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Bruce leans back in his chair, pushing himself away from the table slightly. He sighs, content, when his belly finally has room to take up as much space as it needs. The extra room makes him contemplate a third slice of Clark's apple pie.
“Still hungry?” Clark asks. He's in a similar position to Bruce, with a hand on his middle as he finishes the last of his pie.
“... No,” Bruce admits. “But I could go for more anyways.”
Clark hums. “Best to leave it here, I think.” He polishes off his last bite and gives his belly a gentle pat. Bruce notes that with how full he is, he hardly jiggles.
“If we don’t finish it tonight, the kids will steal the rest,” Bruce argues, though he understands the point his husband is making.
“They don’t even live here anymore.”
“That won’t stop them.”
Clark chuckles softly. “In the off chance that they eat it all, I’ll bake you another one. I think for now, we should rest.”
Bruce sighs. A rest does sound nice. It’s winter now, and as Bruce has gotten older, cold, snowy nights like these have become times when he doesn’t feel like doing much. He’s perfectly content to relocate to the nearest sofa and sit with Clark in front of the fire for a while.
“Alright,” he agrees, feigning reluctance. Clark knows him too well to be convinced. He just laughs as he stands from the table.
“Alright,” he echoes. “Need a hand?”
Bruce narrows his eyes. “I’m old, not incompetent.”
“I didn’t say you were,” Clark says smoothly. Bruce stands with a soft grunt, which Clark graciously ignores. His knees always take a minute to adjust to standing these days.
Clark holds out an arm, and Bruce makes his way to his husband’s side, letting Clark pull him into his side and rest a hand on one of Bruce’s love handles. Bruce offers Clark a kiss on the cheek in return. Slowly, accommodating for the full dinners in their bellies, they make their way to the living room.
There’s already a crackling fire in front of Bruce and Clark’s favorite couch when they arrive. One of the manor’s many Christmas trees sits to the right of it, casting the whole room in a warm glow. Clark takes the spot closest to the tree and adjusts the pillows so that they’re all in the right places. Bruce moves a bit more slowly, but once his hips and back have settled he ends up back in his husband’s embrace, his head laying on Clark’s soft chest. He rests a hand on Clark’s belly.
“You’re full,” Bruce notes. Clark’s stomach is firm, without much give. When Bruce presses into it gently, Clark burps softly.
“Excuse me. Yes, I told you we overdid it a bit.” Clark leans down to press a kiss to Bruce’s hair. “But I’m fine. I just need to digest.”
Bruce hums in agreement. He’s not too worried. Some stomach rubs and rest will sort Clark out.
He slides a hand under his husband’s shirt, feeling the warmth and roundness of Clark’s heavy belly. He focuses higher up first, near Clark’s ribs, massaging at the tautness. Clark hums happily as he moves his hand a bit lower, focusing on his stomach.
“That feel good?” Bruce checks.
“Mmhm.” Clark gives Bruce’s belly a pat. “You want me to help you out too?”
Bruce nods. Clark repeats the same ministrations on Bruce’s stomach, mirroring Bruce’s movements. After so many years together, and so many good, filling meals, they know how best to take care of each other. Within ten minutes, both of their eyes are starting to droop.
“Think we might be getting old,” Clark mumbles.
Bruce hums. “If getting old means getting to spend more time with you, then I’m ok with it.”
Bruce means that. He knows he’s grown more sentimental in his old age, but he’s starting to realize that he doesn’t have that many good years left. Why waste them all without telling his family that he loves them?
He lifts his head off Clark’s chest and sits up enough to pull his husband into a slow kiss. Clark melts into him, making a pleased, purr-like sound in his chest.
“I love you,” Clark murmurs, when they pull apart.
Bruce presses one more kiss to the corner of Clark’s mouth. “I love you, too.”
Bruce goes to settle back against Clark’s chest, but Clark stops him. Bruce gives him a mild glare at that injustice.
“Dear. We need to move to an actual bed.”
Bruce sighs heavily. Gone are the days of his youth when he could so easily sleep on the couch and wake up the next morning without back issues. Clark is right that their bedroom is the best bet.
“Fine,” Bruce grumbles. “Give me a minute.”
“I could. Or I could just carry you.”
Before Bruce can consider that offer, Clark has him in his arms. Bruce lets out a yelp of protest, but is studiously ignored.
“I can walk just fine.”
“I know that,” Clark agrees easily. “This was just easier.”
Ignoring Bruce’s steady stream of complaints, Clark carries him up the stairs and into their bedroom. Clark sets him down under the covers and settles down beside him.
“Here, this is better,” he murmurs.
Bruce sighs heavily, but he can’t bring himself to truly be upset. Clark knows he’s still perfectly capable. He just likes to prove that he can still carry Bruce around as easily as if they were 25 again, rather than nearing 70.
“It’s… an improvement,” Bruce agrees reluctantly.
Clark smiles, pleased. “I always try to give you the best.”
Bruce knows he does. His husband will never stop trying to take care of him, no matter how many times Bruce insists he can do things himself. Bruce has come to accept it as one of his best traits.
Clark pulls Bruce back to his chest, letting Bruce substitute their down pillows for Clark’s soft breasts. His eyes droop closed almost instantaneously. Bruce suspects that getting him to sleep is one of Clark’s lesser known superpowers.
“Good night, love,” Clark murmurs.
“Good night,” Bruce echoes. He presses one final kiss to Clark’s chest before he lets himself succumb to exhaustion. Outside, the temperature continues to drop, and Bruce falls asleep bundled up in his husband’s arms to the blissful quiet of a snow-covered world.