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One of the benefits of dating Clark was that they didn’t have to lie to each other. They’d known each other’s secret identities for years—Bruce, through months of careful investigation and a set of discretely-retrieved DNA sample to prove it, and Clark, through X-ray vision after Bruce smugly implied that he knew Clark’s—so there was no need for lies about last-minute work meetings or skiing accidents.
In fact, complete honesty was one of the boundaries Bruce set before agreeing to date Clark: not because he didn’t trust Clark—Clark was far more honest than Bruce was—but mostly because if Bruce’s first response to Clark had been please and not some variation of have you considered all the ways this could go horribly wrong, Clark might’ve thought he was being mind-controlled again.
(Also, Bruce was a paranoid bastard, and if Clark did keep something significant from him, Bruce would figure it out, and Bruce would never forgive him.)
(Bruce would forgive him.)
So when Clark—Superman, bright uniform and all—touched down on Bruce’s balcony ten minutes after he was supposed to show up, and laughed nervously as he said, “No, no tsunamis, I just...got lost.”
“You got lost.”
He was Superman. He could see through walls. He could fly around the city multiple times in a matter of minutes. He’d been to the Cave plenty of times before.
“I know,” Clark said. Bruce raised an eyebrow, drawing out a hint of a blush. “Everything looked different from above.”
“Well, it’s not normally this sunny.”
Clark rolled his eyes, and Bruce smirked, just a little, before leaning in to kiss him hello. It didn’t matter much, and Bruce didn’t think Clark was lying, and Clark certainly wasn’t acting like he was ten minutes late on purpose to try and hint that he didn’t want to date Bruce anymore. But it was odd.
Clark was on-time—ten minutes early—for their next two dates. And then Bruce invited him back to Gotham. And lo and behold…
“Clark?” Bruce asked, picking up the phone. He was still in the Cave, having lost track of time trying to finish up cases before dinner tonight.
“Hey, B.”
Sheepish. As if there really was a tsunami this time, and Clark was going to be later than the five minutes late he already was. Or as if he got lost again.
“You got lost again,” Bruce said, trying not to smile.
“Well, I didn’t fly in this time.”
Bruce had mentioned, on their last date, that if they were going to go officially public, he couldn’t explain why Superman was showing up at Bruce Wayne’s bedroom late at night when he was supposed to be dating Clark Kent.
On instinct, Bruce pulled up the tracking page for the Robins before realizing he’d never technically tagged Clark. “Remind me to put a tracker in your engagement ring,” he grumbled, only to get hit by the meaning of that like a brick wall.
“Okay,” Clark said, in a small, stunned voice.
Bruce cleared his throat. “Where are you?”
Clark rattled off the nearest intersection; Bruce knew Gotham like the back of his hand, and even he wasn’t sure how Clark ended up there if he was coming in from Metropolis.
“Can you see the Manor?” Bruce asked.
“Sort of,” came the reply, followed by, “There are a lot of lead pipes around here.”
Bruce wanted to kiss him so badly. But he couldn’t when Clark was stuck on the opposite side of town, so he rattled off the directions, trusting Clark’s photographic memory to keep track of it.
“Thank you,” Clark said, sounding genuinely relieved, and Bruce waited for the telltale click of Clark hanging up.
It didn’t. Through the speaker, he could hear the subtle sounds of Clark breathing and the city around him. Bruce was just glad the Cave was empty, and no one was around to catch him smiling like a lovesick fool.
“How was work?” Bruce asked finally, and Clark laughed a little before launching into some anecdote about what Steve Lombard said in the break room.
On their next date, Clark actually arrived at the Manor an impressive five minutes early, looking just a touch proud of himself as Bruce pulled him in for a kiss.
“Did you finally get a map?”
Clark had his arm wrapped around Bruce’s waist, keeping their bodies only a few inches away. Some of the pride wavered as he said, voice low, “I actually just used your heartbeat, this time.”
Oh.
Bruce kissed him again.
They were late for dinner anyway—not that Alfred seemed to mind, or even be all that surprised.
Bruce was the one to plan their three-month anniversary; Clark’s only instruction was to look pretty and show up on time.
In Clark’s defense, he was technically on time.
Bruce raised an eyebrow. Clark smiled sheepishly, dripping waste on the BatCave floor—because he was far too polite to risk ruining the carpeting in the manor proper. He dabbed at the pungent ooze on his cheek with the untouched corner of his suit jacket sleeve.
“Sewer pipe exploded.”
“Clearly.”
“I’m sorry,” Clark offered, as if Bruce was the one getting the worst of the situation. “I really did—”
“I know, Clark,” Bruce said, more than a little amused; anyway, assuming everything else would go according to plan, they’d have plenty of kissing tonight to make up for the current state of Clark’s...everything. “I’ll get the reservation pushed back and get you a new suit. There’s a decontamination shower in the back corner.”
“Of course there is,” Clark said, already shedding his clothes. “I’m starting to think your city hates me.”
Bruce paused, only partially because of the sight of his boyfriend’s bare chest. It was...absurd, quite frankly, to think that a city would be causing all of this, but the boys...no, the boys liked Clark. He had no doubt that just Damian and Tim could figure out how to put their differences aside to confuse even a Kryptonian’s vision, but even Damian had been asking when they could visit Clark’s parents’ farm.
No. Clearly Clark just had a terrible sense of direction when it came to Gotham.
They hit every red light on the way to restaurant, trapped behind a line of brake lights, and Bruce couldn’t remember ever seeing this much traffic before, even though logically he knew he lived in a well-populated city.
It was absurd to think a city could dislike someone. Especially someone like Clark.
Two weeks after their third anniversary, Bruce and Clark were walking hand-in-hand, Clark’s body heat bleaching through the layers of Bruce’s jacket, keeping the evening chill at bay. Bruce hadn’t been able to stop himself from calling it a walking tour of the city—which, as planned, made Clark roll his eyes even as he grinned, before he leaned in to kiss Bruce—though it was mostly just nice to get to experience Gotham like this. It was an unusually easy night, and Dick was taking care of patrol.
Everything was fine—perfectly, actually.
And then one of the gargoyles on the roof above them sloughed off with a sharp, resounding crack, and Clark was left balancing the massive stone thing on his shoulders, looking more annoyed than anything.
Bruce glanced up at the rooftops, half-expecting to see some villain lurking, as Clark set the gargoyle down on the sidewalk, too confused to pretend like it was heavy. He noticed Bruce’s tension, though, and scanned the skyline, reporting, “I don’t see anyone.”
Bruce hadn’t, either. His frown deepened. It was awfully coincidental.
He could feel Clark’s gaze on him. “What are you thinking?”
Rule one: honesty. “I think my city hates you,” Bruce murmured. He swallowed, looking back at Clark, plotting their route back to the Manor. “Come on, let’s go.”
Bruce had several years’ worth of experience watching over Gotham. He’d often thought of the city as a living thing—the buildings, the people, the sewer pipes that once exploded over his boyfriend...all of it connected by some not-wholly-menacing kind of miasma. Like so much blood—Wayne blood especially—had been spilled on the streets that the city itself had absorbed some of the spirit of her people.
The gargoyle that had fallen on Clark was back on its plinth, with just a tiny crack running through its snarling head to show that anything had happened.
Bruce sighed. He’d went over it a hundred times in his head, what he would say, how he would know that anything—anywhere?—was even listening.
He loved Clark; the past few months had only solidified that. Clark was good for him. Being happy with Clark didn’t change a thing about his mission, his other priorities. He had a feeling that whatever Gotham City was, it knew that already, the same way Dick and Alfred and Tim and the others all did.
So, instead, he adopted his best disappointed tone. “Knock it off.”
The city was quiet below him. Somewhere, a door slammed shut. A car alarm went off in a frenzy. A cloud slid to cover the full moon, bathing Bruce in the kind of all-encompassing shadows that kept him safe.
“Thank you,” Bruce said quietly.
“Hey, Bruce,” Clark said, sounding delighted just to hear his voice.
“Friday night,” Bruce started. “I want you to stop by the Manor.”
“I thought it was my turn to pick the place.” Clark didn’t sound annoyed, though.
“I’m testing a theory.”
“Fine. But you’re coming to Metropolis for the next two dates.”
As if Bruce wouldn’t cross far more than a city for him. “I’ll see you then.”
“Love you,” Clark said, almost absent-mindedly, in the seconds before Bruce could hang up the phone.
Bruce froze. Then swallowed, and said, “I love you, too” before finally hanging up.
On Friday night, Clark showed up twenty minutes early, looking completely baffled by how easy the city had been to navigate tonight.
“There wasn’t even traffic,” Clark said.
Bruce just hummed, fighting a smile.