that Batman?" Wally asked Superman. "Is he *drunk*?"
"Tell him I said hi, Clark," Bruce said.
"Yeah, I found him in the monitor room. We're both equally confused as to how he even got up here like this. . .I guess I'll just have to check the security footage in the morning."
The Flash let it register a bit before he began outright laughing. "Oh, man! This is too much! The *Batman* is *drunk*? Am I dreaming?"
"Clark. Tell Wally I said hi."
"Right now, I'm just trying to take him to his quarters. You can humiliate him in the morning, Flash."
"Definitely." Wally grinned. "Well, good luck." He zipped away.
"Keep this between us, Wally!" Clark knew when Wally was eager to tell everyone *everything*, he would make a quick exit.
"Sure, Supes!" Wally shouted back.
Yeah, right.
"Clark," Bruce said.
"Yes?"
"Clark."
"What, Bruce?"
He heard a groan. "Think I been hangin' upside down too long. . ." and then there was the truly elegant, unmistakable sound of retching and vomit hitting the floor. He felt Bruce's stomach muscles seize against his shoulder.
Clark winced. "Well, great. Bruce?"
Bruce coughed. "Good think I didn't choke. Out of all the things I could die from on a daily basis, I drowned in my own vomit? That would ter-- terri-- terrible. Oh. Fuck. I think some of it got on your cape."
Clark sighed and continued the journey to Batman's quarters ("You think Wally told everyone 'bout your ass? I think he should," Bruce rambled on along the way). They arrived about thirty seconds later. Clark pressed a button and the doors slid open, revealing the dark and untouched room. The door closed behind them as he entered.
"Alright, you need to lay down." He lifted Bruce off of his shoulders and sat him on the bed. Bruce blinked up at him lazily and flopped back into the mattress.
"'S hot in here," he complained almost childishly. "Help me take my clothes off."
Whoa. Clark froze, cheeks reddening. "What?"
"Strip me, Superman." He shifted and smirked a little. "Here, I'll help." Bruce toed off his shoes. "There. You do the rest."
Clark began chewing on his bottom lip, feeling his heart beat wildly on his chest.
Bruce groaned and stared at him. "Just take my clothes off, I'm not asking you to fuck me or anything." He raised an eyebrow. "Unless. . ."
"No, no, I got it." Silently dismissing the suggestive thoughts that had formed in his head, he began with the pants. He reached up to Bruce's hips (ignored the shudder he saw run up Bruce's spine when his fingers came in contact with the heated skin there) and slowly began to drag the slacks down his legs. He got them down to his feet and pulled them all the way off. When he glanced back up, his breath caught in his throat.
Bruce was watching Clark with hooded, lust-filled eyes, and that wasn't even the best part. His normally neat hair was wild and all over the place, hanging in his eyes, and his messed shirt and tie just added to the sexiness. His cheeks were bright red and the fact that he was wearing boxer briefs *and still wearing socks. . .*
"Rao," he couldn't help murmur under his breath.
Bruce shot him a saucy smile, obviously satisfied with something. "See something you like, Clark? Take a picture, it'll last longer."
"Uh. . ." Smooth, Clark. Smooth.
"If you want." There was a mischievous glint in his colleague's eyes. "Take a picture."
Fumbling for his phone, he did exactly as he was told.
"Now finish undressing me, Kent."
-------
Clark's quarters were conveniently located a few feet down the hallway. After Bruce fell asleep (more like passed out), he gratefully floated down onto his mattress and sighed. Wanting to fall asleep himself, he listened out for the steady rhythm of Bruce's heartbeat, which usually helped.
Too bad he could also hear his name being wantonly chanted in the other room.
-------
The next morning, all Clark could think about was Bruce. As if it didn't happen enough. He just *had* to come on the Watchtower, drunk enough to forget why he drank in the first place, and tease him with that. . .that. . . *moment* back in his quarters. Now the only thing he was concentrating on instead of security protocol and procedures was that beautiful, pale, scarred skin, sinful cerulean eyes, not to mention what was in those black boxer briefs--
Clark inhaled and exhaled deeply before exiting his own quarters and down to Bruce's.
The first thing he noticed as the door slid open was that Bruce was still asleep. The moment the light flooded into the dark room, however, Bruce's eyes opened blearily and he groaned almost immediately, pulling the covers over his head.
"Shut the damn door," came his muffled growl from under the covers.
Clark did as he was told and smirked. "I *should* turn on all the lights. It should be your punishment for drinking so much."
"Would you keep your voice down? Jesus, quit shouting."
Clark halfheartedly rolled his eyes and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Do you remember anything?" How cliché, Clark.
"Besides somehow ending up on the Watchtower? No." Bruce tossed the covers off of his face and sat up, rubbing at his eyes. He stopped to look down at himself. "Where are my clothes?"
"The floor."
Bruce ran his hand down his face again and swung his legs over the bed, stopping to put a hand to his head.
"Headache?" Clark asked.
Bruce groaned. "Nausea."
Clark crossed his arms, trying his best to look disappointed and not amused. "I hope you realize how reckless you were last night."
"Reckless? I don't remember doing anything reckless." He pulled on his pants and buttoned up his shirt.
"Well, you threw up on the floor on the way here."
Bruce grimaced.
"Not to mention that you kept going on and on about my ass, you embarrassed yourself in front of Wally. . ."
"I don't want to hear anymore, thanks."
Clark smirked. "Plus, there's this. . ." He showed Bruce his lock screen.
Bruce's eyes widened, then glared. "Delete it."
"Why should I?"
"Because I have very creative places I could shove Kryptonite if you don't."
Clark internally winced. "Well, you told me I could take the picture."
Bruce held a finger up to say something, a retort, most likely, but he decided against it and closed his mouth. He scoffed. "Fine. Keep it." He pulled on his pants.
Clark smirked with victory and pocketed his phone. "So, what now? Heading back to Gotham?"
"Yes. Maybe Dick can recall last night's events, but as I remember, he was just as drunk as I was. Probably not faring any better, either." The corner of Bruce's mouth went up in a lilted smile.
"Just don't forget to show up to the meeting at three today."
Bruce groaned. "I might not go." He pulled on his shirt, fastening the buttons.
Clark grinned. "I'll be sure to tell the other members that Batman is currently recovering from a hangover."
Bruce glared at him. "Oh, shut up. Like you haven't had a hangover before."
Clark blinked.
Bruce stared right back at him. Realization set in. "Wait. . .you've never gotten drunk before?"
Clark shrugged. "Hey, farm boy from Kansas, remember?"
Bruce looked dumbfounded. "Have you even--"
"My parents never allowed it. The closest I've ever had to an alcoholic beverage was a sip of Wally's eggnog at the Christmas party two years ago."
"My God. You truly are a boy scout." Bruce sounded truly astonished, and Clark almost laughed at the look on his face. "I have to get you drunk."
Clark frowned. "You 'have' to?"
"You're coming to my house next Saturday. We're going out." None of it was said as a question.
Clark's heart thudded a little at the last three words. "Uh, o-okay," he stuttered.
Bruce got out of bed and headed towards the attached bathroom to his quarters. "It's a date. I'll see you then." He met Clark's eyes before closed the door.
Clark stared at the door. Things took a turn veeerrry quickly. He stood up and exited the room, mind still reeling.
And as much as he hated to say it, he was looking forward to Saturday, even if it wasn't officially a date.