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Bruce Wayne could be seen out in public with women strung in his arms, buddies clapping their hands on his back, kissing heiresses on the cheek as a simple hello, but at home, there was a three foot barrier around him, guests, strangers, and all others alike. It had only been Alfred allowed that close for years. He remembered Alfred comforting him when he was young, and his nightmares wracked his entire body like lightning. Later, he allowed a few moments of congratulation and general festivity. Alfred always could read his body language and knew what he would welcome, if anything.
Others stayed away from him, needless to say, when he was the bat. Even his Brucie persona was rather unapproachable outside of galas and social endeavors. Everyone knew to keep their distance. Most everyone.
As with lots of things in Bruce’s life, exceptions existed. Dick Grayson rushed to him his first night at the manor and cried in his arms while Bruce rocked him back to sleep. Dick always reached for him when Bruce said goodnight to press a kiss to his hair. He tugged at Bruce’s pant leg to be brought up to eye level while Bruce was in the kitchen. He begged Bruce to learn some lifts for him to practice his acrobatic skills. Bruce indulged it all.
Bruce even found himself initiating connection when it seemed Dick needed it but wouldn’t ask. He knelt down to hug him before dropping him off at school. He kept a hand open behind him when they were in public and Dick needed something to hold on to. Batman hid him beneath his cape when they would sit on calls with the other members of the league. When the bat computer camera was off, Dick usually crawled up into his lap or was hoisted up while he worked.
Bruce would deny it with every fiber of his being, but he too felt comfort by having the boy close. It felt like it was one of the only ways to convey his affection. Alfred knew better than to say something about it, Dick thought it was normal, and no one else that knew him knew the real him was usually uncomfortable in those kinds of circumstances.
When Clark wrapped his arm around Bruce’s shoulder to help him back after a mission, Bruce was sure some kind of damage to his head prevented him from shrugging it off. The heat off his body made his muscles relax. He couldn’t stand on his own. These were all reasons he let Clark hold onto him even if he had claimed all this time he’d been repulsed by touch.
Then it became something he let Clark do for his own benefit. Even if he would have normally pushed him away, recoiled from a nudge or a pat on the back, Bruce endured Clark. He always struck Bruce as a sports guy. He knew it wasn’t really possible for Clark to be an actualized jock, not when he was worried about revealing his powers, but he just exuded that sportsmanship camaraderie that usually involved team huddles and butt slapping.
It wasn’t until he was patching Bruce up from another night he knew he was truly doomed.
Clark’s invincibility was always particularly irritating when he was miserable and at the other man’s mercy, who only stared back at him with that big dumb smile, barely scraped up. Clark’s warm hands pulled up at his sleeves, rolling them gently and keeping them from touching his road rash. Bruce winced at the cold antiseptic that stung and burned worse than the injury had.
“Come on B”. Clark had that fucking smile again. “Where’s that big strong Batman that was just here?”
“Fuck you, Kent.” He hissed. “Big talk for someone who curls in a ball at a fleck of Kryptonite.”
Clark’s free hand guided Bruce’s to hold him. He wrapped his own hand around Bruce’s elbow and dragged his thumb across his suit. “Just squeeze my arm when it hurts.”
Clark tried again with the rag. He wiped the blood gently and Bruce tried not to use the lifeline Clark had offered. One particular spot made him lurch forward and probably would have bruised Clark’s arm if he were capable of it. His hair fell down into his eyes even more than usual.
Clark tugged away with the rag, leaning down to look right into Bruce’s eyes. He pushed back Bruce’s hair behind his ear.
“Come on vengeance." Clark was taunting him, making light of the pain. Bruce knew that. Bruce should have socked him in the jaw for the antagonizing.
Bruce grabbed his arm before he’d even put the towel back. “Just fucking get it over with, blue.”
“I’m sorry. I know it sucks.” He was gentler now with it, still dragging that fucking thumb up and down his arm and trying to sooth Bruce but it was twisting up his stomach and making him want to vomit from blood loss.
The bandages hurt less. Clark’s hands barely left his skin, wrapping fabric as gently as he possibly could. Bruce let him take his time, even if he thought it was a waste. He probably could have fallen asleep there, but Clark had just finished.
After that, it became less of a big deal when Clark brushed up against him. Well, kind of. The freak out was less directed toward the act of being touched and more so that it was Clark who’d grown remarkably more comfortable with being close to Bruce. Quite close. Close as friends could be, he supposed.
Time passed and it became completely normal to see Superman congratulate Batman with both his hands on his shoulders squeezing tight and beaming at him. Clark must have been having a field day. He was downright giddy at being the only one in the league that could even get close to the bat. Bruce could tell him to stop if he wanted to. Bruce didn’t know why he didn’t, but he didn’t.
And one night, sleep deprived and idiotic as he was, he’d left the batcave to check in on Dick before bed, and came back down in the same headspace. That was the only explanation he could muster for why he loomed over Clark’s shoulders looking at the maps they were going over for their most recent case. He sat his chin on top of Clark’s hair to get a better look. God, his hair smelled good. Of course it did, he was practically a walking pomade ad.
Once he realized he was close enough to smell the man, he realized he was too fucking close. Bruce stiffened and leaned back, veering himself clear to the side of Clark and looking back intently at the table. He mumbled an apology, but Clark just pulled out a seat for him.
They were about to fly back from Metropolis, Bruce hurt yet again, when it happened once more. Clark had extended a hand to carry him back but Bruce was already gearing up to practically piggy back Superman all the way to Gotham. His arms casually draped around Clark’s shoulders and Clark pulled his legs up around his waist so the two of them could get going. Bruce’s chin tucked on top of Clark’s shoulder, the rest of him falling slack except his hold around his neck.
“Smart one, B. Less like dead weight this way”.
Bruce was delusional at the moment, but he was still pretty sure that was a joke coming from Clark, who could throw him around like a ragdoll if he wanted.
Then, there was the kind of irrefutable one. The one where kryptonite was involved. “Supes, holy shit.” Bruce raced over to Superman unconscious on the floor. “Supes! Christ’s sake!”
It had to be on him, it was the only way he’d still be damaged from it. Wavy green lines crossed all over his exposed skin, akin to streaking from an infection. He tried to see if there was any indication where their epicenter was, but he came up with nothing.
Instead, Bruce patted down his suit, checking around his neck and wrists for anything that could have been clasped on him. It wasn’t like the suit had many openings, and Bruce certainly was doing everything in his power not to disrobe him right now, but he worried time was of the essence. He thanked whatever fucking being was out there in control of all this shit that he found the shards of kryptonite tucked into Clark’s boot.
He threw them as far as he possibly could away, realizing it would have been a fuck ton smarter to get them into his belt, but he wasn’t thinking enough right now. It felt like oxygen couldn’t find its way to his brain. He pulled Clark up to him. He hadn’t been paying attention, he hadn’t known they’d had kryptonite on them, he’d been meant to take out their surveillance team.
“Supes, for fuck’s sake, come on.” He shook the man’s broad shoulders. His entire body was slack in Bruce’s hands. “Superman turn on that fucking super-hearing of yours and open your goddamned eyes.”
He grabbed at Bruce’s arm instead. His arm not pinned into Bruce’s hold reached out and fisted the fabric of Bruce’s suit. Bruce reached back for him, pulling his wrist saying yes I feel you, I know you’re there. And then he was. Clark opened his eyes, still fatigued, but in good spirits.
“Hey B.” He beamed.
“Dear fucking fuck, Clark.” He didn’t think once before calling him his real name. They were alone and he was too relieved to waste his words on a fake persona and not the real man behind it. He also very quickly noticed his arms were all the way wrapped around Clark’s neck, his own body pressed hard against Clark’s chest. “You’re not supposed to get hurt.”
Clark coughed. “I don’t like it much either.” He laid a wide hand across Bruce’s back.
Bruce thought if his adrenaline wasn’t spiked he could have stayed like this for a good while. Clark was always warm. That was his fucking Kryptonian curse that he never cooled off, and right now Bruce used it as his only sign Clark was okay.
He stayed hugging onto Clark as he lifted him out of the warehouse. The sun was rising in glorious timing and the pinky light made Clark’s skin look like magic. Heal like magic. Bruce sat on a set of concrete stairs and Clark stayed slumped over him, the weight helping Bruce control his breathing.
After a few minutes of silence, Clark began to resemble himself.
“I hate those stupid rocks.” Clark laughed into Bruce’s shoulder.
Bruce, who finally got his wits about him, gently shoved the partially healed Clark off of him, careful to not let him slam his back on the stairs. Clark adjusted himself so he sat a few steps down, leaning into Bruce’s knees and using his legs as a pillow.
“I just need– a minute or two more. I know you’ve got to go.”
Bruce sunk into himself even though he could feel each ridge of the stairs poking into his back. His arm extended into his lap and just barely brushed Clark’s shoulder. “That’s ok Supes. I’ve got time.”
After that, things were rare, but always comfortable. Clark and Bruce were friends, and with the addition of Dick into his life, Bruce relied upon Clark far more willingly than he had ever before. Clark loved every second of it.
Clark had always wanted a little brother, always seemed to be a safe place for kids to land. Couple that with Bruce’s new gentler streak, and Clark was easily convinced Dick was the best thing that had ever happened for either of them.
Dick was clingy to say the least. Fiercely independent and strong when he needed to be, but more than likely wrapped around Clark’s arm or tucked beside him on the sofa.
Clark had just assumed this was to make up for Bruce’s lack of comfort in physical affection, after all, it had taken them years of knowing one another for Bruce not to flinch at a brushing arm. He reveled in it. Ma and Pa Kent made it impossible for Clark not to adore physical affection. Since he was small they were always side by side or hugging goodbye or holding hands in crowded spaces. It was an entirely different form of communication, and Clark felt like he could practically mind read.
From the very start, Dick was the same. Climbing all over him, begging him to spot his acrobatics moves, hugging him goodbye practically every time he left the room.
When Dick found out Clark was Superman, it only got worse. His adoration of Clark the reporter was saccharine, his outright devotion to Superman superseded sugar itself. And it was mutual. Clark grew so eager to call him sport, ruffle his hair, and do all the other kinds of things you do in a brotherly, uncle-ly kind of way.
Bruce complained that their research and collaboration was stunted by Dick’s fandom of his partner, but more than likely he was simply jealous. Regardless, both parties ignored his complaint and carried on as normal.
When Clark was on assignment at one of Bruce’s events, he finally realized the gestures were not exclusive to him. Bruce’s hand never left Dick’s shoulder, far from controlling, but in all ways a thing of comfort. On occasion Dick trailed behind him, Bruce extending a sheltering arm backward. Then, at eight or nine in the evening he vanished from the party to take the boy up to bed. Clark snuck in the hallway hoping to say goodnight too, but Dick was already falling asleep on Bruce’s shoulder, arms tight around his neck.
It was official, Bruce Wayne was becoming a softie. Or as close to a softie as the guy could get. From then on it was impossible to deny— the times Bruce would nearly trip with Dick under his cape, the forehead kisses to acknowledge he was there without saying anything, even hoisting up in the air when he got home from school.
It became one of the things Clark loved most about him. Not liked. Loved. He tested boundaries at any turn he could, leaning on Bruce’s shoulder, insisting on hugs goodbye, practically begging Bruce to recoil at a point just to prove he hadn’t been this way all this time, that something had changed.
He very quickly figured out something had changed when Bruce leaned in and kissed him after a pretty rough night on patrol.
They had been arguing, Bruce mostly, arguing over who knows what, when they were attacked by surprise. Well, they hadn’t been, Robin had.
He was on one of his first patrols, Clark there to offer a hand while Bruce was really just busy teaching on the job. Dick had made a fair point that he could be stationed by himself, that Clark could listen out for him, but the disagreement that raged distracted him. Bruce remembered now, Clark believing Dick was too young to patrol at all. What Clark didn’t have to take into consideration were the hours Bruce had argued with Dick over the same thing, that his training needed to last longer. He didn’t have the patience to argue again. Then both of them didn’t even have the time.
Dick wailed from across the building, of course as far as he could possibly be from them. Bruce was grateful for Clark’s super speed. It was an easy fix, really. Clark took one guy down, caught another that hopped between buildings, and a third was busy robbing the penthouse of the building below. Routine, easy. Normally, either of them could have taken care of the situation in one fail swoop, but Bruce was distracted.
Dick had become a hostage, and of course Clark took all of three seconds to rectify the situation, but in those three seconds Bruce could feel his whole fucking stomach drop so quick he wasn’t even convinced he was walking anymore. Or that he was on the top of the building, precariously close to the edge, simply because it was the quickest way of getting where he needed to be.
Clark fixed it all, fixed everything, pushed Dick behind him and took care of the situation before Bruce could even fucking get there. Clark was all parts boy scout and Bruce was the blubbering idiot who sat there watching him incapable of moving a fucking muscle. The fight was over before it started, and Dick was wrapped in his arms.
“It’s ok, chum.” The boy shook in his arms. “Easy, easy. I’ve got you.”
“Sorry.”
Bruce kneeled down and looked him in the eye. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.” Dick stared at his shoes. “You don’t.”
“Shoulda waited.” He shrugged.
Bruce nudged at his chin with his gloved hand. “Come on, come on, no. No, hey. First big night, first anything. Do you know how many times I’ve had Clark save my butt?” Dick laughed under his breath. “And you’re in one piece! –You are in one piece, right?” He tilted his head.
“Mhm.”
He did a once over to be sure, then a glance to Clark, who was busy tying up the ones he caught on the roof.
“Then you’re better than I am most nights.”
“Really?”
“Swear.” He sighed. “I’m going to ask something of you, and you have the choice, and it’s not because you did a thing wrong, or even because I want it, but, I can have Clark take you home and he and I can finish patrol. –Only if you want.”
He pressed his lips in a tight smile. “I think I do.”
“Know I’m not asking because I think you should or shouldn’t– I really just want you to tap out when you need to.”
“I get it.” His voice shrunk down so normally, only Bruce could have heard him.
“We can have breakfast in the morning.” He whispered. “I’ll ask Al for blueberry pancakes.”
“Okay.” Dick cracked a little smile.
By the time Clark was back, Bruce went through 2-4 cycles of deciding whether or not he’d made any of the right choices, remembering he was still on patrol, and contemplating punching the nearest brick wall. It couldn’t have been more than eight minutes.
“He okay?”
Clark nodded. “Bummed, but a completely regular amount. You said all the right things.”
He slumped down beside him. “Not that I mind, but you think you really need the both of us looking after Gotham tonight?”
Bruce scoffed. “I’ve proven– unreliable.”
“Right. Just what I was thinking.” He nudged at him. “You’re bummed too, huh?”
“Not with him– Upset he’s upset, I guess.” He leaned into Clark’s shoulder.
“That makes sense. A lot was riding on this, confidence wise at least. But he can only learn by doing.” Clark didn’t pull from him, or make any acknowledgement of the gesture. Instead, he stared out to where he’d just fought.
“You think I shouldn’t have sent him home?”
Clark knew he couldn’t see him, so he tapped reassuringly on his shoulder. “Oh, gosh no, he was rattled. He needed to get to bed.”
Bruce laughed. “Yeah right. He’s probably going to be glued to the batcomputer, tracking me, trying to hack footage. Right after he helps himself to a heaping plate of whatever he’s conned Alfred into making for him.”
“You’re really great with him.”
“I’m flying by the fucking seat of my pants. Every time I think I understand it, I don’t.” Bruce was still leaning on Clark, who kept an ear out as he leaned back on his hands so they were a bit more comfortable.
“I shouldn’t have told you he wasn’t cut out for it yet.”
“No, you were right. Didn’t you see?”
“But he’s your– yours. I didn’t need to open my big mouth for the conversation.” Bruce pulled back from him, making Clark think he’d somehow screwed up worse.
“Your opinion matters to me, Clark.” He scanned quickly to pretend like he was doing a good job surveying the city. “He feels safe with you too.”
Bruce’s head shifted as Clark shrugged. “The whole Superman thing does that.”
“Not Superman, you.”
“I am–”
“A total bonehead is what you are.”
“I just never wanted to feel like I couldn’t be there to protect him.” He scrunched the fabric of his sleeve in his fist. “B– is there a reason my opinion matters so much to you?”
“You’re the only one in the league who doesn’t infuriate me on the daily.” He shrugged.
“Right. Is that the same reason you invite me over– not just for work, but for dinners and movies and game night?”
“Dick likes you. He needs more than just me and Alfred.” Bruce’s cheeks flushed.
“The day with the Krytonite?”
“I’m not the machine you paint me as, Clark, I thought you were on death’s door.”
“Right.” Clark nodded to himself. “Then what about you keeping your identity from the rest of the league?”
“Come on, you know why–” He turned, exasperated, toward Clark and then looked back down toward his boots. “There’s too much involved. I don’t want them thinking of me differently and thinking they can cozy up to Brucie Wayne for favors. You– You’re different.”
“Yeah, I’m different for sure.” He crossed his arms.
“You don’t press me– don’t make me feel like an idiot for the secrecy. You care about the things I care about. Things can make sense– with you.”
“Is that right?”
Bruce mumbled an agreement.
“You make sense too– most of the time.”
“I’ll pretend to not be insulted by that.”
“You don’t– You let me and Dick and nobody else in your personal space. I thought it was just me for a while, that you were too tired to notice, or kind of– going about it as a favor of some kind to me. Does that make sense?”
Bruce didn’t reply.
“But then I saw you and him, and it clicked a little better, you received it from me and him, and you do it back to acknowledge? Or it became a habit?”
“I didn’t have a lot of that growing up– didn’t want it after my parents. But Dick is– I care for him more than anything. I don’t want him going without it. And I– like it again.”
“But–”
“You’re trickier.”
“What does that mean?”
He took a deep breath in, let some of it out and started again. “You– were the only one I could even bear to be around. You’re some kind of fearless, it didn’t seem hard.”
“I’m far from–”
“Yes you are. You aren’t, but that’s what makes you fearless.”
“So then– I’m tricky and fearless? And you are–?”
“Scared.”
“Not you.”
“Then?”
“Nervous?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t know why I let you that close. Wasn’t sure I was capable of it until I did. But I didn’t want you to go. I still don’t– I’m just– I want to–”
“Want to what, B?” He placed a warm hand on Bruce’s shoulder.
Bruce supposed it was now or never.
He leaned in to press his lips against Clark’s. It was easier than speaking, and as soon as Clark kissed him back, he knew it was a whole lot more enjoyable. Bruce found Clark’s hand still pressed into his skin and intertwined his fingers so they linked together. To Bruce, the kiss was over far too soon, but it gave him the chance to gauge the level of horror across Clark’s face rather than inferring one.
When he looked back beaming, Bruce was convinced he’s fantasized the entire conversation. Clark didn’t speak to him, which could have been alarming if he didn’t take the time to wrap both his arms around Bruce in the most all-consuming way he could manage, fingers grabbing at his suit and only restraining himself to not tear the fabric. His nose dug into the crook of Bruce’s neck and he could almost feel him laughing against his skin.
Bruce murmured a sigh of relief as Clark enveloped him, grateful this was the turn events were taking. Clark, ever jovial and kindhearted, was not one to poke fun, or indulge for the sake of things, he was there because he was brimming with sincerity. Clark leaned and pecked another kiss on his lips, narrowing his brows when he could catch Bruce’s eyes again.
“That was on purpose right, no last second regret?”
“Don’t think so.” Bruce shook his head and kissed Clark one more time, his arms wrapping around Clark’s neck.
“Okay, good.” Clark added, catching his breath and letting Bruce pull him back.