Work Text:
Clark is resting his chin on his hands, and he’s resting his elbows on the arms of the chair he’s sitting on. Staring into the void of space is equal parts comforting, beautiful, and existentially horrifying to him. The Watchtower has some of the best spots to do this, given that it’s in orbit. He leans back and puts his hands down, sighing as he thinks.
He nearly lasers through the glass when someone taps him on the shoulder.
Clark jumps up and looks back at The Tapper. It’s just Bruce, standing straight as a ruler like always. He greatly resembles a gargoyle right now, all ominous and spooky.
“Oh, it’s just you, Bruce.” Clark chuckles. “I thought you’d have gone home by now.”.
Bruce doesn’t respond, but he meets Clark’s eyes. He brings his arm and opens his hand, revealing a key inside. He extends it towards Clark, who takes it, somewhat confused.
“You dropped it earlier.” Bruce says.
Clark glances at the key. “Oh, this isn’t mine, I don’t even keep my keys on me as Superman-”.
“No, it’s yours, I know it.” Bruce insists.
This time, Clark turns over the key and notices the little W on it, and he understands.
“This is your housekey, isn’t it?”.
It’s not 100% clear to Clark why Bruce is presumably giving him a key to Wayne Manor, but he can hazard a guess.
“Does this have something to do with our recent ‘activities’?” Clark asks.
To his credit, Bruce doesn’t blush at all, but his heartbeat gives him away.
“No. It’s your key anyways, it should have been returned to you.”.
“Can I ask why?”.
“See, this is why you’re a great reporter, Clark, you’re very nosy.” Bruce monotones.
Clark puts the key in his cape-pockets. “It’s a valid question, isn’t it?”.
Bruce takes off his mask and shakes out his hair. “I suppose it is.”. He looks away briefly before looking at Clark again. “It’s yours, you dropped it, I found it, I had an obligation to give it back to you.”.
Clark nods like he doesn’t see right through him.
“So, Bruce.” He sits back in the chair. “Come closer, will you?”.
Bruce walks up to him and presses his face into Clark’s shoulder, arm slung around him. He squeezes briefly, before moving and settling onto Clark’s lap sidesaddle. He presses their cheeks together.
“Don’t tell anyone about this, it’d ruin my reputation.” He warns.
Clark wraps an arm around him. “I won’t, lest they know the big bad Batman’s a bit of a softie.”.
Bruce huffs out what could be a short laugh, changing the positioning of his head so he now has his face against Clark’s throat.
“What were you doing here anyways?” Bruce asks “You’re not normally the kind to contemplate existence, so you must’ve been doing something else.”.
Clark chews on his tongue. He’s not sure how to answer.
“Is stargazing really that unorthodox of a thing to do?”.
Bruce removes his face from Clark’s torso and stares him in the face. “Judging from your body language, you were thinking about something. I don’t know what it is, but you didn’t seem particularly pleased with the subject.”.
It’s one-part creepy and one-part cute that Bruce knows him well enough to be able to discern something like that just from a cursory glance. Basically no one is that level of knowledgeable about him. No one else should be.
Bruce senses his discomfort and cups his face.
“Yes, fine, I was thinking about something.” Clark relents.
“You don’t have to tell me.” Bruce assures. “It’d be nice if you did, but you don’t seem to want to.”.
Clark sighs and smushes Bruce's face into his neck, burying his nose in Bruce's hair. He could tell him, at least technically speaking, but it would be a metaphorical flaying. He really shouldn’t just drop the bombshell of all of his doubts on Bruce. It’s a terrible thing to yearn for something unattainable and vague.
Clark kisses the top of Bruce's head, wondering if Bruce understands him. It's probably too much to hope for, the prospect of being able to have someone who knew the trials and tribulations of being permanently ‘other’ to everyone in some way. He feels Bruce squeeze him tighter, and he knows he ultimately can’t keep anything from him.
“Bruce?”.
“Yes?”. Bruce lifts his head to look at Clark.
“I’ll tell you what I was thinking about, maybe the next time we can meet up outside of, you know, ‘work’.”.
“Friday.”.
“Hm?”.
“Does Friday work for you?”.
Clark finally puts together what the business with the key was about. “At your house?”.
Bruce stiffens in his arms, maybe because he’s been exposed. “Yes.” He speaks quickly, in a rush to get the words out of his mouth.
Outside the glass, the stars wink beautifully. Neither of them take much notice, too enamored with the other.
Bruce is suddenly eye level with Clark, hands at his neck. He presses their foreheads together.
“I’m glad you’ve decided to finally voice your feelings instead of dancing around them all the time.” Bruce whispers.
Despite the fairly serious talk they had been having, Clark can’t help but giggle a little like a school child.
“You’re definitely one to talk.”.
Bruce raises an eyebrow, playing at being offended. “Don’t be like that.”.
Clark kisses him, savouring how Bruce melts into him so easily. When they part, he says.
“What if we both just actually talked about our problems?”.
Bruce flushes. He readjusts his position on Clark’s lap so he’s now straddling him.
“That’s a bit of a tall order for me. Only people who get paid for their service should have to go through the toil of listening to me yammer and complain.” Bruce defends.
“Bruce, I’m your…” He trails off. Clark isn’t completely certain what one could define their relationship as. They’re a little too handsy to be platonic and nothing else has been verbally established. “Partner.” He settles on. “I knew full well what I was getting into when I chose to get involved with you, and anyways we’re supposed to tell eachother things.”.
Bruce lets himself tip forward until he’s fully flush against Clark’s torso again. “I suppose you’re right.”. He leaves it at that, snuggling into Clark’s chest like he didn’t spend last night beating thugs senseless, until he whispers “No matter what it is you tell me, I will help best I can. Or just listen very well.”.
Clark rubs circles over Bruce’s ribs, eyes closing. He draws in a breath, comforted by Bruce’s sentiments.
“Thank you for giving me a key to your house.” Clark breathes quietly. “I’ll probably use it a lot.”.
“Don’t be silly, it’s your key.” Bruce says haughtily, though his voice has a hint of something sfter underneath.
“I suppose it is now.”.