Archive of Our Own

Having superhearing came with its own ups and downs. On the positive side, he was able to pick up on sounds of distress from all over the planet, and in a lot of ways, it was like his own personal firehouse alarm whenever the words ‘help’ or ‘Superman’ were uttered. While it had been incredibly overwhelming when his powers first came in, now he welcomed the constant white noise of voices. All of the constant chatter pushing against his eardrums was the greatest lullaby he could imagine. 

But like all good things, it definitely had its drawbacks. The main one was that it didn’t take much to wake him up when he was trying to sleep. 

The shrill ring of his comm on the nightstand had Clark sitting up on the first ring. His slightly delirious gaze cut over to the comm, its loud ringing swelling in the silence of his room, and he had half a mind to bring his fist down on it. However, he didn’t want to deal with Batman lecturing him about how much things cost…again. 

Clark scrubbed a hand over his face and blinked the sleep from his eyes while mentally preparing for whoever needed him. It wasn’t often that people utilized his comm since all it usually took was a shout of his name and he’d be right there. As he reached over to grab the device, he was fully expecting it to be Flash. He was on monitor duty tonight, and Bruce had made some sort of tweaks to the Watchtower that went way over Clark’s head. 

However, when he flipped the comm over and the letters on the screen came into focus, he felt all the fatigue leave his body.

Robin. 

As the mantle of Robin went from one kid to another, the trend of them calling on him seemed to dwindle. He wasn’t sure if he would answer to Tim or Damian on the other line, but if it were the latter…

He pressed the green accept button and pressed the comm to his ear, clearing his throat before saying, “This is Superman. Is there an issue, Robin?” He could already feel some of his nerves settling in the pit of his stomach. If a Robin was calling him, then that meant something was wrong with Batman. 

“Superman, thank God,” Tim’s exasperated voice bled through the line, a relieved sigh fluttering from his lips. “We have a situation.”

A situation? He didn’t like the sound of that, and luckily, he didn’t need to ask him to elaborate.

“We have a Code Dark…all of Batman’s comm activity went dead about thirty minutes ago. Oracle can’t locate him either. I’m at his last known location, and the Batmobile is still here. It’s like he just walked off the scene,” Tim’s tone was deceptively calm, but Clark had known the kid long enough to know that every gear in his head was spinning. “Oracle suggested I call you. She said you’d probably be able to hear him and figure out where he is.” 

Clark’s brows furrowed at the plan. He’d never told anyone that he could locate Bruce by his heartbeat alone. It was a secret he guarded close to his heart, but perhaps they just meant that he could pick out Bruce if he was saying something. Yes, that was more likely. 

“Okay…Okay, yeah,” He mumbled, throwing the covers off his body and standing to start dressing in his suit. “I’ll go find him. Go back to the cave, Robin.” If he didn’t tell Tim to go back, he’d stay out in the streets of Gotham for hours looking for Batman. 

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth down the sleep-mussed curls while grabbing his suit from the armchair in the corner of his room. There was a distinct silence on the other end of the line, and Clark sighed and repeated, “Robin. Go back to the cave. I will handle this.” 

More silence. 

Before he could repeat himself a third time, there was a rustling on the other end of the line, followed by a quiet, “Copy, Superman. Let us know when you’ve found him. Robin out.” And then the line cut.

Part of him wasn’t sure Tim would actually listen, but he could hope. It wouldn’t take long at all to locate Bruce if he wasn’t…

An icy chill ran down his spine at the thought. No, Bruce was alive. 

Clark grabbed his suit and yanked it on, making sure everything was situated before he ran his hands through his hair again to fix it. “Alright, B…Where are you?” He murmured to himself, closing his eyes to help sharpen his senses. Every sound seemed to amplify as he focused on locating the Bat, the chatter and ambient city noise filled his skull until it nearly pounded. His brows furrowed in concentration as he pushed his hearing beyond Metropolis and out towards Gotham, the sounds growing distinctly different as he sifted through the city for the heartbeat that he knew better than anything. 

Honking car horns, bank alarms, teeth hitting the sidewalk from a hard punch, and lots of yelling. It was a stark change from the white noise of Metropolis, but he couldn’t think about that right now. He needed to focus on one thing, and one thing only. He expanded his hearing until a familiar heartbeat filtered through his ears, only it seemed to be pounding. Bruce’s heart seemed to always be at a resting rate, but right now, it was practically hammering in his chest. 

What could have Batman’s heart beating that fast?

After opening the window to his apartment, he zipped out and headed towards the heartbeat. It was like a homing beacon the closer he got to Gotham. The quick rhythm drew him closer to the source until he found himself at the building where Bruce kept a penthouse in the city proper. It didn’t make sense for him to be here, but Clark was positive that the rapid heartbeat was coming from inside the penthouse. He flew to the windows and peered in, noting that everything was dark. There wasn’t a single light on in the place, but what did catch his attention were pieces of the Batsuit strewn across the floor. 

He wasn’t sure how Bruce managed to get into the building unnoticed, but he had to bet that there was some sort of back entrance or something he’d taken to get here. The wind fluttered through his hair as he flew around, pushing on the windows to try and find one that might be unlocked. All of them were firmly shut. 

“He’s going to kill me,” Clark muttered to no one but himself, already acutely aware of the reaming Bruce will give him. There was no other option, so with a final sigh, he activated his heat vision and cut a circle in the glass. 

He could already hear Bruce’s reprimand, “You’re buying me a new window, Kent.” It was always an empty threat since they both knew Clark couldn’t afford to even buy Bruce a new dress shirt, let alone an entire floor-to-ceiling length section of a window.

Reaching forward to push the glass inward, he made sure to move fast enough to catch the cut-out circle before it could hit the ground and shatter. The last thing either of them needed was to alert anyone to some sort of commotion in Bruce Wayne’s penthouse. Clark laid the glass down as gently and quietly as he could. It was so eerily quiet that he took a moment to glance around before turning on his X-ray vision to scan the place. Everything seemed normal until he noticed a human figure curled up on the floor of the bedroom. A human figure with the same hammering heartbeat as Bruce. 

It only took him seconds to reach the room, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of Bruce gasping for breath on the floor next to his bed. Seeing as the Batsuit was lying in pieces on the floor in the living room, Clark wasn’t surprised to see him in only his briefs. What he wasn’t expecting to see were the angry red claw marks all over his skin, like he’d been dragging his blunt nails all over his body. The ragged breaths had his body quaking with each one, but the worst part of it all was his eyes.

Bruce had the prettiest eyes Clark had ever seen. They were a beautiful silvery-blue that could cut through anyone with a simple look. His gaze was always sharp and alert, unless he was at a gala pretending to be an air-headed playboy. However, instead of that all-accessing look, his pupils ate up every bit of blue until his eyes were nearly black, and the sclera was bloodshot. Clark had never seen Bruce like this before, and it scared him. 

The only thing he could think to do was hurry over and drop to his knees, reaching out to gently touch his shoulder with a soft, “Bruce? Can you hear me? It’s me, it’s Clark.” He could hear the tremor in his voice as he spoke, and while he knew he needed to be calm right now, he was afraid. 

Instead of saying anything, Bruce just looked at him like a scared, feral animal. He ripped himself from Clark's touch, quickly sitting up and backing up until his back hit the edge of the bed. His gaze darted all over the room, clearly looking for an escape, and Clark was glad that he’d been the one to find Bruce like this. This was not Bruce in his right mind, and he wasn’t sure any of the kids could handle him like this. He was their father, their teacher. Whatever they knew, Bruce knew it ten times better. 

“Stay away!” Bruce snapped, his hands flying up to rub at his chest, right over his heart. His nails dug into the skin, creating a red welt where they scratched at the pale skin, and Clark knew then that he needed to restrain him before he hurt himself. 

“Bruce,” Clark tried again, dropping his voice to a hushed tone. “It’s Clark…You know me. I’m here to help you.” 

There was a scent lingering in the air. One that clung to Bruce’s skin, muddying up his natural scent. After patrols, he always had a natural musky, salty scent from the hours of fighting and running around the city, but right now he smelled sulphurous, or something akin to it. The smell made his nose crinkle a bit, and he wondered if it had anything to do with his current state.

Bruce’s frantic gaze cut over to him, blinking a few times. There was no recognition in his eyes. It was like they were strangers, and Bruce was afraid he was going to hurt him. His heart clenched at the sight. That couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Clark slowly shifted, extending a hand out towards Bruce with a calm, “It’s me. I’m not here to hurt you. B, what happened?” 

It was rare for a patrol to go this wrong, for Bruce to end up in a state like this, and he was kicking himself for not asking Tim who he had encountered. Maybe it was Ivy? Could this be some sort of pollen? With the scared, skittish look about him, along with the tremors that seemed to course through his body, Bruce had been dosed with something heavy. People assumed the Batman wasn’t afraid of anything, but Clark knew better than anyone that Bruce felt fear like anyone else. The only difference was that he never let it show. Fear wasn’t a weakness, but it was something that could be used against him by any rogue or villain who learned what he was most afraid of. 

A pained noise worked its way up from Bruce’s chest. The sound clawing its way from his body and permeating the tense air around them. Clark’s gaze softened as he regarded his friend, and he couldn’t help himself as he tentatively reached a hand out. Bruce stiffened, his wide eyes as they flicked down to the hand, and for a long moment, he didn’t move a muscle. Clark felt like he was trying to capture a feral animal with the way Bruce was acting. 

Though he didn’t move away. Which seemed like a good thing, for now at least. 

He shifted again, inching just a hair closer, but that was a mistake. Bruce had enough, and in the blink of an eye, he had sprung up and was running out of the room.

“Bruce!” Clark called after him, groaning a beat later as he remembered the giant hole in the window. He couldn’t let Bruce jump out of the window in just his briefs, so as quickly as he could, he zipped after him. 

Bruce was fast for a human, but he wasn’t faster than Superman. He caught him before he could set foot into the living room and pulled him against his chest with a firm, “Bruce! Hey, stop it!” Clark wrestled against his friend’s flailing limbs, trying to keep a hold of him while grabbing onto his arms so that he wouldn’t hurt himself. “Bruce!” 

Bruce was trying everything he could to get away–kicking, elbowing, and hissing like a wild animal–but Clark wasn’t going to let him go. He managed to wrap an arm around his middle, firmly holding his arms close to his sides while his other hand grabbed a fistful of Bruce’s hair to keep him from trying to headbutt him. If he threw his head back hard enough, he’d give himself a concussion. 

“Let me go! You have to let me go! He’s going to kill them!” Bruce was nearly shouting as he tried his damndest to wrestle himself free, and with every move he made, that sulphurous-like scent hit Clark’s nose. It smelled horrible. It reminded him of the chicken mill outside of Smallville and how, even as a boy before his powers developed, he would wrinkle his nose and complain about the smell. Now, as a fully developed Kryptonian, whatever Bruce had been hit with smelled awful. 

His fingers curled tightly into his hair as he started to walk back towards the bedroom, trying to ignore how warm Bruce’s body felt against his. “Bruce, no one is going to kill anyone. You’re having some sort of reaction to something. You have to calm down.” Realistically, whatever Bruce had been dosed with would likely stay in his system for a few hours, or, at the worst, days.

As he stepped over the threshold into the room, Bruce made that same wounded noise from earlier and said, “You don’t understand! He’s going to kill them, you have to let me go so I can find them.” His voice hitched and cracked around the ‘kill,’ and Clark’s heart broke in his chest at how human he sounded. Sure, Bruce was a human, but it was easy to forget when he was always larger than life in both of his lives. 

Clark loosened his grip a bit on his hair, gently shushing him while carrying him to the bathroom. He had an idea, but he wasn’t sure if it was going to work or not. “Kill who?” He asked and selfishly pressed his nose against the warm skin of Bruce’s neck. “Who is going to kill who?” With a sharp inhale, he pulled in every scent that lingered on Bruce’s skin, from the bad smell to his natural scent, but it was like every part of him had been bathed in whatever he’d been hit with. 

“My kids,” Bruce’s voice cracked again while a strange noise caught in his chest. “He’s going to kill my kids.” The same noise settled in his chest again, and Clark could feel how it vibrated throughout his body. It was a sob. Bruce was crying. 

“Bruce…Your kids are home. They’re safe,” He gently corrected, using his elbow to flip the bathroom light. The bright lights pulled a hiss from Bruce’s lips, and he started to squirm all over again. Photosensitivity. He was no longer crying or mourning the fake loss of his kids. Instead, he was wrestling against his hold with renewed vigor. His legs kicked out, and strangled hisses and growls caught in his throat, but he was no match for Clark’s strength in the slightest.

Whatever this was, it had Bruce so agitated that he was fluctuating through emotions at the drop of a hat. 

Clark stomped over to the large glass shower, removing the hand from Bruce’s hair to yank the glass door open. He hoped that this would work to a certain degree, but if it didn’t, then he’d have to get him to the cave one way or another. 

His fingers curled around the cool silver knob to the shower, and he turned it to the cold tap. Bruce was still flailing, which meant he couldn’t put him down, so with a steadying breath, he stepped under the rainfall shower head and soaked them both. 

Bruce bristled at the cold tap and clawed at Clark’s covered arms. He was like some possessed thing, and for a moment, he was worried maybe it was magic doing this to him. 

“Cold!” Bruce shouted, a shiver rolling through his body to emphasize the point he was trying to make, but Clark didn’t budge. He could smell whatever was on Bruce’s skin slowly washing off under the cold tap, and his hunch had been right. Whatever this was must have seeped through Bruce’s suit and was being absorbed through his pores. 

It was a very long ten minutes before Bruce either tired himself out, was coming closer to being himself again, or both. All of his wrestling and flailing slowly subsided until he was a limp, wet mess in his arms. The rapid thumping of his heart slowly ticked down, as did his ragged breathing. There was likely still some of the dose in his bloodstream, but it had to be easier to handle than his skin constantly absorbing it.

“Clark?” He rasped, his head lolling back against his shoulder, eyes shut. 

“I’m here,” Clark whispered while trying to resist the urge to turn his head and nose against his cheek. They were so close. 

Bruce cleared his throat, brows furrowing together as he murmured, “You can put me down now. I’m not going to run. I can manage it now.”

While he knew that he could, Clark didn’t want to put him down. Not because he was afraid of him trying to escape again, but because this was one of the rare times that he was able to touch Bruce. It wasn’t often that he was able to hold or touch the man, and he was doing both right now–in his shower. 

The realization hit Clark like a sack of bricks, and he was quickly setting Bruce down and stepping out of the spray. His suit and hair were utterly soaked, and he suddenly felt very awkward. 

“I uh…Do you need anything?” He asked, eyes widening as Bruce turned around to look at him. His pupils were less dilated, but he still seemed a bit shifty. Though now that they were face to face, Clark was struggling to keep his gaze settled on Bruce’s face and not his very exposed body. It had been easy earlier when he’d been so afraid, and Clark felt panic over the situation. Now was a completely different story. 

Bruce shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes cutting away to settle on a point over Clark’s shoulder. “I’m going to shower. You should change into something dry. Look in my closet for something.”

It was easy for Clark to hear the strain laced through Bruce’s words. He was speaking like it was the last thing he wanted to do, and sympathy coursed through him because trying to function while whatever toxin was pumping through his bloodstream had to be difficult. Bruce was never someone to ask for help. He’d suffer in silence, even though he had so many people in his life who were ready to help if he’d just ask for it. Clark included. 

He chewed on his bottom lip and weighed his chances of getting a kryptonite Batarang to the chest for what he was about to say. Bruce was clearly not okay, even if he was a little more conscious than he was fifteen minutes ago. Clearing his throat, Clark took another step forward and whispered, “Bruce…Let me help you.” He steeled himself for the inevitable lashing that was about to head his way, but he couldn’t find it in him to really care. Bruce was his best friend. Even if Bruce didn’t consider Clark his best friend, that didn’t matter. He’d do anything for Bruce, and that included helping him wash his hair so his trembling hands didn’t have to. 

Bruce stayed silent for a good while. Long enough that Clark had to take a step forward to make sure he wasn’t about to bolt again. His brows had drawn into a tight furrow, casting shadows over his eyes as he seemed to think about Clark’s olive branch. It was an intimate gesture. A line they’d never crossed before, at least like this. 

There had been plenty of JL missions gone bad. Ones that left one of them hauling the other into the med bay and stripping the top part of their suit off to assess for proper treatment. Clark had seen Bruce in states of undress before, and vice versa. This was somehow much different. 

The silence finally broke when Bruce cleared his throat and nodded. His sharp eyes settled back on Clark, but despite the severity in them, his tone was barely above a whisper as he said a simple, “Okay.”

Relief spread through his chest at those two syllables, allowing all of the tension in his muscles to release enough that he could take a few tentative steps forward. If Bruce was still a bit peaked, he needed to move as slowly and carefully as he could. He reached behind Bruce to turn the tap to something much warmer, waiting for the water to warm up before he grabbed whatever expensive shampoo Bruce kept on the built-in ledge of the shower wall, humming a soft tune to himself as he squeezed a small amount into his palm and started to lather it together. It was a familiar rhythm, the same one he used when he was in the shower, and he hoped that it would bring Bruce peace. 

Neither said a word as Clark started to work his soaped-up hands into Bruce’s hair. He worked up a good lather while scrubbing at the roots, taking the time to massage his scalp with each pass of his hands to try and bring Bruce some sort of relaxation. 

“You haven’t asked me what happened yet,” Bruce mused, effectively shattering the comfortable silence. 

Clark blinked a few times before he cast a glance down to Bruce’s face, taking note of his more relaxed expression. All of the lines in his face had smoothed out, and his eyes were shut. That was a good sign. 

“I figured you would either tell me when you were ready, or not at all,” Clark replied with a slight shrug. “If you didn’t want to tell me, then I wouldn’t force you to, Bruce.” And he meant it. He was happy to just take care of him for as long as he’d let him. 

Bruce’s only response at first was a simple grunt, which was bat-speak for ‘Whatever.’ A smile twitched on the corners of Clark’s lips at the response, and once he was satisfied with the state of Bruce’s soaped-up hair, he guided him back under the water and helped rinse it all out. His touch was gentle, probably a lot more gentle than how he normally handled humans. 

“How did you know to look for me?” The question was expected since it wasn’t like they’d spoken to each other in a few days. Clark wouldn’t have any reason to know Batman was in trouble. 

Clark snorted as he smoothed a hand over Bruce’s wet hair, properly slicking it back to avoid any water droplets from getting in his eyes. He tapped the nape of his neck to let him know he didn’t have to lean his head back any longer, and while he was sure Bruce would fuss later, he didn’t see a need for conditioner. “Well,” He mumbled, pulling his hands away to drop back down to his sides. “Tim actually called me. He said you went dark, and he knew I would be the only one who could locate you.” He specifically left out the part of how he located Bruce.

Since he completed his task, he figured he should take a step back to avoid crowding Bruce’s personal space, and once he was out from under the warm spray, he was once again aware of how soaked his suit was. The fabric clung to him in the most uncomfortable ways possible, but it would dry on the flight home. It was hardly the end of the world.

“Anyways, I should…probably leave now.” Clark didn’t want to leave, but he was starting to feel like perhaps he’d overstayed his welcome. Bruce didn’t seem mad or upset at him for staying and helping, but he hadn’t really asked him to stay either.

With one last little tight-lipped smile, he turned around to head out of the shower, his palm pressing against the glass door, only to stop when warm fingers curled around his wrist on his other hand. The grip was tight, like Clark was the only lifeline that Bruce had in this very moment, and the thought had something fluttering low in his stomach. “Stay,” Bruce whispered, that strained edge back. “Don’t leave.” 

In all of the years that they’d known each other, Bruce had never asked him to stay for anything. Clark tried not to get his hopes up because Bruce was likely still scared out of his mind and just needed someone he knew close by, and having Superman nearby was as good a security system as anything. 

Clark swallowed around the lump in his throat and turned his head to glance at Bruce from over his shoulder, brows drawn in minor confusion. Though one look at his friend was enough to have him agree before he could form the words. Bruce looked downright terrified. His blue eyes were wide again with a glossiness that let Clark know he was holding back tears. He’d never seen Bruce so afraid, and it broke his heart. 

“Hey,” Clark whispered, turning around to face him once again. He hesitated before lifting both hands to gently lay them over Bruce’s cheeks, brushing his thumbs along the soft skin beneath his eyes. “I won’t go anywhere if you don’t want me to. Why don’t we get you changed into something dry and have you lie down, yeah?” 

He didn’t give Bruce time to answer. Instead, he leaned over to shut the water off and ushered Bruce out of the shower. Steam had effectively covered every inch of the bathroom and filled his lungs with each inhale. Despite the steady drip of water against the marble floor from his cape, he ignored it in favor of grabbing a fluffy towel to wrap around Bruce. He looked so small with his wet hair plastered against his forehead, the grey at his temples even darker from the water, and Clark had to resist the urge to lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead. 

“I’m going to hang my suit over the shower to dry. Why don’t you go get dressed, okay?” He offered Bruce a reassuring smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder, which he seemed to take as his cue to exit the bathroom. Clark watched his retreating form, making sure he wouldn’t slip on his way out, before he started to peel off the suit that clung to every inch of his skin. It was more of a workout than he expected, but once he was out of the wet fabric and it was slung over the glass wall to dry, he grabbed a towel to dry off with. The fibers of the towel were so soft against his skin, nothing like the old, scrappy ones in his apartment. 

Since Bruce was likely getting dressed out there, which definitely included slipping out of his waterlogged briefs, Clark lingered in the bathroom for a little longer. He snooped around at the various expensive skincare items that had his lips twitching because he really couldn’t imagine Bruce using any of them. They were likely just for appearances, or at least that’s what he was hoping they were for. His smile slowly slipped off his face as he remembered that the penthouse was one of the places Bruce would bring his paramours whenever he attended events in the city. 

A bitter taste spread throughout Clark’s mouth as he thought about all of the people who had been in and out of the penthouse. How many of them had been in that same shower with Bruce, sans clothes? The longer he thought about it, the taste in his mouth worsened until he felt nothing but bile threatening to crawl up his throat. 

Bruce wasn’t his anything. He didn’t have the right to feel sickening jealousy at the thought of all the women who have come and gone from this very space. 

“You going to stay in there all night?” Bruce called from the bedroom. Most likely trying to let him know that he was decent now. Clark gave the face creams one last look before he wrapped the towel around his waist and exited the bathroom. 

Bruce was already lying sprawled out on the bed when Clark crossed the threshold into the bedroom. He was on his back with an arm draped over his eyes, and the only clothes on his body were a pair of sweatpants. Some of his color had returned, or at least, the warm shower had done a good job of making his skin slightly pink. Compared to how he looked when Clark had found him, he looked better. 

There were a few folded items at the foot of the bed, and as he got closer to them, he realized that Bruce laid them out for him. A pair of black sweatpants and a grey t-shirt. 

They were both big guys and almost the same size. Almost. Clark had a couple of inches on Bruce in the height department, as well as in the shoulders, but he was sure that the sweatpants would at least fit. The shirt he wasn’t so sure about. 

Casting a cursory glance over at Bruce, he was glad to see that the arm was still over his eyes. Though he wasn’t sure why he was so concerned about it, since he could move fast enough that the naked eye wouldn’t be able to see him slip out of his soaked briefs and into the sweatpants. A flush hiked its way up his neck, warming the skin as it blazed a path up to the apples of his cheeks. 

Keep it together, Kent. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he grabbed the sweatpants and changed as quickly as he could. His hands shook a bit as he dropped the towel and yanked his boxers down, only to replace them with the soft, dry pants. 

“You just created a draft,” Bruce muttered, shifting against the bed and pulling the blankets over his body. 

Clark’s blush only intensified, and all he could manage was a very apologetic, “Oh, gosh…I’m sorry.” He really was. 

Bruce grunted and lifted the arm from over his eyes, peeling them open so he could blink at Clark a few times. His dark lashes fluttered with each blink, and Clark was certain that he was doing it on purpose. “You going to get in here or not?” 

Every muscle in Clark’s body tensed, and he couldn’t stop himself from dumbly asking, “Get in…where?” 

A huff of air slipped out of Bruce’s lips, eyes fluttering shut. Instead of responding, he just patted the empty spot next to him. 

Oh. He wanted…

Clark hesitated, almost expecting Bruce to change his mind, but he didn’t. Silent seconds ticked by until he did what his friend asked and crawled into bed next to him. He awkwardly lay on his back, folding his hands over his stomach while looking up at the smooth white ceiling above them. The only sound in the room besides the steady dripping of water from his suit against the shower tile was Bruce’s even, steady breaths. His heart rate had seemed to even out for the most part, which was good. 

Perhaps he was already getting better. 

He’d nearly expanded his hearing out to have a little more white noise filtering in until Bruce sucked in a breath and abruptly said, “It was Scarecrow. Apparently, he’s working on some new toxin formula that seeps in through the skin. The suit managed to catch it at first, which is why I was able to take them out before I reacted to it.” Clark could practically hear his jaw tense towards the end. “I’ll have to bag the suit and make sure it gets cleaned properly now.” 

Clark couldn’t help his little snort and muttered, “Batman taking the batsuit to the dry cleaners…I’d pay to see that.” He turned his head to glance at Bruce, who had a tiny frown tugging on the corner of his lips. In the dim moonlight with his wet hair and frown, he looked much younger. 

Rolling onto his side and tucking his arm under the pillow, Clark took the rare opportunity to let his eyes trace over every little line and ridge of Bruce’s face. Bruce was beautiful at any angle and in any light. Every part of his face was sharp, from his cheekbones down to his jawline. He had the facial proportions most people had to pay for, and even then, they were never as beautiful as Bruce Wayne was. He had a way of blending into any room he was in. Whether it be underneath a glittering chandelier at a gala, or perched on a building waiting for the next crime to happen.

While the gossip tabloids tended to talk about how perfect his cheekbones were, or how great his ass looked in his slacks, Clark couldn’t care less about those things. Sure, they were a great bonus, but his absolute favorite feature of Bruce’s was his nose. 

By all accounts, it was the least perfect thing on his face. Years of broken noses and in-field settings had made it slightly crooked. He had a deviated septum that whistled on occasion, and on the extremely rare times when he’d seen Bruce with a cold, it made his nasal inhales sound awful. He’d seen blood pouring out of his nose more times than he could count, and not to mention the bruises that darkened the bridge and sometimes the corners of his eyes from hits that landed a little too hard. 

“You’re staring,” Bruce mumbled. Humans had an incredible sixth sense when it came to staring. Clark had learned very early on as a boy that they were very attuned to a fight or flight instinct that came when someone was staring at them. He’d never really felt that since, by all accounts, he was the strongest thing on the planet. 

He at least had the decency to blush and cleared his throat, dragging his gaze away from Bruce’s face. “Sorry.” The apology was barely even a whisper, and he cursed himself for it a beat later when Bruce opened his eyes and looked at him. His lips parted around another apology, but it caught in his throat a beat later when Bruce turned onto his side so they were facing each other. 

His gaze was calculating. 

Whenever Bruce looked at him, those were the only times that he felt like his skin was being penetrated. It was like their roles were reversed, and Clark was the human with thin skin while Bruce was the one with the X-ray vision. He was the only person who could truly see right through him, and it was scary. 

“Clark,” He started, voice low and even. “How did you find me?”

There it was. 

Bruce had turned everything off because even in his delirium, he hadn’t wanted to be found in the state he was in. He didn’t want his family to see him like that. When Clark had been sifting through all of the sounds while locating him, he hadn’t even heard Bruce’s voice, which meant he hadn’t spoken in all that time. Just trapped in whatever nightmare he was in while trying to get to a safe place. 

The way he looked at him told Clark that he knew the answer already. He just wanted to hear him say it. Of course, Batman of all people would figure out his deepest, most embarrassing secret. 

Clark swallowed, and now that he was faced with the mortifying ordeal of having to confess to his best friend that he knew his heartbeat so intimately, he wanted to leave immediately. But Bruce had asked him to stay. He’d wanted him to stay here with him. 

“Don’t make me say it,” He whispered, hoping with everything in him that Bruce would drop it. “Please, don’t make me say it.” 

Bruce kept his expression perfectly neutral, not offering him any indication of what he thought about the matter. He shifted closer until they were less than a foot apart in the California king bed. “You know it’ll make you feel better, Clark.” 

It would. It really would make him feel better to just admit it after all these years. 

There was cement in his mouth, keeping every word he wanted to say locked away. His heart beat irregularly in his chest, and all of a sudden, he felt like he was fourteen all over again with his crush on Lana. Only, now he was thirty-seven with a crush on his best friend, who was not a woman, and had a habit of running around the city at night dressed like a giant bat.

“I…,” He trailed off with a soft noise of frustration building up in the back of his throat, “I know your heartbeat. Every night I listen to it, and if I’m worried about you, I listen for it. No matter where you are, I can hear it.” The words just spilled out of him. Everything he’d been holding back for years finally came out, and the weight that lifted off his shoulders was freeing. 

He wasn’t sure what the repercussions of his admission would be. Either Bruce would say that’s a very useful tool, or he’d ask him to leave. He wasn’t sure what he was going to get, considering that same neutral expression was very firmly plastered over his features. Except now, there was a tiny crease between his brows like he was thinking. 

Panic immediately settled in Clark’s chest, and he moved to sit up while saying, “I really think I should go now. I’m glad you’re okay and- Hey!” Rough hands grabbed him, pulling him back down. In the few seconds between sitting up and being pulled back down onto the mattress, Bruce had managed to get him on his back. The palm of his hand rested against his sternum, and they both knew that Clark could break away if he wanted to. He could easily remove Bruce’s hand and get up to leave, but the weight of his hand kept him glued to the bed. 

“For how long?” Bruce asked as he leaned over his body just a tad so they were nearly face-to-face.

Clark hesitated, his lips parting around the answer, but he was just so embarrassed by it all. He looked off to the side to avoid the piercing silver of Bruce’s gaze and whispered, “Two years after we met. You got hurt on a League mission not long into the formation, and I’d been so worried that I…listened in on you when I could.” It was possibly the largest invasion of privacy he could inflict on Bruce aside from using his X-ray vision on him. 

“Clark,” Bruce spoke, his tone nearly bleeding into his Batman voice. “Look at me.” 

Slowly, he dragged his gaze from the ticking clock on the bedside table to Bruce’s face. He expected to see anger in his eyes, but instead, there was nothing but understanding. The divot between his brows had smoothed out, and Bruce was looking at him with an expression like he understood what Clark was talking about. 

Everyone in their circle knew Bruce was a man of few words, and right now it was abundantly clear to Clark that he had a lot he wanted to say. He just couldn’t figure out how to put it into words. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and he couldn’t help himself as he tracked the movement. 

“I bugged your apartment.” 

Out of everything Clark had expected him to say, that was not it. His brows raised in shock as he tried to process what Bruce was saying until the weight of the world once again settled on his shoulders and he recalled every single conversation on the phone with Lois, or the embarrassingly weak moments in the shower. 

His entire body went hot, and he gaped at Bruce before sputtering, “You…No, Bruce…No. Please tell me you didn’t. For how long?” 

Apparently, they had both breached each other’s privacy. 

Both of his hands lifted to cover his face, shaking his head while mumbling, “This isn’t happening. I’m going to wake up soon.” 

A short sigh slipped past Bruce’s lips as he grabbed both of Clark’s hands and said, “Okay, first of all, I don’t spend all of my free time listening to you. It’s only been there for two years, and I did it because of one of Luthor’s threats to find out who Superman is. I wanted to make sure your apartment was secure.”

He wished that made him feel better. It really did not. At all. 

“Bruce,” Clark was acutely aware he sounded like he was whining. “What all did you hear?” 

Bruce’s cheeks puffed with a soft breath, and the way he averted his gaze to look at anything besides him was enough. Clark groaned but didn’t try to cover his face again. Was he suddenly dosed up with fear toxin? Was this his own personal nightmare courtesy of the Scarecrow? 

At least Bruce seemed to have some sympathy for him by dragging his thumb in a soothing circular motion against the underside of his wrist. The simple motion eased some of the tension from his body, but the soft pout that pushed at his bottom lip wasn’t going anywhere. “I may have heard some…private conversations between you and Lois that no one else was supposed to hear.” 

Clark closed his eyes and shook his head. This wasn’t happening. “Well, it seems like all that fear toxin has worked its way out of your body if this is the conversation we’re having.” 

Bruce shifted, the fabric of his sweatpants rubbing against the sheets, and Clark figured he was probably going to let him go. Only, that was the exact opposite of what happened. He soon felt a weight settling over his hips, and once he opened his eyes, it was confirmed that Bruce Wayne was straddling him. 

“I’ve micro-dosed myself with his toxins for years now, Clark. What was left after the film washed off my skin is manageable.” He was more concerned about that answer than he was surprised. They could talk about that later. 

From this angle, the pale moonlight illuminated half of Bruce’s face, leaving the rest in shadow, but even so, he was heartachingly beautiful. Clark moved his hands, gently settling them against his hips, and pressed his thumbs against the bones to rub slow circles against them. An obvious shiver rolled through Bruce’s body, and he couldn’t help his pleased smile. Batman liked it when his hips were squeezed. He could work with that. 

He added a little more pressure against his hipbones again, digging his thumbs into the sharp bone until he got a low groan as a reward. His pleased smile turned positively smug, and instead of commenting on it and risking the loss of Bruce’s weight and warmth, he just hummed and whispered, “So…You’ve been listening in on my conversations for a while now, and you know that…I…” 

Why couldn’t he bring himself to say the words? He was Superman. Nearly all of his adult life had been spent fighting the worst of the worst, dealing with catastrophic natural disasters, and navigating the fine line of being two versions of himself. He’d done things most people couldn’t even fathom, but now that he had the man he was in love with settled on his hips, he couldn’t tell him that he’d loved him for years now. He loved Bruce so much that it ached in his chest every time they were near each other. 

“You?” Bruce raised his brows to emphasize his question, and his eyes were so clear and open. Clark couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen them shine like that. 

“I…,” Clark breathed, swallowing around the dry patch in his throat. It was suddenly really warm in the room. “Bruce…” 

This was going horribly. Why couldn’t he just say it? It felt like his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth every time he even thought about saying ‘I love you.’ Bruce was starting to look at him with mild concern, even though he definitely knew what Clark was trying to say. If he’d heard the conversations he and Lois had been having, then he definitely knew of the Great-Lovesick-Meltdown circa June 2024. 

However, if Bruce already knew about everything, he wasn’t saying anything to suggest he wasn’t interested…

Clark blinked up at him, taking in every feature and line of his face before slowly pressing his elbows into the mattress to sit up. The new angle brought their faces closer and closer together until the gentle puff of Bruce’s breath hit his lips. Their noses just barely brushed together as Clark tilted his head to the side, gaze lidded and settled firmly on Bruce’s parted lips. 

Maybe he didn’t need to say anything. 

Bruce wasn’t a man of many words, and he always operated with the intention that his actions conveyed everything he wanted to do or say. Maybe Clark needed to level the playing field. 

Bruce was as still as a statue, but he wasn’t rigid. His body didn’t feel tense or like he was on edge, which Clark took as a good sign. If anything, he seemed to be at his most relaxed since he found him that night, and that had a pleased hum settling deep in his chest. He leaned in until his bottom lip just barely brushed against Bruce’s, and it felt like the world stopped at the brief touch. A shiver went down Bruce’s spine, and that was the last thing Clark needed before he finally closed the distance between them. 

Clark had thought a lot about kissing Bruce, but all of his fantasies hardly measured up to the real thing. 

He’d imagined Bruce would kiss like he fought. With teeth and a need to possess, but what he got was the exact opposite. Bruce sighed into the kiss and let him take the lead; clearly happy to not be the one in charge for once in his life, and Clark was all too happy to let him rest. 

His hands shook with the need to touch him. One moment, he’d been holding onto Bruce’s hips, and the next, he was gently sliding his hands up the length of his torso. The raised scars from various wounds passed beneath his palms, and while most were old, there were a few he could tell were fresh. Simply from the way Bruce’s breath hitched in his throat if he pressed too hard against one. The need to protect him settled low in his belly, and it took everything in him to tamp down the growl that threatened to rumble in his chest. 

Bruce parted his lips, dragging his tongue teasingly across his lower lip before he pulled away entirely, his dark lashes fluttering with slow blinks as he looked at him. He was so beautiful, and he hoped that he would be his. His to love, to have, to claim. 

“Bruce…,” He rasped, sliding one of his hands the rest of the way up to cup his jaw. His thumb brushed against the sharp line of his jaw, and he smiled at the way his eyes seemed to droop from the gentle touch. “Tell me this isn’t just the toxin, or…I don’t know, but please tell me this isn’t a one-time thing.” He wasn’t sure he could handle it if it were. Not after he’d gotten the tiniest taste of what it was like to hold Bruce Wayne in his arms and kiss him until he sighed. 

Fortunately, Bruce had mercy on him. As Clark’s mind started to wander into dark places, he leaned in to press their foreheads together and murmured, “Clark, I told you, the toxin was manageable. I let you kiss me because I wanted you to, and I will let you kiss me again. For as long as you want.” 

If Clark had been human, he likely would have missed the subtle blush that settled on Bruce’s cheeks. His heightened sight saw the exact moment the blood pooled up against his skin to make his face a soft shade of pink, and the anxiety in his chest ebbed away into nothing. This was Bruce’s way of telling him that he wanted to be with him. It was there, laced in the words he’d verbalized, and Clark had known him long enough that he was fluent in Bruce-speak. 

“For as long as I want?” He repeated with a soft smile and leaned back in to bump their noses together. “You know I can hold my breath for a really long time, right?” 

Bruce’s response was a humorless snort followed by a flat, “Yeah, well, if you do that, then I’ll die.” But a smile threatened to twitch on the edges of his lips. 

Clark shook his head, and in one quick, fluid motion, he had them both on their sides and under the covers. He pulled them up to tuck under Bruce’s chin, and he leaned in to kiss his cheek with a mumbled, “Get some sleep. Regardless of whether you’ve conquered the toxin or not, I’ll watch over you to make sure, and don’t try to argue. I know you, Bruce, and I know that you always sleep with one eye open. Rest.” 

He knew that Batman–of all people–didn’t sleep properly. It was a wonder the man could even function as well as he did during the days, but after the night he had, he needed to get a full night's sleep. 

There was obvious skepticism on Bruce’s face as he eyed Clark, but instead of arguing, he huffed a sigh and muttered, “Fine. Answer my comm if it rings.” 

“Yes, sir,” Clark quipped, laying an arm over Bruce’s waist to drag him into his chest. “Sleep.” 

After a couple of seconds of weighing his options, he finally dropped a kiss onto the top of Bruce’s head and closed his eyes. The gentle thump of his heart was so close for once. He could feel it against his chest, and that alone brought him a sense of comfort he hadn’t even known existed. For years, he’d listened to his heart from miles away, allowing the rhythm to lull him into a restless sleep, but now, he was right here. So close that Clark could feel all of his warmth pressed against him, and once Bruce finally drifted off, he could feel his muscles go slack in his sleep. 

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he nuzzled into his hair, inhaling the familiar soapy scent. This was what he’d been waiting for, and it was so much sweeter than he imagined. It wouldn’t be easy for them, and it was doubtful that his public persona would simmer down; however, if he could feel his heartbeat every night, then he’d be content for the rest of his life.