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“Bruce, please.”
“I said no, Clark.”
Look, Bruce loved Clark very much and would give the world to him in a heartbeat if he could. Sure, it’s only been a few months since they’ve begun dating, but Bruce thinks, knows, that his feelings for the man started way before that. Since the first time you met him, when he helped evacuate the people into safety after the flood 3 years ago, his heart says, but not like his own dignity would admit to that. When or how, it did not matter: what was important was Clark loved him too, and they were content with each other, and they were going strong, despite the challenges.
But sometimes, maybe most times, Bruce can’t help but be annoyed at Clark. It’s playful annoyance, of course, of fondness and of good old Batman-Superman dynamics that only they could fully understand - a grunt and a chuckle, a roll of the eyes and a toothy smile in return. But on very, very, rare occasions, Bruce gets annoyed at Clark in a way that gets under his skin, an itchy tingly feeling he can’t shake away. When he comes home late at night after a long day of business and patrol, when all he wants is to be in Clark’s arms, too tired to talk or to argue, expecting nothing but silence and warmth and love, and yet.
“You should get your wounds treated, Bruce.” Clark says, scanning his body. “Your stomach, arms, legs and even jaw… Rao, Bruce, tough night, huh. I know it must hurt.”
Bruce knows Clark does it out of love.
But what does he know about hurt? He was incapable of it.
“I’m fine, Clark.” He says, more like a breath than a spoken sentence. “I want to sleep.”
Bruce is wearing a black shirt and pyjama pants when he lies down on the bed. His eyes follow Clark as he opens the bottom-most drawer of the nightstand and brings out a first-aid kit. Bruce grits his teeth.
“Sit up, Bruce,” Clark says, standing up straight and looking down at Bruce. “Let me.”
“Tomorrow, then.”
“No, baby, they’ll get worse if you—”
“I’m really tired, Clark, I want to—”
“How many times have you told me tomorrow and not follow through with it anyway? Come on, I’m worried about you. Bruce, please—”
“I said no, Clark.”
“Aren’t you in pain? I know you are, so please—”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Clark, I said no. How difficult is that to understand?” Bruce grits out, sitting up the bed and looking up at the man, his hands balled into fists under the blanket.
Clark narrows his eyes, putting down the kit on the nightstand. Bruce expects him to nod and apologize, say that he understands. They’ve been through this many times before, like routine at this point. Before they sleep Clark will kiss him goodnight and say I love you and Bruce will nod and whisper it back, snuggling close to the warm body beside him.
But.
Clark stares at him in silence in a way that isn’t gentle, or loving, like he usually does; instead in a way that is uncomfortable, unsettling. It’s a stare that is new to Bruce and he loathes the way it makes him feel. It bothers and pains him in a way no stab wound will ever make him experience.
“Hah,” Clark chuckles forcefully. “You must think I’m easy, don’t you, Bruce.”
Bruce furrows his eyebrows, turning awake. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s just so easy for you, isn’t it. To say no to me.” Clark says with a bite in his words Bruce didn’t know his partner is capable of. “To say no to a date, to a meal, to a project, to a plan, to you talking to me, to me treating your damn wounds. You must think I’m so easy and small.”
Bruce bites his teeth and stands up, nevermind the pain, trying to grab Clark’s hand only for the man to avoid his hold.
No, it wasn’t supposed to go like this.
“Clark, you know it’s not like that.”
Clark laughs like he believes it’s a lie. A gag. “It’s so easy because you’re Bruce Wayne and I’m just Clark Kent. And it’s always like this. You say no to a meal for a business meeting, to a plan to fight off syndicates for knowing, being better, to not talking to me because you’re too tired to. Because you’re Bruce Wayne, and Bruce motherfucking Wayne can’t and won’t compromise nor try to understand, doesn’t he?”
Clark never swears. Bruce feels like he’s about to cry. His chest tightens and his heart beats in an alarming pace he knows would make his lover worry. But a single glance at Clark says he doesn’t care now.
God, what has he done?
“And the worst part is, after all this is said and done, I’m still here, aren’t I?” Clark chuckles bitterly, in a way that sounds like it hurts him too.
This, Bruce figures, is how Clark knows hurt.
“After everything, I’ll always be here. After every argument, every fight, I’ll come to you and I’ll say sorry. When you push me away, when you don’t want me to treat your damn wounds - which is for your own sake by the way - I still kiss you like any other day. Even after every frown, every scowl, every exasperated sigh like you want me out of your sight. I’m still here.”
Bruce can’t find the right words. If he lets go of his tongue now, he’ll cry.
“But I get tired too. Do you understand?” Bruce wants to say yes. He stares stupidly at the man instead. “I get frustrated too. I have bad days too. I have times where I want to push you away too. I’m in pain too, Bruce, sometimes - but I - but I don’t show you because I love you and who else is going to compromise in this relationship but me?”
He stops, sighs. “But Rao, how I wish you did too. At the very least, try.” He whispers like he’s ashamed of saying it.
Bruce should’ve said something immediately. It’s minutes of silence and yet all he can say after everything is -
“I’m sorry,” a whisper. “I love you, Clark.”
Clark snickers and Bruce’s heart is crushed into pieces.
“Do you now, Bruce,” he says. “Doesn’t matter anyway. I’m going back home.”
When Clark is at the door, holding the knob to open and leave, he stops.
“Get your wounds treated tomorrow, B.” He says, and then he’s gone.
When he can’t hear the footsteps anymore, Bruce bursts into tears.
—
It has been a long day. A very difficult day. It’s one of those days where the only thing Clark should and could do is to suck it up. All the food he’s eaten today was not good, he’s out of groceries, his sink burst broken from his strength, he’s stuck solving a case as Superman, he gets made fun of in the street by a group of people - alien, they whisper - and at work the words just weren’t working, just weren’t coming out right, his drafts have all been rejected, and as a result he gets an earful from Perry. It shouldn’t have gotten on Clark’s nerves so much, but when Perry told him your writing only deserves a spot on the paper when it’s about Superman, Clark can’t help but see red. A sign of his being human. He tries to force himself to think that it’s a good thing that he feels so much, but he fails. At the end of the day all he just wants to do is to go home to Bruce, to cuddle with him, to sleep together. Kissing Bruce, his cold body against his warmth, seeing the sun rise together through the windows. A promise of a better tomorrow.
And yet.
And yet, Bruce.
“You should stand your ground, Kent. Let him know he needs to compromise and apologize, too.” Lois tells him when he crashes at her place at 1 in the morning right back from his outburst at the Manor. Things may not have worked out between them two, but Clark still depends on her the way he always did many years ago.
Clark thinks he’ll regret this, thinks maybe he’s just overreacting after all.
But for now he promises Lois an okay, I’ll try, and Lois threatens him with a you don’t try, Kent, you do it, period.
And she really does just know best, doesn’t she?
—
“... Then we’ll turn them over to the GCPD. If things go south, the best we can do is knock them out at the warehouse.” Superman explains, carefully pointing out the routes on the map laid on the table. “Do you understand?”
“Got it,” Bruce replies. “So who’s fighting the kidnappers and who’s rescuing the hostages?”
Superman, Clark, raises an eyebrow. “I just explained that part 2 minutes ago.”
“Oh.”
Bruce Wayne’s #1 rule when he decided to date Clark Kent was that their romantic relationship should never interfere with their in-costume work. Who knew he’d be the one to violate that rule out of them two?
Because really, Bruce just couldn’t understand. Here Clark was, in his vibrant blue and red suit, explaining his idea of a plan to him regarding the kidnapping case they’ve been working on together, as if nothing had happened just a week ago. As if it didn’t pain him that they haven’t met nor talked to each other since then the way it pained Bruce. As if that wasn’t the cause of Bruce’s eyebags and sunken eyes, hidden by his cowl. As if this was a normal working day for them two.
But it really was, wasn’t it? It was Bruce that was just going crazy, the one acting wrong, unbecoming of a hero.
Bruce knows it isn’t supposed to go like this. He knows he should apologize, but first he must know how to do it. That was the difficult part, because he just doesn’t know how. He’s never done it before.
The realization made him feel like shit. Made him feel like he was shit. God, he’s awful and he knows it well.
“You good?” Superman says, fumbling with their devices needed for the operation. “You look… Not ready to do this.”
“No,” Bruce says with his Batman tone, low and gruff, hoping Clark misses the way his voice slightly quivers. “I’m ready.”
“When’s the last time you slept?”
“It does not matter.”
“Look, it’s okay if you can’t, maybe take the day off and rest. I’m already asking for too much, asking you for help with this.” Superman says, activating his radio. “Robin can help me with this instead. Hey, did you ever get those wounds treated?”
It’s either Bruce isn’t looking enough or Clark truly just isn’t affected at all. Their relationship was on the verge of ending for God’s sake! And here he was with his tight suit and his styled hair and his heroic smile and pretty face like their relationship wasn’t falling apart by the second!
“Yes I did, and no, Robin does not need to help.” Bruce says, double checking the items in his utility belt. “I’m fine, Superman. Let’s do it.”
Superman stares at him doubtfully. Bruce knows that Clark knows that he’s lying. He sees through him after all, bones and heart and all.
“... Alright, if you say so.”
Still, he’s thankful that Clark indulges him.
—
Bruce has decided. It was now or never. After the mission, at the short debrief at the BatCave, he would talk to Clark and apologize. He knows he’s in the wrong here, and Clark is just too much, too special to lose. He just has to choose his words right, rehearse his tone, and practice how he’ll act. The problem, most importantly, was whether or not Clark would accept his apology. He wouldn’t know what to do if—
“B, behind you!”
“Agh!” Batman grunts as he throws a Batarang behind him, right to the man a second or two away from piercing a knife on his back.
Truly, he wouldn’t know what to do if Clark rejects his apology. God forbid. Surely he would. Clark still loves him despite Bruce’s imperfections, after all. Even just now, Clark was looking out for him—
“Corner! Front!” Superman shouts, fighting his own battle with a group of men, glancing and frowning at Batman who’s not moving as fast as he usually does. “What is wrong with you, B?! Focus!”
“I’m focused!” Not. Bruce really should, though. These men were too many for the Bat to be so complacent.
“Sure don’t look like you are, B!” Superman exclaims from the other side of the huge warehouse, flying around everywhere.
“You are distracting me, Superman!” Batman says as he continues to fight these seemingly never-ending men. “In more ways than one!”
Superman rolls his eyes. “Focus, B!”
Alright. Not that Bruce needs any reminding, because nothing ever distracts Batman anyway. Except maybe his boyfriend.
So he forces himself to focus. So he takes down all the men, ties all of them up while he formulates his apology to Clark when this is all over. Sure, he may have come close to being shot or stabbed many times tonight, but at least he knows now that he’s ready for his talk with his lover later.
There were things Batman and Superman didn’t expect tonight. First, that there were much more men than they thought there would be, and so they had to fight together despite the initial plan of one doing all the fighting. Second, that this was a much larger problem than they thought - that the enemy here wasn’t just a few wild men looking for quick cash, but instead someone, or something as big and important as the two of them. But that was a problem for later. They’ve done all they could tonight. The important thing now was that all the hostages were alive and the armed men were all handed to the cops (though in varying levels of injuries.)
Batman stands with Superman on the side of the street as they look at the freed hostages with silent contentment from being able to save lives once again.
Bruce looks at Clark.
“... Superman.”
Clark looks back at Bruce, and something shifts in his face, from the comforting smile he was flashing the freed hostages to the twisted anger when he looked at Bruce and —
And suddenly they’re at a rooftop, Bruce’s back hitting a wall so hard and so fast he was sure it left a dent, Clark’s hand holding the collar of his suit, looking down at him with a frown.
“You said you were fine.” An angry Superman was a sight. Not a good indicator of anything at all, but it still did send shivers up Bruce’s spine in many ways than one.
“I am,” Batman replies. “The operation was successful.”
“I should’ve brought Robin instead. I still believe that.”
“Nothing bad happened tonight, Superman.”
“Nothing bad?” Clark looks at him incredulously like he’s grown two heads. “You put everyone - especially yourself - in danger there, B. Do you know how many times I had to save you? How many times you almost got shot?! You could’ve died!”
“I’m alive, aren’t I.” Bruce says, and Clark’s hold on his collar gets tighter.
“That’s not the point!”
“Then what is?” He asks stupidly. More so, “Are you worried?”
Clark lets go, groaning and running his hand through his hair. “Of course I’m worried! Are you crazy?! Is this about that night? Is that it? For goodness’ sake, B, you were the one who said never to blend personal matters into our work!”
Bruce looks at him, his lips pursed for a while. He looks down.
“You were angry at me.” He says shamefully. “You still are angry. Angrier. I just - can’t, Clark. I can’t lose you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I - please, Clark.”
Clark’s face softens, but he doesn’t say anything. Bruce holds his wrist, guiding Clark’s hand to his jaw.
“I’m sorry. Please - I know now. I’ll be better. A better lover, a better duo - a better person, Clark. Tell me what I need to do. I’m sorry, really, I - I am. I’ll learn, I’ll change, so please - I just don’t want you angry at me.” He practically begs, his dignity be damned. This was Clark Kent, goddamnit. He'd give the whole world to this man if he could.
“Bruce…” Clark breathes, caressing Bruce’s cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry, too. That day - it was a bad day. I shouldn’t have poured my frustrations on you. You had a bad day then too, I know. You didn’t deserve that.”
“No, I… I’m wrong. I didn’t realize I was hurting you like that so much, Clark. You know I’ve never done this before - I don’t know anything. Teach me and I’ll learn, so please,” Bruce whispers, “I know I’m already asking for too much. But I just hope you’ll be patient with me."
It’s a bit shameful, Bruce thinks, how romance changes him. Makes him weak. Distracts him from his work. He loses sleep over it, and precious time. Love makes him so human. It makes him so vulnerable. And with a love like Clark Kent's, he believes it makes him alive.
“Bruce,"
“I hope you stay with me, Clark. Despite all my mistakes, and flaws, and shortcomings, and—”
“Bruce, I’ll never leave you," Clark says, kissing Bruce in the forehead gently. “I love you too much to do that.”
Bruce smiles genuinely for the first time in days, the familiar warmth that he only gets from Clark spreading across his body. In the end, he would never fully understand why Clark thinks Bruce considers him easy. If anything, that was Bruce himself - look at him, melting from a simple kiss, putty under the hold of his lover’s big hands.
“I love you too, Clark, goodness, I love you so much,” he says. “Can we go home? I missed you so much. Can you hold me? Can you spend the night and…?”
Clark looks at him lovingly, chuckling slightly. “Yes I can, B.” He kisses Bruce on the lips briefly before pulling away.
“But let’s get you treated first, before anything else. Fresh wounds. They must hurt.”
Bruce nods and follows Clark, because he believes now.