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"I have a present for you."
Bruce arches his eyebrows. His husband, standing with his hands behind his back to conceal something, looks particularly pleased with himself. Bruce isn't sure he likes the implications of that.
"A present for me?" he repeats skeptically. "Or a present for you?"
Clark chuckles. "Both, probably. But I think you'll like it."
He presents Bruce with a surprisingly heavy box. Bruce rests it on his belly to open it, as Clark watches on eagerly. Inside, beneath several layers of cream tissue paper, is a large sweater. That explains the weight. Due to Bruce's size, all of his clothes are heavy. It takes a lot of fabric to cover his frame.
Bruce can't help a fond smile as he unfolds the sweater to get a better look at it. The body of the sweater is a simple brown, with a chain of pumpkins running across the chest. Orange accents decorate the ends of the sleeves and the bottom hem.
"Have we decided fall is finally here?" Bruce asks, his voice lightly teasing. Clark has been excited for the changing of the seasons for weeks now. This sweater, while unexpected, is hardly a surprise.
Clark grins. "That arrived a month ago, but I didn't think you'd let me give it to you then. So, if you're accepting it, then yes, it's fall."
Bruce can't deny that logic. And besides, Clark isn't wrong. Far from Clark getting excited about pumpkin spice lattes at the end of August, it's properly autumn now. The leaves are changing, and, to Bruce's great relief, the temperature has finally dipped below 80.
"Do you think this will fit me?" he asks.
It's a reasonable question. Most of his clothes are custom tailored. He doesn't much trust off the rack clothes to cover his bulk.
"It might be a little small, but I don't think it'll be too bad. Why don't you try it on and we'll see?"
The eager glint in his eye is back. Bruce knew there was more to this than just a present.
"Are you going to help me?" he asks.
But Clark clearly has other plans in mind. "I need to go grab something. You can change while I'm gone."
Bruce sighs softly but does as he's told. He doesn't really have any excuse not to. And it's sweet to see his husband so excited, even if Bruce himself is a tad apprehensive.
As Clark expected, the sweater is a bit too small. The bottom of his belly pokes out no matter how much he tugs it down. But thankfully the material stretches easily, and it's not too tight. It isn't too warm either, as he'd feared. It's thinner than he'd expected. As a fat man who's always overheating, he finds it surprisingly comfortable.
"May I see?" Clark calls, with a soft knock to the door of Bruce's home office. Bruce grunts in agreement.
Since they last saw each other, Clark has changed too. Bruce should have expected he'd buy himself a matching sweater. His is cream and covered in red and orange leaves. It fits him well, too. Rather than being baggy like the clothes he wears in public, it's tight enough to show the width of his powerful shoulders and highlight the soft slope of his belly.
"You're ridiculous," Bruce informs him. But he wouldn't have his husband any other way.
Clark beams. "Thank you. How does your sweater feel? It's not too tight, is it?"
Bruce shakes his head. "It's just not long enough. As long as we're not leaving the house, I don't mind."
He's proud to realize that's a genuine statement. Decades ago, Bruce wouldn't have let anyone see his gut uncovered. Even being naked around his husband used to be difficult. But Bruce has grown more comfortable in his own skin over the years. Having a bit of his belly on display doesn't bother him anymore.
Clark smiles softly at him, with a hint of his own pride. "We won't be. I just want to spend a bit of time with you."
Bruce nods. "Lead the way."
Bruce follows Clark out the door and down the hallway. Clark leads them over to the elevator—an indulgence he doesn't often encourage, but he tells Bruce to trust him. Bruce does, always.
Once downstairs, Clark heads over to the main doors of the manor. He picks up a bag he'd clearly left beside it and turns around to look expectantly at Bruce.
"Coming?"
Bruce frowns. "You said we weren't leaving home."
Clark grins. "And we aren't. You still own the manor grounds. We haven't left home until we go out the front gates, which we're not doing."
Bruce arches his eyebrows at his husband. Clark's smile is unphazed.
"Come on, dear. It's a nice day out."
Bruce sighs softly but sits on the bench beside the door to allow Clark to help him with his shoes. He understands now why Clark had them take the elevator. He knows how much the stairs tire Bruce. If they're going on a walk, he's going to need all the energy he has. Once both their shoes are on, Clark offers him a hand to help him to his feet. Bruce accepts reluctantly.
Clark presses a kiss to his cheek once he's standing. "I won't push you too hard," he promises gently. "I just want to get some fresh air. If we only make it to the closest bench, that's alright with me."
Bruce nods, holding back another sigh. He doesn't want to dampen Clark's excitement.
"Let's go."
Clark opens the door, allowing Bruce to go through first. Some of his annoyance melts away once he steps outside. Of all the days to go for a walk, Clark chose a good one. The air is crisp and refreshingly cool. Bruce is starting to think this might actually be bearable.
Clark wraps an arm around him, resting his hand on one of Bruce's lovehandles. "Shall we?"
They start off at a leisurely pace—a crawl by anyone else's definition, but Clark clearly meant what he said about not pushing Bruce. Clark takes them across the paved road and onto one of the gravel walking paths that cross the manor grounds. It's one of the nicest parts of the grounds at this time of year, lined with deciduous trees in every shade of orange and red. A light breeze sends leaves drifting down in front of them. Bruce glances at Clark in time to catch his satisfied smile.
Even if exercise is far from his favorite activity, Bruce has to admit to himself that this isn't so bad. He's tired and sweating, but the cool air helps. So does the length of his sweater, ironically. Bruce almost wonders whether Clark got him a size too small on purpose. The breeze on his exposed belly and lower back is helping to keep him from overheating.
Unfortunately, it doesn't help how out of shape Bruce is. Always attentive to Bruce's needs even when he refuses to voice them, Clark leads them over to a nearby bench to give Bruce a break to catch his breath.
"Thanks," Bruce grunts, accepting a water bottle that Clark pulls out of his bag. Once he's downed half the bottle, Clark hands him a towel to wipe the sweat from his face.
"Alright?" Clark asks.
Bruce nods. "Just out of shape."
Clark hums gently. "We can be done, if you want. I can carry you back."
Bruce shakes his head. "Not yet. Let's sit here for a while longer."
The more time Bruce spends outside, the more he finds it isn't as terrible as he'd feared. And, more importantly, the happier Clark gets. Bruce doesn't do nearly as much for his husband as he should. This seems to be one of the simplest things he can do to cheer Clark up. He wraps an arm around Clark's shoulders and pulls him against his soft side. Clark easily relaxes into his belly, using one of Bruce's fluffy shoulders as a pillow. He rests a hand on Bruce's gut, rubbing gentle circles into its surface.
"Thank you for humoring me," Clark murmurs after a moment. "I know you hate walking, but I appreciate you going along with this for me."
"I'm not just humoring you," Bruce says, and he means it. It's not a hardship to spend time with Clark.
Clark nods. "Poor choice of words. I just meant that I know you probably would have rather done something a little less active together."
"I would have. But this isn't as bad as it could have been."
Clark snorts. "Thank you for the ringing endorsement."
"You're welcome."
That gets a real laugh. Bruce's chest warms, satisfied now that he's sure Clark is happy. He rubs Clark's side gently.
"I brought something else," Clark announces suddenly.
"Of course you did."
Clark pokes his gut. "Hush, or I won't share. I know you'll like this."
He pulls away from Bruce to rifle through his bag again. He pulls out two thermoses and a paper bag, which he hands to Bruce.
"Open it," he prompts.
Bruce complies. He nods appreciatively when he looks in the bag.
"I knew you'd make this sooner or later," he says, pulling out the two slices of pumpkin bread. He considers keeping both to himself, as a reward for the exercise he's done, but he's not cruel. He takes one slice for himself and hands the other to Clark.
"Happy now?" Clark asks, watching Bruce dig in.
Bruce hums through his bite. "Very. What's in the thermos?"
"Apple cider."
Bruce smiles. Clark is, as always, predictable. But in Bruce's mind, that only makes him more endearing.
"And when should I be expecting pumpkin pie?" Bruce asks, only slightly teasing. Clark makes the same recipes every year. Not that Bruce is complaining. His husband is an accomplished baker.
Clark shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe I'm not making one this year."
Bruce doesn't believe that for a second. "You've already baked one, haven't you?"
Clark flushes slightly. "... I got excited, ok?"
"As long as I get plenty of it, I'm not judging. Make as many pies as you'd like." Bruce pats his gut. "Rest assured, I've got the appetite for them."
In years past, Bruce used to dread the weight that often comes with the colder months. The increase in Clark's baking combined with the abundance of holidays has never been easy on his waistline. But recently he's stopped caring so much. His winter weight doesn't tend to stick around, so why worry so much about a few months of indulgence? Life is short. Bruce might as well appreciate baked goods while he can.
Clark rests a hand on Bruce's belly. "One of the benefits of being empty nesters is that no one's going to steal half the pie before you get to it. You can have as much as you want this year."
Bruce hums. "And what if you steal my pie?"
"I think that's my prerogative as the baker." Clark leans over to press a kiss to Bruce's cheek. "If you'd like pie all to yourself, you'll have to learn to bake your own."
Bruce sighs. "That sounds difficult. I suppose I can share."
Clark laughs fondly. He's no doubt recalling his attempts to teach Bruce to bake in the past, which have always ended in tragedy. Bruce has been warned that the next time he tries to cook, he owes Alfred a new kitchen.
Bruce pulls Clark back up against his side. They finish off their pumpkin bread and sip apple cider as they watch the leaves fall.
Bruce had been a little sad about this fall before today. It'll be their first without their children in the manor. Sure, none of them are far. Most still come over for dinner regularly. But there's something about the colder months that makes Bruce infuriatingly sappy, wanting his family around. He was worried he'd miss his kids too much this year.
But this has helped him relax. As Clark has pointed out, there are benefits to having some time to themselves. And if he wants them home, most of his kids are only a phone call away.
"Ready to head back inside?" Clark asks after a while.
"Not just yet," Bruce says. Clark arches his eyebrows in surprise. "Let's walk a little further."
Clark's surprise melts into a soft smile. He pulls Bruce into a kiss.
"Thank you, darling."
Bruce smiles back at him, allowing himself to be fond. "Happy fall, love."