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Bruce shivered as frigid air crept over his sleep-heavy body, seeping through the warmth of his dreams. With sluggish determination, he rolled over and reached for the human furnace sleeping beside him—only to find empty sheets.
With a low, disgruntled sound, he curled tighter into himself and wished himself to fall back asleep to no avail.
Bruce groaned again, feeling the heat of annoyance rise, as he rolled back and forth feeling for the sheets that had clearly staged their nightly escape. His frown deepened when his hand found nothing but the edge of the mattress.
Confusion cracked through the haze of sleep, and he finally opened his eyes. He only managed three meager blinks before a panicked shout to thunder from above him.
His heart leapt to his throat. He shot upright, only to collide headfirst into a soft… wall? Spluttering, Bruce reached out to steady the flimsy thing.
It was linen.
The linen was cool to the touch and familiar—they were the same sheets that had abandoned him just minutes ago. Now wide awake, he pushed them aside and looked up.
Hovering above the bed was a dark figure, wrapped in his silk sheets like some spectral cocoon. Each trembling breath made the fabric ripple.
“Kal?” Bruce called softly.
The Kryptonian flinched, glancing down at him with wide, unfocused eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
Kal exhaled shakily, shoulders sagging. “Nothing,” he said, his voice low and rough. He turned in the air with practiced grace, clutching the sheets tighter. “Just a weird dream.”
‘Hn. A nightmare, then.’
Nightmares weren’t exactly uncommon for either of them. They’d both had their fair share—enough to make a routine of it.
…But this felt different.
Kal’s tone was too casual. His breathing was uneven, but controlled. He was shaking, but not sobbing. It felt less like fear… discomfort, maybe? Whatever it may be, Kal looked as if he were trying to convince himself that everything was fine. And it clearly wasn't.
Bruce stared at the blob, that was his lover, in concealed worry, but mostly wonder.
That was another inconsistency.
The floating was new.
Torn sheets? Happened on the regular, much to Kal's dismay. Falling off the bed? Hilariously, and also unfortunately only happened twice. Surprisingly, hovering in midair, shivering and swathed in silk like some haunted Victorian child?
Never happened.
… Not until now, anyway.
Bruce leaned back onto his forearms, squinting into the dark in an attempt to make out Kal’s face. The effort was pointless; the room was swallowed in shadow. No moonlight, no city glow, just the faint outline of a figure suspended above him. His skin prickled as another shiver crept over him, the cold biting his skin.
“Kal?” He called softly.
A distracted hum answered him.
“Come down.”
“What?”
Bruce smirked, watching as realization dawned on his lover’s face. Kal glanced around, suddenly aware that he was nowhere near the bed. “Ope, sorry,” He muttered sheepishly before floating down and settling into Bruce’s waiting arms.
Bruce exhaled as warmth finally seeped back into his body, the familiar heat of Kal’s skin banishing the chill. They adjusted instinctively. Kal’s head finding its place on Bruce’s chest, their legs tangling together, breaths syncing until the silence between them felt steady again. Bruce pressed a soft kiss into Kal’s hair, grounding them both.
He breathed slowly, deliberately, waiting. Usually, Kal would fill the quiet with his continuous rambling. Vivid, winding accounts of his dreams that often trailed off mid-sentence as sleep reclaimed him. But tonight, there was only stillness.
‘Strange,’ Bruce thought.
He ran through possible approaches. Luckily, all those delicate, late-night talks he’d had with the kids, helped him land on a cautious Plan B.
Clearing his throat, He asked, “...Did you want to talk about it?”
Kal shifted, restless, and Bruce smiled faintly. ‘Nailed it.’
“Well,” Kal began softly, furrowing his brow, “I don’t really know where to start. It was a bizarre dream.”
“Hm.”
“Yeah. I guess I must’ve fallen asleep stressed yesterday.”
“...Hm?”
“Oh, you know the saying, ‘Don’t fall asleep stressed, or you’ll get weird dreams.’”
“I see…” Bruce murmured into his hair. ‘Must be a Midwestern thing.’
They fell into an easy silence, breathing each other in. Bruce knew better than to push. Kal would crack on his own. It only took twenty-seven seconds before the man started fidgeting again.
Bruce’s fingers traced slow lines down Kal’s back, patient and wordless.
Finally, Kal sighed. “I don’t remember much about it.”
“Tell me what you do remember,” Bruce encouraged.
And just like that, Kal was off like a starter pistol.
“Well, we were at one of your galas,” Kal began, voice low and steady. “I was talking to you, just a normal conversation at first.”
His hand moved absentmindedly, fingertips tracing the faint scars across Bruce’s chest. “But then, the more I listened, the less I could understand you. Your words started... garbling together, like static. I tried to tell you I couldn’t hear you properly, but that only made you frustrated. You kept stepping farther away, your voice fading, until all I could hear was-” He made a low, indecipherable sound, “-Mumbling. And before you say anything, I did try to figure out what you were saying from your body language, but that didn’t help much either.”
Bruce could hear the faint irritation in his tone, and it made his lips twitch.
“Then suddenly,” Kal continued, shifting to look up at him, “You started gesturing at me. Urgently. Desperately. Like if I didn’t understand you right then, I’d lose something important forever. So, I looked down…”
“...And you were naked?” Bruce offered dryly.
“Mm-mm.” Kal shook his head, eyes dropping back to his tracing hand. “I was a vegetable. A single piece of celery. With arms and legs.”
Bruce blinked, taken off guard. That... had not been on his list of possible answers.
If this were any other situation, he’d be laughing. As it was, a smile still tugged uninvited at his mouth.
Kal chuckled softly, feeling it against his chest. “Yeah, I know. Funny, right?” he murmured, as if reading Bruce’s thoughts. “Dream me thought it was perfectly normal, though. Didn’t even question it. Not until I looked up and realized you were gone.”
His voice faltered. He shifted his hand, fingers gliding up to trace the faint scar on Bruce’s shoulder. “I remember looking around, confused, and noticing for the first time that everyone else around me was fruit. Strawberries, apples, blueberries, all walking and chatting like nothing was wrong.” He paused, resting his palm flat over Bruce’s heart. “I was the only vegetable. And you weren’t there.”
Bruce hummed softly, pressing a kiss to Kal’s hair. Somehow, this ridiculous dream—this nightmare about talking produce, had managed to twist something deep in his chest.
Only Kal could make the Batman lie in bed, listen to a tragic story about being abandoned at a gala full of fruit, and make him feel genuinely sad about it.
He was going soft.
Bruce brushed a stray lock of hair from Kal’s forehead and watched those impossibly blue eyes drift shut.
And somehow, he didn’t mind.
“Was that when you woke up?” Bruce asked.
Kal shifted slightly. “...No.”
“No?”
“Mm-mm.” He hesitated, gaze unfocused. “I found you.”
Bruce raised a brow. “Found me?”
“Or- not really you,” Kal clarified, glancing up. “You were still in the same place as before. Just... smaller.”
Bruce watched as Kal lifted his hands, cupped gently together. “When I picked you up, you turned out to be a grape. You were still talking- Well, trying to, gesturing with your little grape hands, and I remember thinking it was adorable.”
A faint smile curved his lips, soft and wistful. “But then there was this clatter behind me, so I turned around.”
Bruce noticed how that smile faltered, thinning around the edges.
“Nothing seemed different,” Kal continued quietly. “So, I just turned back around to find you… wilting.”
“Wilting?”
“Yeah... or, um- drying up?” He amended, tucking his arms back under the covers. “The weird part is, I don’t remember being scared. It all felt... normal. Even when I looked around and realized all the other fruits were drying out too. I didn’t start to panic until I saw a full-length mirror across the room.”
Bruce felt Kal’s hands slide around his waist again, and he tightened his hold in instinctive response.
“I looked the same,” Kal whispered. “A single, fresh stalk of celery in a room full of dying fruit.” He let out a shaky breath. “It felt like I was falling behind somehow. So I started... tearing off my own leaves, trying to… catch up, I guess. But by the time I looked back at you…”
His voice broke softly. “You were already a raisin.”
Kal buried his face into Bruce’s chest, arms tightening around his waist. “That’s when I woke up.”
Bruce lay still, processing it all.
He did not like the implications of the suicidal celery stick. Nor the insinuation that his dream-self resembled a raisin. He was thirty-two years old, for god’s sake.
He exhaled carefully through his nose. Normally, he would’ve said something. Asked questions, offered some insight, maybe objected to the fruit comparison, but in the spirit of being a decent partner, he settled for:
“...You’re right,” He said finally. “That is a weird dream.”
“I told you,” Came the muffled reply against his chest.
Bruce found himself combing through Kal’s hair again, fingers moving on autopilot as his mind replayed the night before. He traced each detail methodically. No major catastrophes, no looming deadlines. They’d even managed to relax together before bed.
‘So what had triggered this?’
“What happened yesterday that caused this much… stress?” He murmured, unable to help himself. When he received no reply he nudging the man still tucked against his chest.
Kal let out a heavy sigh before peeking up, eyes drowsy but distant. “It might’ve been the movie we watched.”
Bruce frowned. “...The tenth anniversary edition of The Grey Ghost Returns. Rewritten by Garin Wolf and directed by Boyd Kirkland?”
Clark snorted, the sound caught somewhere between fond and incredulous. “Of course you’d introduce it like that, you nerd.” He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “No, Bruce. The one after.”
Bruce blinked.
“The one with the robot that can’t age?” Kal prompted, earning only a deeper look of confusion. “The one where he has to watch his family die… And then his lover?”
Recognition still didn’t come. Kal’s voice wavered as he pressed on. “And at the end… he decides to become human. He chooses- He'd rather-”
He stopped as the words fractured in his throat. Bruce felt him swallow, before trying again, and inevitably failing.
Bruce’s chest tightened as he watched tears gather in those bright blue eyes, the rawness of it so at odds with the invincible man the world knew.
“Hey, shh,” Bruce murmured, sitting up and drawing Kal with him. He guided the larger man closer, pressing him into the curve of his neck. “Don’t worry,” He whispered, one hand tracing slow circles along his back, syncing his breath to Kal’s. He felt the shuddering calm begin to settle, the tremors easing.
“It was only a movie,” He added softly.
Kal went still.
‘Ah,’ Bruce grimaced internally. ‘Not the right thing to say.’
Kal jerked back, slipping from his arms before Bruce could catch him. His hands dropped uselessly to his lap as he watched the aftermath. Kal’s breath came out in shudders as he angrily swiped a hand over his tear-streaked cheeks. His hair stuck up in disarray, eyes red and wet, shoulders hunched in quiet defeat.
He looked miserable.
Bruce’s stomach dropped like a stone.
“What if I can’t grow old with you, Bruce?”
The words came out as a choked whisper, muffled behind trembling hands.
“What if I’m like that robot? What if I outlive all of you?”
Bruce’s throat constricted, the air catching painfully as realization hit him like a cold, unrelenting wave.
‘Oh.’
It wasn’t just a movie.
Worried icy blue met distressed sapphire. It was so much more than that.
‘Shit. I’m a fucking insensitive prick.’
“...Kal.”
His stomach twisted, nausea and guilt coiling inside him.
“What if-” Kal’s voice broke as he pushed on, tears spilling freely now. “What if my fate is to die alone? Because no matter how much I want it, I’ll never get the privilege of growing old with you.”
“Kal,” Bruce cut in gently, placing a hand on his lover’s knee. “You didn’t come to this planet as an adult. You grew up here, same as the rest of us.”
“I know that, Bruce!” Kal’s cry cracked through the air, equal parts anguish and defiance. His eyes shone fiercely as he sat upright. “But look at me!”
He gestured wildly to himself, voice splintering. “I’ve looked exactly like this for years. I don’t have scars. My bones don’t ache. No wrinkles, no sunspots, not even a single gray hair!”
He ran a shaking hand through his perfect locks, giving it an angry yank.
Then, as if the outburst had drained what little strength he had left, Kal slumped forward, head in his hands, shoulders bowed in defeat. “I have no evidence of my life mapped out on my body,” He whispered.
Bruce listened in stricken silence. He couldn’t argue when the proof was right in front of him. All his years, no matter how enervated Kal was, he always looked flawless. Untouched. His skin smooth, unscarred, unchanging.
When they first met, Bruce had envied that invulnerability. Later, he’d found comfort in it. A small, selfish relief that Kal was safe from the world’s harm.
He’d never thought of it as a curse.
Never realized that what he saw as protection could feel, to Kal, like loss.
Not until now.
“Bruce,” Kal whispered, still curled in on himself, voice raw and trembling, “What if… after my body reaches its peak, it stops aging?”
Bruce shook his head immediately, shuffling closer until their knees brushed. He caught Kal’s hands and laced their fingers together, giving a firm, grounding squeeze. “There’s no evidence of that happening.”
“But there’s also no evidence saying it won’t.”
“Kal-”
“Bruce.”
The quiet authority in his tone made him pause. Bruce’s breath hitched as Kal looked up, eyes bright and piercing through the dim light.
“Look me in the eyes,” Kal said softly, “And tell me what I’m saying is crazy. That it makes no sense. That I’m just overthinking.”
Bruce opened his mouth. Nothing came out. No reassurance. No comfort. Only the hollow ache of honesty pressing against his ribs.
His throat burned as he closed his mouth again, gaze dropping to their joined hands.
‘Pathetic.’
He wanted to say it would all be alright. That there was nothing to worry about. That Kal was just overthinking. That it could never happen. But he couldn’t. False hope always hurt more than the truth.
“I can’t,” He whispered finally, eyes closing in remorse.
Kal let out a long, trembling breath, the sound equal parts acceptance and heartbreak. Bruce’s chest ached as Kal slowly slipped his hands free.
He waited in tense sorrow for his lover to leave, only for those same hands to rest gently on Bruce’s thighs, then tug. Coaxing him forward until he found himself straddling Kal’s lap.
Startled, Bruce’s eyes snapped open, meeting Kal’s—stormy, wet, and impossibly soft eyes.
Kal offered a fragile smile, then raised his hands, hovering in silent question.
Bruce swallowed, then nodded once. He shifted, looping his legs around Kal’s back and resting cautious hands on his lover’s waist.
The first touch came feather-light. A brush at his throat, trembling and reverent. Then another, firmer, tracing up the column of his neck until warm fingers pressed gently over his Adam’s apple.
Bruce exhaled, melting into the touch. His pulse slowed, syncing to Kal’s trembling breath.
Both hands cupped his jaw. A soft kiss grazed the tip of his nose.
Then fingers swept upward, gliding across his brows, smoothing the lines that worry had carved into him. Another kiss followed, gentle and deliberate on his frown lines.
When Kal’s hands slid back down to cradle his face once more, his thumbs brushed the corners of Bruce’s mouth, smoothing out his nasolabial folds.
Then came the last kiss. Tender, trembling, and full of everything words couldn’t reach.
A loving peck on the lips.
“I know you complain about your worry lines, your fading scars, your graying hair,” Kal whispered.
Bruce’s eyes opened at the sound, the voice trembling and soft.
“But I can’t help but feel so jealous.”
Bruce shifted closer, mirroring the touch from before. His thumbs brushed over Kal’s jawline. Slow, reverent. Kal’s eyes fluttered shut, a shaky breath catching in his chest. He pressed forward, placing small, broken kisses against Bruce’s rough palms, as if grounding himself there.
“You know,” Kal murmured, lowering his hands to rest at Bruce’s waist, “Someone once told me that ‘growing old was a gift not everyone can receive.’”
Bruce rubbed gentle circles into his lover’s jaw as Kal sniffled, his voice fraying at the edges. “Those words stuck with me. Especially in our line of work. We’ve seen too many kids die not to understand the meaning.”
Bruce nodded silently, knot in the back of his throat, fingers sweeping back the dark strands falling into Kal’s face.
“But sometimes,” Kal continued, voice cracking, “It doesn’t feel like a gift at all. It feels like a curse. Like I’m destined to live forever. To be Superman forever.”
His face darkened. “I’m the greater good.”
“Kal…”
Bruce’s heart clenched painfully as the mask finally broke. Kal’s expression collapsed into raw grief, tears spilling freely once again as a sob tore from his throat. Shaking hands reached up, grabbing Bruce’s wrists and dragging them down, clutching desperately.
“I don’t want to be!” He gasped. “I don’t want to! Bruce, I- I don’t think I can do that.” His voice cracked into a whimper, trembling as he broke apart in Bruce’s arms.
Bruce felt tears sting his own eyes, a heavy lump pressing at his throat with a vengeance.
“I’ve seen death,” Kal continued, voice shaking. “I watched my dad die, and somehow I got through it. But now that I’m with you?”
He shook his head, breath hitching, and gripped Bruce’s shoulders tight. “I want to live with you. Eat with you. Sleep, laugh, dance, breathe with you. I want to cry with you, Bruce. Fight with you. I want to age with you.”
‘Me too,’ Bruce thought, chest tightening. ‘I want that too.’
The pressure behind his eyes broke. His breath stuttered. He couldn’t hold it anymore. Bruce felt a pit in his chest at Kal’s fear. He felt the warmth in his heart from Kal’s love. He felt…
He just felt.
Kal’s eyes widened as he inhaled sharply, surprised. Bruce refused to feel embarrassed about it. He leaned toward Kal’s shoulder, trying to wipe the tears away without using his hands, still trapped between Kal’s own.
But Kal reached up first, his fingers trembling as they brushed the wetness from Bruce’s cheeks—gentle, as if afraid he might break him.
“Rao, Bruce,” Kal choked out, voice trembling. “I love you. I want to grow old with you. I want my life to end with you, because I don’t think I could move on after you’re gone.” He leaned forward until their foreheads met, breaths mingling. “I wouldn’t want to.”
Bruce choked on a silent sob, tears spilling relentlessly, as his arms shot forward to pull his lover into a tight embrace. Their lips met in a desperate, shuddering kiss. Kal’s breath hitched in surprise, then returned with equal urgency, pressing Bruce impossibly close, their chests flush against each other.
Bruce couldn’t formulate the words; he could hardly breathe. Kal tasted like toothpaste and salt. He felt like warmth and home. He raked his hands in his lover’s hair and opened up to taste more of him. He wanted to feel closer. He wanted to express his love just as profoundly.
'I love you. I love you. Forever and always.'
They stayed like that for a long time, until the storm passed, until all that was left were two men holding each other, red-eyed and wrecked, bound by something stronger than pain.
By the time they finally pulled apart, they were a beautiful, tear-soaked mess—breathless, damp with snot and salt and love.
Bruce wiped at his tears before awkwardly bending back to grab the tissues from the nightstand. He pulled out four, handing two to Kal, who accepted them with a small, grateful smile. He raised one to his own face, but a hand on his wrist stopped him.
“Let me,” Kal whispered, gently dabbing at Bruce’s cheeks. Bruce closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, savoring the care, until he felt the tissue playfully wrap around his nose.
“Alright, now blow,” Kal prompted, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“No,” Bruce muttered, trying to pull back, but Kal’s other hand cradled the back of his head, holding him in place.
“Aww, come on! You’ll feel better!” Kal coaxed.
“That’s cheating,” Bruce hissed, heat crawling up his chest and face. “Move the tissue.”
“Come on, for me?”
“No.”
“Pleeease~”
'Goddamn it. The puppy eyes are back.'
Bruce groaned inwardly, rolling his eyes, and finally blew into the tissue.
“There we go! See? Not so bad,” Kal said, crumbling the tissue and tossing it aside.
Bruce’s face burned hotter than before. Without thinking, he grabbed Kal by the chin, pressing him close and roughly wiping at his cheeks. Kal’s chuckle was still shaky, but it was enough to lift some of the weight from the moment. Finally satisfied, Bruce balled up the tissue and tossed it aside, his own smile breaking through.
They stayed wrapped around each other, letting the quiet comfort of their embrace settle inside them. Finally, Bruce drew a long, steadying breath and placed his hand on Kal’s chest, just above his heart.
“I… can’t tell you that this fear is irrational.”
Kal’s face fell, and he murmured, “Bruce-”
Bruce shook his head, and Kal fell silent. “And I can’t tell you that this fear won’t follow you for the rest of your life.”
Kal’s gaze dropped, breaking eye contact.
“But someone once told me, not to worry about the things we have no control over,” Bruce continued, leaning down to catch his lover’s eyes. “I’m not sure if you remember… but you should. Seeing as you were there.”
He remembered those months vividly. Days spent at the Bat computer, drafting contingency plans for every conceivable way he could meet his end. Weeks of paranoia, pushing people away, obsessively ensuring everyone was cared for in case he didn’t return. He skipped W.E. meetings, declined J.L.A. missions, hardly left the cave except for patrol.
And then Kal showed up like a whirlwind. Dragged him away from the monitors. Forced him to stop.
“Alright! That’s it! You’re scaring Alfred!” Kal’s voice echoed through the cave, startling Bruce. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me! You know why I’m here!” He yanked Bruce’s chair back, standing firm in front of him, stopping the manic typing. His gaze was steady, though his eyes flicked nervously across the monitors.
“This is dangerous thinking, B,” Kal said, calm but terrified. “It’s time to stop.”
And then, softly: “It’s time for bed. Okay?”
Bruce let himself be dragged along, and the next morning, he woke to Kal waiting for him.
“Yeah,” Kal offered a weak smile, and Bruce’s chest ached at the sight. “I remember.”
Bruce hummed, pulling his lover flush to his chest, his head resting in the crook of Kal’s neck. “So, for now… we focus on us. We eat together. Sleep together. Laugh, dance, fight. Hell, I’ll even cry with you.”
Kal chuckled into his shoulder, and Bruce smiled softly, brushing a kiss against his temple. “We can prepare for the future, but let’s live now. Together.”
Kal’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist, lips tracing along Bruce’s neck.
“Together,” He agreed.
—
*20 years later*
Kal stepped out of the shower, freshly bathed and invigorated, the steam curling off his damp skin. He quickly dressed and drifted toward the sink, humming a bright, tuneless melody that seemed to bounce around the bathroom. Grinning, he cleared the condensation from the mirror and waved at his reflection.
“Hey, you~” He greeted cheerfully, chuckling at the sight of himself. Leaning in closer, he inspected every little feature that made his Kryptonian heart swell.
His thumb traced over his laugh lines, tugging lightly at the gentle creases forming around his eyes. He smiled as they deepened. ‘I laugh,’ He thought proudly, preening in delight. Then he shifted to his frown lines, or what he liked to call his ‘worry lines’, stretching them smooth before letting them spring back into place. He squinted at the mirror, trying not to smile as the subtle wrinkles deepened. ‘I worry too,’ He mused with mock severity.
Leaning back, he shook his head, a thrill twisting in his stomach. ‘I look like my age.’ He hummed again, running his fingers through his hair in a messy tousle, only to watch a stubborn curl flop back across his forehead. He reached to smooth it down—Then froze.
A sharp intake of breath escaped him.
He slowly tilted his head, catching the light just right.
‘No way. Is that-’
He turned the other way, and the gleam confirmed it.
‘IT IS!’
“BRUCE! BRUCE!” He shouted, spinning in place, hair still damp and stickily glinting in the light.
A rustle of sheets followed by a resounding THUNK told him all he needed to know.
Bruce was now awake.
“COME HERE! QUICKLY!” Kal called again, his voice bursting with wonder and giddy excitement.
Uncharacteristically loud footsteps pounded toward the bathroom. The door slammed open, revealing a messy-haired, crusty-eyed, sleep-rumpled Bruce Wayne—his beautifully panicked husband.
“What happened?! Are you alright?!” He demanded, eyes wide.
Kal turned toward him with a watery smile. “Bruce-”
His husband stepped forward, cupping Kal’s face, forcing him to look down. “What happened?”
Kal chuckled, gently pulling Bruce’s hands from his face. “Look!” He ducked down slightly, letting the morning light catch his curl.
When Bruce just stared, Kal shook his head, making the curl sway teasingly. With a sigh, he felt his husband finally pry his hands from his and lean closer for a proper inspection.
“A grey hair?” Bruce asked, incredulous.
Kal’s eyes sparkled.
“A… single grey hair?”
“Yes!” Kal exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.
“This your way of telling me I’m stressing you out?” Bruce asked, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
Kal shook his head vigorously, scooping his husband into his arms. Bruce yelped in surprise, then settled, letting himself hang on as they floated into the air.
“I have grey hair just like you, B!” Kal crowed.
Bruce huffed, amused. “…That’s a slight over-exaggeration, Love.”
Kal shook his head again, pressing his face to Bruce’s neck. “Just like you,” He breathed, holding on tighter.
“Alright, alright!” Bruce hissed, struggling gently. “You have grey hair, just like me. Let me go!”
A warm, glowing happiness flooded Kal’s chest. “My little raisin,” He cooed.
“Excuse you,” The billionaire squawked indignantly, wiggling in Kal’s arms.
Kal smirked, ignoring Bruce’s protests. “It’s insulting to comment on someone’s age. I barely have wrinkles, and my hair isn’t even that grey-”
Bruce sputtered as Kal’s laughter bubbled over, uncontrollable and joyous, until his sides ached.
Kal’s heart felt impossibly light. He was so happy.
He looked at Bruce, still furiously lecturing him on common decency, still trying, and failing, not to pout in his arms. With a soft snort, Kal gave in and kissed him. Bruce jolted in surprise, then slowly melted into the embrace.
It was still the best way to shut him up.
Kal hummed contentedly as they drifted down, feet brushing the cool tile before they finally broke apart, panting.
“Let me down,” Bruce murmured, dazed.
Kal smirked. “I did.”
“Hm?” Bruce glanced down, eyes narrowing. “You ass.” He slapped Kal’s chest lightly, cheeks pink. “I’m going back to sleep,” He muttered, trudging to the bed and flopping onto it.
Kal’s chest swelled. ‘Rao, I love him.’
He turned back to the mirror, inspecting his single grey hair, a small smile tugging at his lips as he recalled the conversation they’d had years ago. Then his gaze shifted back to his husband, buried deep in the sheets, only the peppered tuft of hair visible.
‘We can prepare for the future, but let’s live now. Together.’
‘The future, huh?’
Kal carefully approached the little tuft of hair on the pillow and pressed a soft kiss to it. Bruce grumbled, nuzzling further into the mattress.
‘He is my future.’
He gently pulled the sheets back from his husband’s face. As Bruce grunted and glared, Kal made a silent vow.
‘No matter what happens in the future… Even with my smile lines and greying hair, I learn I am cursed with immortality…’
He smoothed Bruce’s frown lines and watched those brilliant blue eyes blink shut.
‘My hope. My love. My life. My everything. Ends with you.’
He sealed it with one final, lingering kiss.