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It was one of those nights. One of those nights where Clark would follow Bruce back home after patrol or a particularly exhausting mission and Bruce would just… let him. Of course, the first time it had been a surprise to feel Clark hovering alongside him all the way back to the Batcave. Before he even had a chance to ask Clark what he was doing, Clark had plopped himself on a couch and fallen asleep, cape and all. That had been almost 3 months ago, and after that, he just let him stay, no questions asked.
The truth was, Bruce enjoyed having him around way more than he'd like to admit.
Contrary to popular belief, Superman does get tired. Not as easy as a regular human would, but he also did almost 10 times as much as regular humans did, and slept way less than he wants to admit.
So who could blame him for being tired? What Bruce couldn't seem to understand was why tag along with him? Yes, he was exhausted, but it would only take him a few seconds to fly over to his apartment in Metropolis. As expensive as the couches and cushions were in the Wayne Manor, Bruce had no doubt that Clark's own bed was significantly more comfortable for him than face-planting on Bruce’s couch.
Clark yawned loudly, interrupting Bruce's train of thought. He hovered to the nearest couch and made himself comfortable. Bruce was not a fan of the recent addition of couches in the Batcave; they absolutely ruined the ominous and dark atmosphere he had going on, but Clark and the kids loved them. So, who was he, the owner of the house, anyone to have any opinion?
"Come sit with me, Bruce. Alfred left us tea," Clark said, holding a steaming mug in each hand.
"Of course he did," said Bruce, rolling his eyes as he took off his cowl. He took one of the warm mugs from Clark, who was currently trying to hold back a laugh.
"What's so funny?" Bruce grumbled while he sipped his tea.
"Helmet hair," he chuckled softly. Clark ran a hand through Bruce's hair, warmth spreading across his chest. Bruce batted the Kryptonian’s hand away and tried to flatten his own hair himself.
"Not fair,” Bruce glared playfully at Clark, “you go around flying at unbelievable speed and look at your hair."
Clark batted his lashes innocently.
"What about my hair, Bruce?" he giggled.
"Shut up." He rolled his eyes, but smiled softly as soon as his back was turned to Clark.
Bruce took another sip of his tea and sat in front of the Batcomputer, logging the details of today's mission. The clicking sounds of the keyboard echoed against the walls of the cave.
"Bruce?"
Click, click, click.
"Yes, Clark?"
Click, click, click.
"I asked you to come join me on the couch. Come on, B…"
Click, click-
"I’m working."
"I think we have both worked enough for today. Come here," he said as he gestured for Bruce to come over.
Bruce groaned, but picked up his mug and dragged his feet towards Clark. He was pretty tired. He sat down and just let himself be tired for a moment. Clark smiled.
"See, much better."
Bruce only groaned and rubbed his eyes. Clark smiled and gestured at Bruce's fingers now stained with black face paint.
"Right."
Clark got up and came back with wet tissues.
"Eyes closed, B."
"I’m a grown man, Clark. I can wipe my own face off."
Clark Kent, The Superman, in his grown age, pouted at Bruce.
Bruce reluctantly closed his eyes. He felt the gentle drag of the tissue against his skin, Clark's fingers barely grazing him, his warm breath ever so close. It always impressed Bruce how someone so strong and powerful could be so careful and so gentle.
"You are smiling, B." His eyes were still closed, but he could practically feel Clark's smile in his voice.
"No, I'm not," he frowned, and Clark just chuckled.
"All done! I think? This thing’s impossible to get out…"
Bruce opened his eyes, only to find Clark still leaning very close, noses almost brushing.
"Thank you," he said in a faint whisper.
Clark bolted back, cheeks tinted red.
"Glad I could help!" He laughed shakily, in a way that was so... Bruce had no other way to describe it, Clark Kent-ish.
Bruce finished his tea and set the empty mug aside. He let himself fall completely on the cushions. Clark set his own mug down and laid next to Bruce.
"This reminds me of lying down on the grass back at the farm and staring at the stars as a kid."
Bruce hummed and paid close attention to how fond Clark sounded while narrating that particular memory.
"Sometimes that's what I miss the most, the Smallville nights. So quiet you could only hear the crickets, even my super hearing could only pick up faint snoring. Stars as bright as they could be. No offense, but Gotham is so loud and so polluted. You really can't see any stars."
"No offense taken. I guess I’ll have to go to Smallville and check it out myself.” Clark smiled at the roof, and Bruce could not stop looking at him. “You know, sometimes I forget you are a farm boy, Kent. Where's your cute little accent?"
"Oh, don't be fooled. I had one my entire life, up till I moved to Metropolis, and it faded out by itself, but it slips out every now and then."
Bruce chuckled. Clark himself was smiling as well, now staring at the man who lay beside him.
"You should laugh more, B. It suits you."
"It really doesn't. I'm Batman, remember?”
"Right", Clark smiled and poked at the bat insignia on his chest, "But can't we just be Clark and Bruce for a second?"
"Okay." Bruce breathed out softly.
"Okay." Clark echoed back at him.
A comfortable silence overcame them.
Lying down, still wearing half his armor, wasn't the most comfortable for Bruce, so he sat up. Bones creaking as he did. Clark readjusted to lie his head on Bruce's lap. Bruce's brows shot up to his hairline in surprise, heat rising to his face, but he kept quiet.
His hand raised without his permission, fingers gently finding their way to Clark's soft curls. Clark let out a low, pleased hum.
"Why do you always stay over when you are tired, Clark? Why not go home?"
"Believe it or not, B, you are nice to be around. I like hanging out with you outside "work". I found it soothing to fall asleep to you clicking away on the Batcomputer, so I just kept staying every once in a while."
Bruce kept petting Clark's head. Realisation must have hit Clark, because Bruce felt him tense up.
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No. I like it too. I like having you around." Bruce could not hold back a smile even if he wanted to.
"Okay."
His hand traced down to caress Clark's cheek. This man’s heat just seemed to radiate off him.
"Bruce?"
"Hmmm?"
Clark sat up, his face inches away from Bruce's own. If he got a little bit closer, he could…
"Bruce-"
Bruce lifted his gaze from Clark's lips and met blue. His eyes were so blue.
Clark's hand moved to cradle his jaw and brush against his stubble. Bruce let his eyes close as he sank into the warmth of Clark's palm. Clark's hand snaked to the nape of his neck and pulled Bruce closer, finally meeting his lips.
Finally, was the only thing Bruce could think about besides Clark, Clark, Clark…
Warm, soft lips moved against his. Not as light and gentle as Bruce would have expected Clark Kent to kiss, but desperate and hungry, like he really couldn't get enough of him. It was too much. It wasn't enough.
He dragged his hands along Clark's sides, all spandex and muscle. Clark arched to the touch, gasping against his mouth. His grasp on Bruce’s hair tightened, sending chills down his spine.
Clark's lips moved to the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his neck, and all Bruce could do was hold on for dear life, fist tight around Clark's cape. His eyes shut tight, small groans escaping his lips.
"Kal, please-"
Clark shot up, reacting to the name immediately. His blue eyes were huge, pupils blown, staring at the absolute mess he had made of Bruce Wayne. Kiss bitten lips, droopy eyes, and his hair sticking out in funny angles. Bruce smirked.
"Kal?"
"Oh, now you are doing it on purpose," Clark said as he wasted no time pushing Bruce on his back and crashing against his mouth once more. Bruce could feel himself smiling into Clark's mouth. Clark’s tongue found a way into his mouth as the kiss deepened, the taste of Earl Grey tea flooding his senses. His grip on Clark’s waist was firm, bringing him impossibly closer to Bruce. He wanted to keep kissing Clark forever, to drown in the scent of his skin. He pulled away for a second, panting heavily. His hands were still wandering everywhere he could reach, wanting more, more, more… When all of a sudden, Clark got up lightning fast.
"What-"
"Glad to see you finally made notice of me, Master Kent. Don’t mind me, I just came to bring in blankets. Now, if I may, I will excuse myself," Alfred said as he placed the blankets on the table, grabbed the empty mugs, and walked away.
When he was finally gone, Bruce barked out a laugh with his face hidden behind his hands.
"Holy shit."
Clark was beet red.
"How did I not hear him??"
"I mean, you were pretty distracted," Bruce smirked as Clark shot him a glare. Bruce laughed and kissed Clark again. Because he could. Nothing like before, just a soft and sweet press of lips. An unspoken “I love you” none of them were ready to utter yet. As they pulled apart, Clark’s warm smile lit up the room. He pressed a kiss to the top of Bruce’s head and stood up to go fetch the blankets from where Alfred had left them.
"I can feel you staring at me, Bruce."
"I know," Bruce smiled. How could he not stare at him? The cape might obscure most of it, but Bruce was still enjoying the view.
He hovered back to the couch, armful of blankets, and sat back down next to Bruce, crowding all of his space. Bruce could not care less about it.
"Can we sleep here?" he said, pressed to Bruce's face, peppering kisses wherever he could reach.
"I have a perfectly nice bed upstairs," he managed to say, smiling against Clark's mouth, who had moved on to the corners of Bruce’s mouth.
"I know.” Clark planted a kiss on his cheek. “But I’m asking if we can sleep here. On the couch."
"Sure, farm boy. We can continue where we left off tomorrow," Bruce said as he dragged a finger up Clark’s bicep, looking up at him through thick lashes.
Clark smiled. Big, huge smile, pearl white teeth, and shining eyes. Clark’s arms were warm around him, and Bruce was beginning to feel the tiredness seep in. He let his head fall on Clark’s shoulder.
“Bruce?”
"Armor," he murmured.
And Clark, bless his soul, helped Bruce as he kicked off his heavy boots and changed into something more comfortable. Clark helped himself to one of Bruce's shirts. Armor and suits discarded, they plopped themselves back on the couch, now wrapped in heavy blankets. Clark planted a kiss on Bruce's forehead and held him. Tight but careful. Bruce could not believe his luck. He buried his face on Clark's big, muscular chest and groaned. Clark chuckled softly.
"Goodnight to you too, B."