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Clark had not intended to sleep with Bruce Wayne on their first date.
Have sex with? Yes. Absolutely. If Bruce initiated, Clark was going to be enthusiastically receptive. It might be the only opportunity he ever got. He couldn't imagine Clark Kent™ holding Bruce Wayne’s interest for very long, so carpe diem and all that.
Yes, the tabloids were most certainly exaggerating some of his wildest escapades. He’d been nothing but thoughtful and kind to Clark through the evening, bordering even on the point of shyness. But Bruce was rich, handsome, smart, charming, and Clark was…. Well, he was Clark.
And Bruce was… very handsome. It didn’t feel fair how handsome he was. It was distracting. Between the paper, the Justice League, helping with the farm, and being Superman, it had been far, far, far too long since Clark had last been with someone.
So, yes. Clark had every intention of sleeping with Bruce Wayne on the first date.
But actually sleeping? That had been a total and complete accident.
And they hadn’t even kissed yet.
♡♡♡
They'd both passed out halfway through an episode in the third instance of the ‘Weellllll, one more couldn't hurt’ spiral they'd been doing since Clark came over for dinner at six.
Clark had a habit of matching the breathing and heart rate of the people around him. It let him know if he should be tired by the fifth set of stairs or the second. As Bruce’s steady breath had slowed over the course of the night, Clark had unknowingly followed him into sleep.
When Clark suddenly woke at five a.m., he'd rounded up a group of escapees from Black Gate before they could make it more than a few thousand yards off the coastline and then bounced over to Canada to help with a wildfire. He had thought about heading back to Metropolis before he realized he had left his phone, wallet, and keys at Wayne Manor.
Since it would be very difficult to explain exactly how he'd managed to leave all of those in Gotham and still get home across the bay, Clark had carefully snuck back into the manor, mindful of Bruce's surprisingly robust security system.
He had meant to feign waking up, whisper a goodbye to Bruce, and be on his way. But as soon as he sat down on the plush couch in the dark theater room, he matched Bruce's breathing and heart rate and quickly fell back asleep.
♡♡♡
The next morning, when he woke up with Bruce's chin on his chest and the other man’s solid weight on top of him, Clark found that he couldn't feel particularly upset about the whole situation.
“Sorry,” Bruce said, smiling in a way he never looked in the tabloids, “I feel like a bad host.”
“I don't mind,” Clark said and realized he meant it. Clark hadn’t felt this well rested in years. There was something about Bruce; Clark couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Bruce just made him feel safe, at ease. It was so calming.
“I have a work thing,” Bruce said, “that I would love to skip,” and there was that genuine sounding regret, a little bit of heat behind those glacier blue eyes, Clark temporarily forgot he also had a work thing that he couldn’t get out of.
Since Bruce technically owned the paper, Clark couldn't easily use the Planet as an excuse. If they met up enough times, Clark was going to need a good excuse for League business. If he wanted to push it for a few weeks, he could probably get away with saying it was Planet business. Clark had some inside information that Bruce was an entirely hands-off boss.
When the final papers of the buyout were signed, Clark had taken Perry out for commiseration drinks. They had stayed out until last call with Perry grousing about the end of an era and telling Clark tales about his early work at the Daily Planet.
Six months later, they had gone out again and two scotches in, Perry confessed that the purchase had actually been the best thing to happen to the paper in years. They were able to hire that web development team Perry had been dreaming of since the early 2000s, improve the health benefits across the board, and give everyone on the team a well-overdue cost of living increase and an end-of-year bonus.
“It's not for another three hours,” Bruce hazarded, “if you wanted to have breakfast with me and go for a walk? I have it on good authority that the birds down by the pond are quite lively this time of morning.”
“You’re not usually up this early yourself?” Clark asked. It was just past 8:00 a.m.
“Not if I can help it,” Bruce laughed.
“Ahh,” Clark said with a smile, “you’re a night owl.”
Bruce returned Clark’s smile with a sly one of his own and said, “Something like that.”
♡♡♡
Clark had a few guesses about how the night might go when he drove into those massive gates, but he hadn’t expected an early morning picnic by a semi-frozen pond.
“Did you make these?” Clark asked as Bruce handed over a still-warm croissant.
“Oh, absolutely not. Alfred did. I’m awful in the kitchen unless I have someone standing over my shoulder the whole time.”
“Alfred is…?”
“He’s,” Bruce let out a puff of air. It was visible in the early morning light. “This is all… off the record, right?”
“If it wasn’t,” Clark said looking out at the reflection of sunlight on the still water, “this was the strangest interview I’ve ever participated in.” Bruce snorted out a soft breath of laughter.
“And if it were a date?” Bruce asked instead.
“I wouldn’t say it was my strangest date,” Clark replied and moved a little closer on the bench so his thigh pressed against Bruce’s, “But I would say it’s been one of the best.”
♡♡♡
Batman opened the door to the meeting room at exactly 1300 and 59 seconds. Clark had only just taken his seat next to Diana.
The rest of the team filed in.
Green Lantern and the Flash were casually chatting as they slowly made their way down the hall. They were in the middle of a debate about whether the giant talking gorilla that had been allegedly spotted in Central City was an urban myth, a science experiment, or an alien.
“For two men who can break the sound barrier,” Batman started as the two finally entered the meeting room, still talking, “it is impressive how you are always late.”
“Don't make me get OSHA on your ass, man,” Green Lantern laughed as he slid into his chair and kicked his feet up, “I've got ADHD. You have to make reasonable accommodations for me.”
“We're in space,” Flash said, “I don't think they have jurisdiction in space.”
“OSHA doesn't do accommodations; it’s the EEOC,” Clark offered, probably a little unhelpfully considering that none of them were employees.
“Okay,” Hal said as he spun his pen between his fingers, “How ‘bout this Spooky, you start paying me and I'll have my ass in the chair fifteen minutes before start time. Barring an emergency, of course.”
Typically, Batman immediately shut down this type of banter. Today, he didn't. He was…. Mildly amused? That couldn't be right.
“I can't imagine how complicated that would make your taxes,” Clark muttered, mostly to himself. It was annoying enough dealing with the additional tax forms when he ended up publishing work outside of the Planet. Oh, great. He had to remember to file his taxes soon.
“Damn,” Hal said with a lazy shrug, “guess I'll just have to be late.”
“Federal regulations allow tax-free gifts up to $18,000,” Batman announced, “A thousand for each meeting you're on time for, Lantern.”
“If this is a prank,” Lantern said slowly, so much more serious than he took anything other than an active emergency, “I’m going to purposely show up fifteen minutes late to every meeting after that.”
“So it would be like normal?” Arthur asked.
“Focus,” Batman growled and everyone’s posture straightened up and the meeting started.
♡♡♡
Clark floated his way through the next few days. Quite literally. He had to remember to park his feet firmly on the ground when he was out of his suit.
He couldn't help but think back to that moment on the bench, the moment when Clark had slid off his scarf because he saw the tell-tale signs that Bruce was a little too cold.
Clark had angled his body to face Bruce. Bruce had quickly mimicked the posture in time for Clark to slip his scarf around Bruce’s shoulders, pulling one end through the looped side. The flush of pink on Bruce's cheeks wasn't just from the winter chill.
“There,” Clark had said, feeling a little breathless as he looked at Bruce’s pale face in the quiet morning sun, “better?”
Bruce had leaned forward and Clark’s chest felt like it was going to explode.
And then everything slowed down. Everything froze and quieted until the only thing was Bruce and his mouth, and his hands, and—
What he wouldn’t have give to get back into Bruce’s house and—
Clark’s alarm had started trilling. They both pulled apart quickly, blushing and laughing quietly.
“I'm so sorry,” Clark hadn't been able to keep from laughing, “I should get going. I also have something this afternoon.”
In the foyer, Bruce had tried to hand Clark back his scarf. It was one he’d crocheted with some thrifted yarn. It was a lovely blueish gray that complemented Bruce’s eyes.
“Keep it,” Clark had replied, leaning in once more to quickly place a kiss on Bruce’s still slightly pink cheek, “it’s your color.”
“You were in Gotham.” Batman’s voice interrupted Clark’s phenomenal daydreaming.
There he was again, using Vaguely Disapproving Tone #008. Ugh.
Clark groaned internally. Well, actually, he groaned externally. He’d just meant for it to be internal.
"I know, B, you don't like it when I'm in Gotham without obtaining your prior approval. I know, I know, all requests must be submitted in writing three to six business days before the event, but I was passing by for the Canada fire and I’m not going to not help.”
“Thank you,” Batman said and Clark’s brain shattered like a Prince Rupert's Drop whose tail had been lightly tapped. Wait, what?
What? He thought and then said, “What?” out loud because he still couldn’t quite believe what he heard.
“Thank you,” Batman repeated, “I was attending to personal matters that night and it was… good to not interrupt it. Thank you for the assistance, Kal-El.”
Clark spent the next hour studying Batman closely as the monitor duty progressed.
“What?” Batman finally snapped.
“Nothing, just… making sure you weren't replaced by a robot or taken over by an alien parasite.”
Clark didn’t dodge the Batarang that was tossed at his face.
“No, no. It's good!” Clark couldn't help but laugh as he picked up the Batarang and smoothed out the dents his face left behind. He kept it in his hands, fiddling with it as he spoke, “I was joking. Don't be mad at me, please?”
Batman grunted.
“We all need days off. I'm going to cover for you as much as I can, okay? That's the whole point of the League, right? That we don't have to do it all on our own? That we can… live our lives too and not burn ourselves out trying to fix everything.”
Clark was fairly certain B was rolling his eyes behind those white lenses, but he had no way of proving it.
For the remainder of their shift, Batman was his typical… Batself. But he was…
Clark had spent the last few years mentally cataloguing Batman’s nuances and Clark had never quite seen anything like this before.
Was Batman in a good mood?
Wow. What the heck had happened in Gotham?
♡♡♡
Bruce sent his text messages in complete sentences with punctuation and no emojis.
It was very different than Jimmy, who primarily communicated in gifs and Lois who mostly communicated in English and emoji so butchered it might as well constitute a new language.
It had been hard to schedule with both their schedules, but Bruce has messaged him at least twice a day. Sometimes they'd have brief conversations when they were both between meetings and had a few minutes to spare.
“What's that about, Smallville?” Lois asked, angling to read his phone and uncover the source of his dopey grin.
“Nothing,” Clark replied quickly and pressed his phone to his chest, “No one. Secrets.” Lois had narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, but Clark quickly distracted her by asking about her latest lead.
♡♡♡
Scheduling was hard, but they managed to sneak in a visit two weeks later when Bruce was in Metropolis. Bruce wore Clark’s hand-made scarf with what had to be a several thousand dollar suit. (Vivienne Westwood, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Cat whispered in the back of Clark’s head.)
They met up at the Metropolis Botanical Garden during Clark’s lunch and walked the grounds drinking matcha and pointing out their favorite plants. Clark was delighted to learn Bruce knew almost as many obscure plant facts as he did. When their drinks were done, Bruce reached his hand out tentatively and Clark had held it for the rest of the walk.
They’d talked about meeting that evening for dinner, but Bruce texted him later to let him know his work meetings were taking longer than expected and he wouldn’t be able to meet that night. Clark was more disappointed than he wanted to admit, but then Batman sent him an urgent message over the League communicator to tell Clark about a bomb threat in Metropolis. Clark was a little glad he didn’t have to be the one to cancel
♡♡♡
Things were going well. Mostly. They texted most days and had been able to meet up in Gotham two more times.
Unfortunately, it seemed like the world wanted Clark’s dry spell to continue.
“Uuugh,” Clark groaned as his League communicator shrieked. He picked up his cellphone and glared at it.
He had finally made it to Bruce’s bed and had the man sprawled across the softest sheets Clark had ever touched, but duty called.
“I have to go,” Clark said leaning down to kiss Bruce who was flushed and gloriously shirtless, “work thing. Big news. I’m so, so sorry. You will never understand how absolutely sorry I am. I would give anything to stay.”
“I can drive you,” Bruce offered as he sat up on his elbows. Clark’s eyes lingered a little too long on Bruce’s—
“Car’s already on its way,” Clark lied, “I set the pickup down the street. Figured it would be faster than getting them down your driveway and out again!”
Bruce looked momentarily disappointed as Clark began to hastily button his shirt, but then he glanced down at his own phone and his whole face changed. His frown looked familiar. Sort of like Batman’s Something is Wrong But I Don’t Want You To Be Aware Of That look.
“I'm glad our emergencies overlap,” Clark couldn't help but say as he pulled his shoes on, “makes me feel less bad about ditching. Let’s pick this up soon, yeah?”
“The fourteenth,” Bruce answered; he had gotten up and was quickly dressing, “I’ll be free then. Metropolis?”
“The fourteenth,” Clark repeated with a grin as he swept up his laptop bag and left the room, “it’s a date.”
♡♡♡
It wasn't the end of the world. It could have been, according to John Constantine, but they had managed to avert it.
It was good, obviously, that they had kept the apocalypse at bay.
It’s just that Clark hadn’t been lying. He would have given anything to stay.
♡♡♡
It was Wednesday night, which meant that Clark was on Lois' couch, helping her down a bottle of wine.
Clark looked over at Lois who was ostensibly watching Pastry Jefe, but she kept looking down at her phone every few minutes and smirking.
They were both in a lull between major stories, so he knew she wasn't gleefully reading hate comments about herself.
Clark waited until Lois shoved a handful of kettle corn in her mouth before he asked, “So, what are you and Cat doing for Valentine's Day?”
Lois choked on the popcorn; it was very brief, so he didn't even need to thump her on the back. She did end up coughing popcorn on him, unfortunately. He brushed the kernels off of his face and chest.
“Hold on, what the fuck?” Lois managed between coughing fits, “What did you say?”
“I asked what you and Cat were doing for Valentine's Day. Do you have any plans?”
“Why would I have plans with Cat? And for a bullshit consumerist money-grab of a holiday no less.”
“They're all bullshit consumerist money grabs, Lo. We live under capitalism, but it's still nice to take time to appreciate each other.”
Clark was too embarrassed to write an opinion piece on it, but he’d had a form of this argument repeatedly for years. Every cynic always said it like Clark didn't know any better, like he was too naive. Clark knew exactly what it meant, but he wasn't going to let capitalism win.
“But why Cat?” Lois pushed, trying and failing at casual, “Do you think we're like... friends or something?”
Clark decided to be a little mean. He usually decided not to, because his Ma and Pa raised him pretty well, but sometimes that snotty little ten-year-old came back with a vengeance. Clark brushed the popcorn into his hand and placed it on the table. Then he reached into the couch like he was looking for more kernels in the cushions and pulled out a fuchsia bra. It was a lacy thing easily three cup sizes too big for Lois.
“Oh, here you go. Sorry, Lo. Must have gotten in there when you were doing laundry.”
Lois kicked him, pretty hard actually, but he managed to avoid her bruising her feet or breaking a toe.
“You're such an ass.”
“Are you doing anything or not?” he asked her again.
“Why? Are you asking me out, Smallville?”
“No,” Clark replied, “You said no and I respect that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I asked you if you wanted to go see the exhibit on the printing press at the Metropolitan Museum of Art our first year working together. You told me no.”
“That was supposed to be a date?” Lois asked and shook her head, “You're going to be single forever.”
“About that,” Clark replied slowly.
Lois dropped the bra and turned to face him.
“I’ve been on a few dates,” he admitted.
“Who?” She didn't want to look away in case he gave any hints, so she blindly smacked her hand on the coffee table trying to find the remote.
After about fifteen seconds, Clark couldn't take it so he reached forward and handed it to her. She turned the TV off.
“Don't make it weird,” Clark demanded, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth “and absolutely off the record.”
“Mutual assured destruction,” she said, eyes flickering briefly to Cat’s discarded lingerie, “I accept your terms.”
“Okay, so. We’ve gone on… four-ish dates now?” Clark says, “And Valentine's Day is coming up. It’s actually our next date.”
“It's a dumb holiday,” Lois grumbled and went back to eating popcorn.
“Yes, I know you think that, but I like it. I don’t think they realized it was Valentine’s when we decided on the date." Lois nodded for him to continue as she shoved another handful of popcorn in her mouth.
“And usually, I would do something simple, but it's also five days before their birthday and I don't know… It seems weird to not acknowledge it at all, and I feel like I need to get them something because it’s Valentine’s and their birthday is coming up so soon and I don’t know what I'm supposed to do. I feel like I’m spiraling a little, Lo. I really like them a lot, but I have no clue what to get them. I don’t want to do nothing, but I don’t want to play it too casual and make it seem like I don’t care at all because I do care, but also I don’t want to scare them off because, yes, I haven't felt like this about anyone in years, but also, it's only been four dates and we haven't eve—”
“Okay, Smallville, deep breath,” Lois interrupted, “Breathing is important. Now, friend. I need so much more info than you gave me. Who's this mystery date? What's their name?”
“Bruce,” Clark said after a long moment.
“...if you say Wayne I'm kicking you out of my apartment.”
Clark kept his mouth shut.
She did not kick him out, but she was absolutely no help at all so Clark turned the TV back on and went back to watching Pastry Jefe.
♡♡♡
Four days before his date with Bruce, Clark talked to The Flash about what he was doing for his partner. Flash had planned a romantic meal and a night at an art gallery.
Green Lantern sat down partway through Flash talking about his date plans. Lantern had then told a story about one Valentine’s Day with an old girlfriend when they’d both scaled a barbed wire fence to sneak onto an airstrip so they could watch planes take off, which wasn't exactly Clark's area of interest, but he was glad for Lantern. His girlfriend seemed to have liked it.
“He probably hates his birthday,” Batman grumbled when Clark was looking through the proposed monitor. Batman had paired Shayera with Diana again. Clark hoped nothing would be broken this time. Those two did not get along.
Batman said it like he was always part of the conversation rather than eavesdropping from across the room and over two hours late, “and Valentine’s Day.”
Clark clutched at his heart and did his best to look wounded. Batman was giving him the IWNAYHJBIMTSBICTIWFBIAOVFJCYH look which was one of the most common Batman Look. It stood for: I will not acknowledge your hilarious joke, because I'm much too serious, but I clearly thought it was funny because it's an objectively very funny joke, Clark. You're hilarious.
(He didn't want to think too much about why he made Batman call him Clark instead of Kal-El or Superman in his own head. That was an unacknowledged desire for another time. Maybe if he ever got around to seeing a therapist.)
“Well, if he hates his birthday and Valentine's Day, then that means I need to help make both days more bearable. You're still missing the point,” Clark said as he scanned through next month's assignments, “the holiday is a symbol, like me, it stands for something bigger.”
That does actually give him a small twitch for 516 milliseconds, so Clark has once again, won. He got Batman to look away from the screens and over at him.
“What are you on about now, Kal?”
“Look, I can tell you all about the actual history of the different saints’ days and we can talk about all those regional holidays that were basically given a facelift with a Christian's name over it,” Clark held up his hand, “or we can talk about something I think is more important. Humans through history, history, B, have been celebrating things. They've had festivals and holidays for as long as we can remember. These are the ones we have right now, but humans, as a species, we— humans... Humans are a social species. They need to come together; it’s how they evolved.”
Batman’s lips were downturned just slightly at the edges. It was hard to tell with the white lenses, but Clark was certain Batman was looking at him.
“They had holidays on Krypton. They abandoned them. They thought they were too base, too primitive. The Council outlawed them. And the entire culture suffered. Coming together, appreciating each other, they're integral to social health. I'm not going to let capitalism ruin my ability to appreciate and love the people around me.”
Clark squared up his shoulders into his ultimate Man Of Steel posture and then added, “Also, I like candy and it's usually 70% off the week after.”
That did it. Batman actually laughed. Well, almost. He almost laughed. It was a snort of an exhale, which, as far as Clark was concerned, was practically a guffaw.
♡♡♡
Wayne Enterprise apparently had enough money to allocate for team bonding activities. Different departments across the paper had spent it differently. Clark heard accounting had gone axe throwing and the photo department had taken a pottery class.
The reporters? They spent it all at the bar.
He heard the high heels first, stilettos, expensive. (Louboutin, Cat’s voice supplied.)
“Hi, Cat,” Clark said as he straightened his posture; Cat had that effect on a lot of people. “How's it going?”
Cat took the seat next to him at the booth, setting down her martini glass. It was pink. A pre-Valentine’s special according to the menu.
Cat traced her finger over the rim of her glass.
“Lois said you know.”
“I know about as much as someone can glean from the outside,” Clark supplied.
“Lois also said you’re seeing someone and you needed help picking out a gift. Tell me.”
“I could tell you,” Clark said, “but you wouldn't be able to write about it and that seems like cruel and unusual punishment.”
“It's Wayne,” Cat declared and then followed it up a moment later with “I’m right.”
“Would you like me to confirm or deny that?”
Cat waved her hand; her nails were filed down to stilettos and currently a beautiful gold and ballerina pink.
“You have your weird nerdy little children’s show in common—” Cat started.
“It’s not a kid’s show!” Clark protested, “It was on way too late to be a kid’s show. Also! So many people got murdered.”
Cat rolled her eyes and took a sip from her martini glass.
“Semantics. You can’t do that again. The advantage you have is that he’s charmed by you. He probably likes that mix of the kind spirit, vicious journalist, and that glorious Adonis body you choose to hide behind all that hideous polyester. You’re a man of contradictions and multitudes. Up it. Show off another one of your sides. Nurture him or something. He’s probably never had someone who wasn’t paid for it."
Clark blinked.
“Thank you, Cat,” Clark said after a moment, “that was so much more helpful than anything Lois has said.”
“Of course it was,” Cat said as she winked at him and reached over to pull his drink tickets out of the breast pocket of his blazer.
Cat downed her drink and sashayed over to Lois.
♡♡♡
“Kal,” Batman’s voice sounded far too serious as he pulled Clark into the empty meeting room, “I need your advice.”
Clark blinked in surprise and then quickly got his bearings.
“Anytime, B. What do you need?”
“You're good at presents,” Batman said and then stopped speaking.
It was nice to have a skill of yours admired. Clark decided not to gloat about winning Christmas.
“Yes. I am great at presents. Second only, perhaps, to Saint Nicholas himself who, someone neglected to tell me was real.”
Okay, maybe he decided to gloat just a little.
Batman’s face remained as impassive as always. But there was Indeterminate Emotion #005 again.
“Okay,” Clark said, “first off. The best presents have a layer of sentimentality. They’re something the giftee cares about: hobbies, interests, shared experiences. They’re all good. They also tend to be something the giftee either could not or would not be able to get for themselves. It can be a unique thing you made or found somewhere or something you know that they want, but they think is too frivolous or self-indulgent, so they wouldn’t get it for themselves. These are the best kinds of presents.
“Don’t worry, B. This is going to be very easy for you. In that computer brain of yours, you’ve already filed away all the facts you need to come up with the perfect present. Think about their interests, things they’ve mentioned they like or need, and go from there.”
Batman nodded sharply once and then left the room.
Clark was pretty sure he nailed it.
♡♡♡
They settled on Bruce coming over to Clark's loft for dinner on the 14th. They’d been in Metropolis before, but this was Bruce’s first time seeing Clark’s place. Last night, Clark spent an hour deep cleaning and two hours prepping all the food.
“Wow,” Bruce said as soon as he stepped inside Clark’s apartment and dropped off what looked like an exorbitantly expensive bottle of wine on the kitchen counter, “you have an amazing view.”
“Yeah,” Clark agreed with a soft smile, “I really do.”
It had its issues, but overall Clark’s loft was perfect. He watched Bruce take in the plants, the books, the photographs and drawings, and all those little knick knacks and souvenirs he had around the apartment.
“Okay, so,” Clark said with a grin, “all the food is prepped. We just need to pop in the oven. So, we can do that now or we can…” Clark trailed off for a moment and then smiled over at Bruce, “or we can pick right up where we were before we were so rudely interrupted.”
Bruce grabbed Clark by the hips and pulled him to him with a surprising show of strength that sent a jolt of excitement up Clark’s spine.
“Option two,” Bruce breathed out before capturing Clark’s lips with his.
♡♡♡
Clark was going to fall asleep if he wasn’t careful. Bruce’s steady heartbeat was starting to feel like those soundscapes of rain on cars and train tracks Jimmy swore by for falling asleep.
“We should get up soon,” Clark murmured, tracing his hand over Bruce’s back, “you’ve got to be hungry.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Bruce said, grunting as he reached over the edge of Clark’s bed to grab his coat off of Clark’s bedroom floor; Clark held him by the waist to keep him from losing his balance, “I got you something.”
Bruce pulled himself back on the bed and handed a book to Clark. Clark sat up and reached over to grab his glasses off the nightstand. He stared at the title and author and then flipped the book over to read over the back. This wasn’t possible.
“Simon Trent doesn’t have an autobiography,” Clark said, narrowing his eyes at the book in his hand.
“Not officially,” Bruce agreed as he settled behind Clark on the bed, “but he wrote one a few years back. The deal fell through with his publisher because he refused to remove the parts about being gay. I figured with Wayne Entertainment rereleasing The Gray Ghost later this year that it made sense to publish the book at the same time.”
“Wow,” Clark said, trying not to read too quickly as he flipped through the first few pages. Clark wanted to savor this, not only because it was Simon Trent’s biography, but because Bruce had given it to him, “Did you read it yet?”
“Parts,” Bruce said, “I’m looking for an editor. It was an early draft. Perry speaks very highly of you.”
Clark opened his mouth and then shut it. He had no idea how to respond.
“You don’t have to answer right now,” Bruce said as he wrapped his arms around Clark’s waist, settling his chin on the crook of Clark’s shoulder; Clark leaned back into Bruce’s warm embrace, “but I think you’re perfect. You’re an amazing editor; I’ve seen your work firsthand.”
“I’ll…” Clark started and trailed off, “I’ll think about it. I should start dinner soon or it’ll be midnight before we know it.”
♡♡♡
Clark would never admit that he checked Bruce’s heart rate to make sure he wasn’t lying when he told Clark the food was delicious. Clark wasn’t much of a drinker, but he enjoyed the complex taste of the wine Bruce had brought. Conversation was so easy between them. Spending time with Bruce simultaneously felt like Clark was discovering a stranger and catching up with an old friend.
Once they’d retired to the couch with their final glasses of wine, Clark pulled out the present from under the coffee table.
“I got you something too,” Clark said as he handed the present to Bruce. This time Clark had only tied the bow seventeen times to get it perfect.
“This is…” He looked up from the present up to Clark. It was a crocheted sweater in the same blue as the scarf.
Bruce had worn Clark’s scarf on their Botanical Garden date and then again when they had gone to the Crowne Museum in Gotham to see the exhibition on the history of print media. Bruce had smiled over at Clark’s clear fascination with the Sholes and Glidden. They’d talked about typewriters for forty-five minutes.
He’d talked to Bruce about crocheting then too. About how the movements were based on the human wrist and how it was nearly impossible to replicate with machines. How every crocheted piece was something created by a person’s hand.
“You made this?” Bruce asked, holding up the sweater to examine it. Clark watched something complex flicker in Bruce’s eyes as rubbed the ribbed sleeve of the sweater between his thumb and forefinger.
“I still had a lot of the yarn left over,” Clark said, “and I thought the color looked good on you. I had to guess on your measurements, but we’re about the same size. I can always redo anything that didn’t work.”
“I’ve never,” Bruce started, “no one has ever…" Bruce cleared his throat, "I don’t think anyone’s ever made me something before. Not just… not just because they wanted to. Thank you, Clark.”
“I hope you like it,” Clark said, “I hope it’s enough.”
“It’s perfect,” Bruce said and leaned across the table for another kiss.