Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bruce was not a morning person; at all.

A combination of late nights and low blood pressure often left the man needing several minutes (if not a full hour) to properly wake himself up.

Today it only took two.

It wasn't particularly uncommon for Bruce to wake up to the incredibly pleasant sound that was his young son's giggling. Unlike him, Dick was a morning person. How he managed to have remained such under his tutelage was beyond even Batman's deductive capabilities.

He was vaguely aware of, but too tired to deal with, the dip and then added pressure on the bed to his left as the young boy mounted the large expanse of cushion-y space that was his bed and crawled over to the center where Bruce lay. When his Robin crawled up on him to straddle his waist, he was half tempted to roll over, half to shake him off and half out of playfulness.

But the effort…

So Bruce lay still, trying to relish the last few seconds of peacefulness that he had until the playful little bird accomplished whatever he had set out to do.

What actually woke Bruce up was the odd sensation of tiny warm hands delving under his nightshirt and pushing the cloth up slowly up his chest. Or rather, it was what happened next.

Bruce opened one eye slowly. "Dick, what are you doing?"

Bright blue eyes peered up at him innocently from where to boy had moved to half lay down over Bruce's legs, his chin resting just below his foster father's navel.

"I was going to give you a blow job."

Both of the man's eyes shot open wide and he stared down at his son with a look of terror that even the likes of the Joker had never seen. "ALFRED!" He roared, picking Dick up from under the arms, holding him at arms length and nearly tossing him to the other side of the bed in his effort to scramble out of it and get to the door.

He reached it just in time for Alfred to open it, looking, to his credit, not at all like he'd just raced up a flight and a half of stairs. "Good morning, Master Bruce, Master Richard. May I ask what this commotion is about?"

Bruce swallowed thickly and opened his mouth, but was unable to voice the horrors of what had just befallen him. Blinking at the man slowly, Alfred turned his attention to the child, who looked like he'd just been slapped (by his favorite person, no less) but without the bruises.

"I just wanted to give him a blow job!" the boy said in exasperation, tears welling up in his eyes. He'd never ever seen an expression like that on Bruce's face, only on the faces of the more spineless criminals that had just had the living daylights scared out of them by Batman himself.

Once again, to his credit, Alfred managed to keep his expression locked in his normal calm smile. He was silent for a moment before a curious expression appeared on his face. He crossed the room, moving around the bed, and scooped to saddened bird into his arms. "May I ask why?" he said finally.

Dick clutched Alfred's chest tightly in his small hands, tearful eyes staring up at him imploringly. "Wally said that that was how guys liked to be woken up in the morning…as a special surprise." He rambled out through small sniffles.

And with those words, hell descended upon Gotham City. Children were called back into their homes; animals skittered into hiding, and even the toughest men suddenly felt the urge to wet their pants.

Or they would have, had they been aware of the events unfolding at the moment.

Bruce's eyes narrowed to slits and his face became a image of unbridled rage. "HE WHA-"

Fortunately for all involved, Bruce was cut off mid-rage by his very much still-in-charge butler. All it took was the horrified whimper from Dick and a incredibly sharp glare from the older gentleman to stop Bruce in his tracks; though, by his expression, he seemed to be planning a certain speedster's untimely death.

"Master Richard," Alfred said gently, using one hand to tilt the boy's head up from where Dick had buried it in his chest. "What exactly did Mr. West tell you to do?" he asked.

Dick blinked up at him slowly and his eyes shifted to look towards Bruce, only making it halfway before Alfred adjusted the boy's chin and tilted his own head to block Dick's vision. The boy wonder remained silent for a moment before finally saying, "He…he said that you were supposed to get on them and then blow really, really hard on their belly button." He whispered.

Alfred gave the boy a incredibly warm smile before looking over his shoulder at his very relieved master, who had a hand over his heart and leaning with his head against the door frame in utter relief. Alfred chuckled softly and looked down at the child bundled in his arms.

"That, Master Richard, is actually referred to as a 'Raspberry.'" He said.

Dick blinked at him in confusion. "Then, what's a b-"

"Something neither of you are old enough to know about, let alone perform." Alfred said.

Dick let a soft "Oh," and raised his body slightly to look over Alfred's shoulder at his adoptive father. When Bruce met his gaze, the sight of that worried, uncertain…almost fearful look on his son's face – a look he hadn't had directed towards him since the day he took Dick in – it nearly broke his heart.

With a soft sigh, Bruce quickly made his way over to the two and gathered his son from his butler's arms and held him close. "I'm sorry. I never meant to scare you. …Nothing could ever make me hate you." He whispered into the boy's hair. "…You know that, right?" he asked, pulling back slightly to meet Dick's eyes.

A small shy smile appeared on the little bird's face, lighting up his features gently as he nodded. Dick quickly jerked up, wrapping his little arms around Bruce's neck and holding on as tightly as he could while burying his face in Bruce's neck, nearly throwing the man off balance.

"I know."

-----

Afterwards…

Barry Allen, also known as The Flash, grinned in amusement down at his sidekick, barely managing to hold in his laughter as the boy nearly tripped himself in rope tying up their latest criminal.

"Flash."

Barry blinked in surprise, but didn't flinch as Wally had, at the sudden appearance of the Dark Knight at his side. He'd dealt with it often enough. "Hey, Batman, what can I do for you?" he asked.

Batman paid the question no mind, instead turning towards Kid Flash. The man seemed to grow in the child's mind, as the full force of the Bat Glare was directed at him while the man loomed ominously over them. "You told Robin that men like to be woken up to blow jobs?" he growled.

Barry turned several shades of white under his mask. Batman was known to be incredibly protective of anything that he considered his. And more than anything else in the world, Robin was very much HIS.

Wally swallowed thickly, inching behind his mentor and having very little idea of why that was bad. "Y-y-y-y-yeah. I s-sawitonamagazine…a-….:" he rambled out squeakily.

Barry blinked, "You saw it ON a magazine? Do you even know-"

"A Raspberry."

Barry looked at the man in confusion. Batman leaned back, Bat Glare off and no longer looming. "They thought it was a Raspberry." He stated dryly.

Barry laughed in utter relief. Wally, only slightly less terrified, looked up at his mentor. "Huh? Then what's a blow job?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Barry turned a bright red and scratched his cheek. He looked to Batman for help, but only received a blank stare in return. "Um…er…it's…it's a sex thing." He replied after a long silence.

Wally's eyes widened. "Oh. OH." His eyes shifted towards the Dark Knight to find him staring him right in the eye. Wally swallowed dryly as the bat smirked.

Batman took a step closer and leaned down slight. "Kid Flash, I trust that from now on,…" he said as his cloak shifted and he pulled something out of it. It was a well worn teddy bear. In fact, in was the secret well worn teddy bear that Wally swore up and down that he never slept with anymore…well, except when he's had a nightmare…or his dad's being a jerk…or he gets grounded; but only then, and hidden in his room at all other times. But…Batman had it. Batman had it…he's beeninmyroom!

"…You're going to be very careful about what you say around my Robin, correct?" Batman murmured, almost teasingly, the 'I know where you live' part clear in his voice.

Wally let out a choked sound and was gone.

Barry sighed softly, half annoyed but half amused. "You know he won't be able to go home tonight, right?"

Batman turned on his heel with a flourish of his cape. His head tilted slightly in what seemed to be his version of a shrug.

"Not my problem."

Chapter Text

To be perfectly honest, in the back of his mind, Bruce felt that he should really have seen that coming. As horrifying as it was to even think about.

Because Dick has made no secret of the fact that he wants to make Bruce, or rather, his -man-, happy. That he appreciates everything that Bruce has given him; the world that he's opened up for him.

Dick adores him, and Bruce can proudly say that he feels the same.

But, dammit, that boy's going to be the death of him one day.

Assuming he's not arrested first.

------

A year and a half ago…

Bruce leaned back in his seat and stared out through the window to his right, not-quite-pointedly ignoring the bespectacled reporter sitting across from him. But he wasn't simply pretending to drift off; his mind truly was somewhere else. At home, in fact.

He hated leaving Richard home alone.

It wasn't nearly as bad when Alfred was at home with the young boy, but he had several errands to run throughout the day today, many of which he couldn't bring a child along to. Both men trusted Dick to manage himself for the few hours that he would be alone, but…

It was leaving him that was the problem, for Bruce anyway.

It was days like this, where Alfred made their breakfasts and was out the door before either of his masters had finished eating, that Bruce hated.

On those days, as he left, Dick would walk him to the door. He would hold Bruce's hand and chatter on excitedly about whatever currently held his fancy as he padded along quietly in his tiny bat-symbol slippers and silk pajamas. As they neared the door, Dick would release his hand and hang back, watching as Bruce exchanged his black slippers for shinned shoes and pulled on his coat. And when Bruce faced his new child again, the boy would smile and wish him a good day.

But on these days, the smiles didn't seem to completely reach his eyes. Dick would stare at him with those wide and slowly blinking blue eyes with an expression that reminded him of that of a young kitten.

Where are you going? Why are you going away? You're coming back, right?...right?

And it freaked him right the hell out.

It made him want to gather to boy in his arms and tell him that they were moving to Disney World…or something equally implausible, but he knew better. So he would simply pat Dick on the head and force himself to turn away from the stare.

"Bruce!"

Bruce blinked, only slightly surprised, and turned his attention back to the Daily Planet reporter. Clark tilted his head slightly, a small smile appearing on his face. "Wanna move this to your place, then? Doesn't look like you're going to be of any use to me here." He said with a chuckle.

Bruce frowned slightly, the thought of going home being the only thing keeping him from scowling outright. He scoffed softly, feigning indifference. "Suit yourself." He vaguely remembered that Alfred would have stopped home by now, if only to prepare a lunch, so at least Dick would have returned to his normally happy self.

They arrived at the manor not long after, Clark regaling him with the details of his rescue of a woman he personally thought must be a little suicidal, if not outright crazy, for all the times she needed rescuing.

They had entered the manor and were removing their coats and shoes when they were greeted by a happy sounding, "Welcome home, Bruce!"

Bruce smiled to himself as he removed his second shoe and looked up to greet his son, smiling more happily than he liked for Clark to see.

Only for his smile to freeze on his face. His mind had quickly shut down and he twitched slightly.

His son, his eight-year-old, very-much-a-minor son, was wearing a short black and white maid apron while holding a small tray with tea, the newspaper and a pastry on it.

And nothing else.

The boy closed the distance between them, actually sashaying as he did so. Stopping just a few feet away, his eyes narrowed and he smiled warmly up as his father, clearly happy with himself. "Welcome back! You must be tired. Would you like a massage?" he cooed.

He was not hyperventilating. Nope. Bruce – Batman – did not hyperventilate. He was simply breathing deeply as a lung exercise. That's all.

Clark stared down at the boy with wide eyes. He turned slightly to Bruce to ask what the hell this was all about, but…while the man was sort of smiling, Clark could feel the panic coming off him in waves. In fact, he seemed more shocked by this whole thing than Clark did. Though whether that was out of innocence or the fear of being found out, he didn't know.

Noticing that his sometimes friend didn't seem like he would be capable of speech anytime soon, Clark chose to break the silence. "Um…hello, Dick. That's…that's a pretty apron. Why are you wearing that?" he asked conversationally, his inner reporter kicking in.

Dick turned to him, as if only now registering his presence (which, to be honest, was slightly insulting. He was -Superman-, after all, and Dick -knew- that), and smiled widely up at Clark, unintentionally absolving himself of all crimes. He spun around lightly, managing not to spill so much as a drop or crumb, while also showing the men that, yes, he was -indeed- totally naked.

No shame at all.

"It's how great men should be greeted upon returning home." He chirped.

Clark nodded, keeping his smile warm. "Oh? And who told you that?" he asked.

Dick blinked up at him and tilted his head. "No one did. I read it in a magazine. 'The Top 10 Ways to Make Your Man the Happiest Man in the World.'" He said, as if this was something Clark should know already.

Clark stood up straight and laughed loud. That was actually pretty cute. He was just happy that Lois hadn't been with that today. His laughter died immediately at that gut-wrenching thought.

But it was enough to shock Bruce's mind awake. He blinked slowly and looked down at his son, instantly remembering what had made him black out in the first place. Dick met his gaze and gave him a wide, though somewhat uncertain smile. "Um…you don't like it?" the boy asked.

Bruce's heart clenched and he opened his mouth to tell the boy that that wasn't true, that he looked adorable in whatever he chose to wear…but realized that that really wasn't the point.

"Where did you get it?" he asked instead.

"From the same place Alfred gets his uniforms. I got it over the phone." He said.

As if hearing his name being called, Alfred entered the foyer, greeting his master and his guest with a smile before his eyes landed on Dick. The man blinked slowly, seeming to take in the entire situation within seconds.

In a flash, his swallow tailed coat jacket was off him and falling gently over Dick's shoulders like a blanket, the top hole being buttoned by Alfred from behind as he bent over the little Robin.

"I've been thinking that it is about time for Master Richard to begin his schooling. I've already set up appointments with several quite renown scholars, all of whom would be honored to tutor the son of Bruce Wayne." He said conversationally.

He hadn't. All three adults knew he hadn't. But the message was clear. We cannot leave this boy alone. He is freaking resourceful.

How had he even gotten a hold of that number? Let alone convinced someone that it would be okay to deliver a maid apron to a -male- child?

"Excellent. I've been thinking the same." Bruce said, finally managing to calm himself down enough to smile normally. He knelt down to look at his son at eye level. He reached out a hand and placed it gently on Dick's head.

"And you look adorable."

He could feel Clark's knowing smirk burning a hole into his back; he knew he would never hear the end of this, heaven forbid he told someone in the League; he knew that this boy was going to give him a heart attack one day. But he also knew that he loved the way that his son's face lit up with complete and utter joy; he knew he loved the way those tiny arms felt around his neck as the boy hugged him, up on his toes with his forehead pressed against Bruce's, wide blue eyes narrowed in mirth.

And as he smiled – grinned – back at Dick, Bruce also knew one thing:

Happiness had a name.

Chapter Text

There were many things that Bruce never told other people. That his moniker was one chosen out of his own nightmares, rather than his likes or desires. That, for one who generally disliked sweets, he would honestly consider stabbing someone for Alfred’s homemade Holiday-Only white macadamia nut cookie dough ice cream.

…That Barry Allen was one of the few people capable of making him feel very, truly, paranoid. It was incredibly impressive, but also a bit of a shame. Out of all of the members in the League, Bruce was actually most fond of The Flash, finding him to be the easiest to get along with. Barry was, quite simply, an easy person himself. He was intelligent and thoughtful and appreciated Bruce’s methodological nature as it lined up easily with his own.

That day, Bruce had arrived at the tower, files in hand, ready to divulge what he’d found thus far of Luthor’s most recent plans at their meeting. He’d almost passed The Flash, with a cursory nod in greeting, before he’d felt a light brushing touch on his arm; enough to alert him to stop, but not the firm (and honestly irritating) grasp men usually used to get one’s attention.

When he looked up at his comrade, Barry was staring at him with an expression that seemed to be confused, curious, and almost calculating. But it was gone quickly enough, eyes narrowing as a warm smile bubbled onto his features, the touch on his arm becoming more solid while still very gentle.

“Congratulations.” He said finally.

Bruce blinked, shoving down the startled jerk that had threatened to come out at that statement. His eyes narrowed slightly through the cowl, his expression almost suspicious.

“On what?”

Barry opened his mouth and then paused, as if only now realizing what he’d just done. His hand left Bruce’s arm to run through his hair, an action that was aborted half-way because of, you know, the cowl.

“I…I don’t know.” He admitted, “It…you seemed really happy today… So I figured congratulations were in order.” He said.

Bruce watched him in silence for a moment before allowing his face to soften just as much as his voice had; barely, nigh unnoticeable, but there. “Thank you.” He murmured sincerely with a slight nod.

Then Barry did something that the others rarely did – one of the reasons Bruce liked the man as much as his did – he let his hand rest on Bruce’s shoulder in a more firm version of his light brushing touches, smiled and left without question.

Bruce had to admit, if only to himself, that he was happy for the congratulations. He thought he deserved it.

After all, Dick had smiled for him today.

---xXx---                               ---xXx---                               ---xXx---

The boy had sat across from him as usual as they ate their breakfast. Dick quietly eating his cereal, something sweet yet reasonably healthy; and Bruce, eating some sort of whole grainy thing out of his coffee but inside a bowl, still mostly asleep.

Dick had looked up once and noticed Bruce’s meal and smiled, just an upward flicker of the lips that finally reached his eyes. It took a little more than ‘just a moment’ for Bruce to notice the child watching him. Seeing that smile woke him up a bit, pausing for a moment with his spoon close to his mouth. He stared back in mild, somewhat bleary confusion, but continued with his meal anyway, watching as Dick’s smile grew just a touch.

Suddenly he froze, pulling the spoon slowly from his mouth and staring down the – dear lord, freaking half-empty – bowl of coffee and cereal with wide eyes and twitched.

The man blinked hard and swallowed the spoonful in his mouth down. He looked back at Dick, whose smile was blossoming into a wide grin. They stared at each other for a moment before Bruce’s lips quirked up and the boy dissolved into giggles.

And Bruce…Bruce could fall in love with that sound. With the way the boy’s cheeks had flushed with laughter and his eyes lit up with pure, unbridled, amusement as Bruce lay his head down sideways on the table, shoving the bowl away with a groan of disgust though his shoulders shook with his own silent amusement.

“So, this is why you have Alfred, huh?” Dick teased, more relaxed now than he’d ever been in the three weeks since they’d taken him in.

Bruce smiled, though it turned into what, in anyone else, would have been considered a pout. “You could have said something earlier.” He mock grumbled.

“I didn’t think it would take so long!”

Bruce opened his mouth to protest that but then shut it with a click. “….It’s really early.” He defended.

Dick just raised an eyebrow, eyes dancing. “It’s almost 8:30.” He replied.

“…”

“…”

“…Still early.” He muttered despite the smile growing on his lips.

The two of them sat in a comfortable silence for several minutes before Dick broke it. His eyes were downcast, eyelids lowered as he stared into his bowl of sweetened milk. Long eyelashes fluttered through several half-blinks before he looked up at his new guardian.

“Good morning, Bruce.” He said softly, shyly; more subdued than just before but still, undeniably, warmer than he’d ever been since he’d gotten there.

“Good morning, Richard.” He replied, just as shy and soft.

The boy sat up a little straighter and stared him in the eye with a hint of that performer’s confidence that Bruce had last seen in the bleachers of a big top under brilliant green lights.

“Dick.” He corrected.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed his expression more fond. “Good morning, Dick.” He amended.

---xXx---                               ---xXx---                               ---xXx---

Bruce had to admit that between Dick and the League he was a bit distracted. In the back of his mind, in the corner of his eyes, he would sometimes catch Barry’s smile. That soft ‘I’m happy because you’re happy,’ smile that he so often gave them, there for a flicker and then gone, too quick for anyone less attentive than Bruce was to notice.

He must have been distracted because it was three weeks and four days before he was jerked out of his thoughts, seated at the League’s main computer and typing away, mid-word.

He stared up at the monitor then down at his hands. He sat still for a moment before letting out a silent sigh and forcing himself to finish the report against the thrum of the urge to get up and find the man right then.

When he did finally get the chance, he found Barry in the mess hall, shoveling down a ton of food with a surprising amount of neatness. The speedster had noticed him from across the room and, by the time Bruce reached him, all of the food was gone, plates stacked neatly at either side of them.

“What can I do for you?” the blond asked conversationally.

Bruce stared for a moment, his eyes narrowing, allowing a hint of suspicion to enter his expression. “How did you know I was happy?” he asked without inflection.

Barry started and his eyes shifted away and back again under the cowl. For a moment it looked as if he were about to deny this knowledge before seeming to think better of it. He tapped the pad an index finger on the table silently as he thought. “It was…your posture, I guess.” He said after a long silence.

“My posture? Explain.”

Barry smiled, a little wary. “You weren’t slouching.” At Bruce’s slight twitch (because he sure as hell didn’t slouch), he continued. “Not so much slouching, but looming, rather.” He corrected.  

“It’s like you’re somehow standing tall but giving the impression that you’re looking level or down. But, when you’re happy…your head’s tilted up and your eyes are high.” Barry lowered himself a little, left elbow on the table, cheek resting on the palm of half curled finger as his voice grew softer, eyelids half lowered. “You eat more slowly and you talk a little more, just a word here and there. And you’re snarkier, playful even, with us.”

Bruce stared at the man for a long moment before sitting down slowly. “You…you’ve been watching me.” He said finally.

Barry smiled somewhat sheepishly. “I watch everyone. I’ve got a lot of time on my hands some days.” He said with a shrug. Barry sat up a bit straighter. He reached out and gave Bruce’s hands, clasped almost formally on top of the table, a gentle pat. “It looks good on you, though.”

Bruce blinked slowly, feeling as if he’d missed part of their conversation. “What does?”

“Happiness.”

Bruce glared mildly at the man and got up, letting out an irritated huff of a sigh that just seemed to amuse Barry further. “Sometimes I forget how corny you can be.” He deadpanned.

The blond just grinned widely. “I have a girlfriend now. I get to be as corny and cheesy and special as I want!”  

Bruce rolled his eyes under his mask. “You’re worse than Clark.”

Barry gasped, sounding vaguely scandalized. “Wow, no. Have you read the articles he puts out for the pop culture section? I am nowhere near that bad.”

“That bad at what?”

Both men looked up to see Diana just a few feet over, watching them curiously. Bruce just raised an eyebrow. Barry smiled went from one to the other. “Bruce thinks I’m cornier than Clark.” He supplied.

Diana tilted her head at that, a smile playing on her lips. “No. Hal is. He writes haikus.”

Both men started at that. Barry blinked slowly and then let out a long sigh, rising from his seat. “Well. There goes my day. Later, guys.” He said before disappearing. Diana stared at the spot Barry left for a moment longer before turning her attention back to Bruce.

“Why?” Bruce asked finally. Because just knowing that without context (that he was never going to ask either Hal or Barry for) was going to irritate him for days.

Diana just shrugged, though her smile had grown wider.

“Love can be blinding. Everything they are shines bright. Your heart, my sun, clears the skies.” She murmured over her shoulder as she left.

Bruce watched her leave, running the lines over again in his head as he left the mess hall himself. He paused just outside it and glanced at the large window that overlooked the Earth.

The skies were clear over Gotham.

Chapter Text

It wasn't something that Clark really did often. But every now and again, Clark found himself using his extraordinary hearing to check in on the people that he was close to. Sometimes it was Diana, other times Barry or Hal. But, more often than he liked to admit, when Clark checked in on someone, it was usually Bruce.

There wasn't a particular reason for it, really. But hearing a league members' voice, even for seconds at a time, was strangely calming. It's even alerted him to danger a handful of times.

So on that day, when he caught hold of Bruce's voice and the first thing he heard was a sharp pained grunt, Clark was instantly on high alert. He pushed back from his desk and made for the bathroom, taking a moment to tell Jimmy that he'd made the mistake of eating at that burrito place down the block again. It was a surprisingly good excuse. Despite Clark's 'intolerance' for the food, the meals were good enough to explain why he kept going back. With one ear, he kept his attention on Bruce, cringing slightly at another low huff that reached him.

Clark is already half a mile out from Bruce's location (the manor, which is alarming in itself) when the tone of the sounds Bruce was making changes.

There's a sharp intake of breath and, when he releases it, the sound Bruce makes is a sigh that bleeds into something obscene.

It gets Clark grinding into a halt so sharply that he is nearly choked by his own cape when it whips back to hit him. He floats in place for a moment, just looking around at the clouds around him nervously as if expecting them to have heard that and judge him for how crimson his face was turning. Clark bent over and scrubbed his face with the palm of his hands.

Okay, so clearly Bruce was fine.

He was about to chalk this up to Bruce keeping up with his civilian persona when he hears Dick's breathless laughter.

"Oh! There we go! Need me to ease up, old man?"

Clark's eyebrows knit together in wary confusion. There was probably a totally reasonably explanation for --

"Who do you think you're talking to?"

Robin laughs, as excited as he ever is, before letting out a sharp grunt in exertion. Whatever he does gets another, louder, sound from Bruce that goes straight down Clark's spine.

"Yes," Bruce says, his voice actually breathy and near shaking, "There, harder."

"Yes, sir," came the boy's teasing reply.

Clark blinked slowly, quietly panicking. He spun around in a circle three times, debating. On one hand, this was technically none of his business. It, still, could possibly be nothing. On the other, Dick was very much a minor in addition to the fact that Bruce was in a position of authority over him as his adopted father.

And Clark was Superman. Superman protected children from any and all dangers! How he found out didn't technically matter if there was something wrong afoot, right?

Clark dug the heel of his palms over his eyes and tuned out. It was getting...distracting and he'd already been hit by more birds in the last five minutes than he'd like to admit.

Taking a steeling breath, he flies the last half mile as fast he can. By the time he's right outside Bruce's bedroom window, he can't help be hear the soft pleased sounds that Bruce is making while Dick is...doing whatever Dick is doing that Clark is trying really hard to not think about.

Just in case, because Clark still really wants to believe that there's a reasonable explanation for this aside from that his close (sort of) friend sleeping with his son, Clark decides to use his x-ray vision to peek in.

It doesn't help.

The vision he gets is, as per usual, an x-ray. It's black, white and grey and is mostly just shapes. Bruce is lying on his stomach with his arms folded underneath his head. Dick is lying on top of him in between Bruce's legs, their bodies pressed almost flush together. The boy's arms are folded at an odd angle, allowing to take firm hold of Bruce's hips at both sides.

Clark frowned, more than a little pained at the thought of what Bruce was allowing. He knew that the two were close, obviously, growing closer every year. Bruce allowed and even desired a level of affection from Dick that couldn't be compared to any other in his life, even Alfred.

But, still.

Taking another sharp breath, Clark yanked the bay windows open before he could lose his nerve.

Dick's head turned sharply to look at Clark, though he didn't pause in his ministrations. While Bruce was only half dressed, Dick was still fully clothed. The preteen greeted Clark with a raised eyebrow, leaving his hands where they were and half pulling himself into a kneeling position like a cat. He used the position to press the heels of his hands harder into the dip of Bruce's spine, earning a soft sigh from the man under him.

Clark's eye twitched and he swallowed thickly.

Crap.

Bruce turned his head and leaned up, as if about to get up, already alert. "What is it? What happened?"

Clark blinked at him slowly and it took him a moment to remember what had brought him here. ...He should probably keep that to himself.

"Oh. Um...nothing. Hi?"

Bruce stared at Clark for a full ten seconds with something that wasn't even irritation. He looked...just incredibly unimpressed. ""Hi?" You broke into my home to say "Hi.""

"...yes?"

Bruce fell back into his lying position, head turned away again. "Get out."

Keeping himself from flailing at the cold dismissal was made a little easier when he looked at Dick. The boy was bent over with his forehead on Bruce's back, vibrating with silent laughter, but still working. Clark glowered at Dick's back.

"Wait. No, I'm...stronger than Dick, obviously. I could...help you..." he found himself saying before he could stop himself.

Bruce turned back to face Clark and stared at him, his eyes a touch wider than usual. A series of expressions flashed across Bruce's face, most of them there and gone before even Clark could properly read them. He was able to catch the first one, which was painfully close to alarm, and the last one. The last one came across as being confused and something like scandalized.

One would've thought that Clark had randomly offered him a hand-job.

Clark slowly raised his hand in a placating way when Bruce didn't respond. "Okay...so, hi...uh, again. I'm just going to..." he said, backing out of the window and flying away as fast as could without obviously fleeing.

Dick turned to Bruce, who was still staring out the window with that odd look on his face. He reached out and poked Bruce in the cheek. "You okay there?" he asked.

Bruce let out a low sigh. "I can't tell if I'm too young or too old to deal with this," he admitted.

Dick snorted softly. "Who says it can't be both, grandpa?" he replied, leaning back before driving an elbow just under Bruce's scapula.

"F- you little..." he muttered breathlessly, turning back into his pillow as Dick giggled.