Archive of Our Own

Bruce would never admit this to anyone, but he probably should have stayed home. The gala would make enough money without him, and he wasn't sure if the extra boost in funds his presence brought was entirely worth all of this. Still, he was here, gritting his teeth as his skin pulled at the stitches on his side. The cut was deeper than he would have liked, a lucky hit more than anything, and Alfred had insisted he stay back and rest. Bruce, stubborn as ever, made his way here anyway. He silently thanked Alfred for only letting him stay for an hour—a minute more of people almost hitting his cut would have driven him insane.

He was standing with a group of businessmen, ginger ale in hand as he pretended to listen to the conversation when a woman in a blue dress grabbed his arm. She brushed up right against his bandage, tugging him towards the dancefloor. Bruce clenched his jaw. He ripped a stitch, if the blood seeping into the bandage was any indicator. He needed to leave before it bled through his shirt.

"Brucie, come dance with me," the woman—Madison?—said, not letting go of Bruce's arm. He smiled at her, though it came out more as a grimace.

"In a minute," he said, using the almost-spilled ginger ale as an excuse to take his arm from her. His mind raced to this of an excuse.

"Excuse me," a voice behind him said. Bruce had to fight to slow his reflexes as he looked up at the man. He was tall, dark curls falling into his face, the thick glasses framing his otherworldly blue eyes. Handsome, despite the ill fitting suit. A press pass hung around his neck, a notebook open in his hand. A journalist.

"Yes?" Bruce turned to face him.

"Mr. Wayne, I'm Clark Kent with the Daily Planet. I was hoping to get a quote?" Kent smiled sheepishly, and for a second, his gaze flickered to where Bruce's cut was. Panic threatened to rise, but Bruce quickly shoved it away. He was a journalist, not Superman. It's not like he had x-ray vision. 

Kent looked away just as quickly, gesturing towards the exit. Bruce paused, weighing his options. He could just give Kent a quote and leave.

"Of course," Bruce said, and turned to Madison. "Have you donated just yet?"

"Not yet. I was waiting to go with you," she said.

"Why don't you go ahead and I'll catch up?" Bruce smiled, and she mirrored it.

"I'll see you soon, Brucie." She leaned into him, and Bruce hoped she couldn't feel the damp bandages.

"Did you want to step outside?" Bruce asked when she was out of earshot.

"Er, yes, Mr. Wayne, if that's okay." Bruce nodded, and Kent turned to lead the way. He avoided the crowds, almost as if he knew Bruce couldn't risk bumping into people. He made a mental note to run a check on Kent.

The back exit led to a small garden facing the road. Kent shut the door behind them, and Bruce tensed.

"Did you want a quote?" he asked.

"Ah, not necessarily," Kent started, and Bruce almost groaned. He was not in the mood for an ambush, or an attempted kidnapping, or whatever they had cooked up for him this time.

"No?" Bruce wanted to leave. He was glad Alfred had convinced him to leave early—he just had to wait till his car showed up.

"Well." Kent gripped his notebook. "I'm sorry if I'm overstepping, but you seemed a little tired at the gala. I figured you could use a break."

"A break?" Bruce echoed. He wasn't sure how to react to this. Surely, Kent had no clue about the cut on his side. Bruce hadn't thought he was showing any external signs of distress, but he did lose a lot of blood—his game could be a little off. And Kent was a journalist—it was in his nature to be observant. Bruce supposed he should be thankful Kent wanted to give him an out instead of anything else he could have done. Kent only looked more nervous by the second.

"I supposed I'm feeling a little off," Bruce said, and relief flooded Kent's face. He smiled warmly, and Bruce remembered his earlier observation that Kent was handsome.

"Can I get you anything, Mr. Wayne?" he asked, poised like he was ready to get what Bruce wanted immediately.

"Oh, no, I'm being picked up in a few minutes, thank you," Bruce said, a little amused. "And please, call me Bruce."

"Bruce," Kent said with a smile.

"I haven't seen you around often," Bruce said. "It's usually Ms. Grant the Planet sends over, isn't it?"

"Cat's sick, though I'm sure she regrets it. I'm usually an investigative reporter, so I'm new to the society beat." Kent smiled as he spoke. It was a genuine smile, not like what Bruce did at these events, and it made him all the more endearing. Bruce let out a slow breath, willing most of his blood to stay in him instead of flood to the bandage. He heard Alfred pull in with his car.

"Clark Kent, was it?" Bruce asked as Alfred rolled to a stop beside the garden. "I'll have to read your articles some time."

"That's not necessary, Mr. Way—Bruce," Kent said, smiling impossibly brighter. His eyes flickered to Bruce's cut again.

"Neither was you helping me out," Bruce said. "I appreciate it, Mr. Kent." Alfred walked around to hold the door open, and Bruce got in the car.

"Anytime," he said. His arm came up like he was going to wave, but he abruptly pulled it back down. Bruce watched him through the window as Alfred drove away. Clark stayed on the garden stairs until the car was out of sight.

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It was quiet in the Watchtower. Clark liked afternoons like this, where it was him and his friends sitting around, a relaxed state in the air. It was rare, especially in their line of work, but that just made him cherish it even more. It was just Clark, Batman, Flash, and Green Lantern, the latter two only there that early because they just had monitor duty. There was still a few minutes until the League meeting, and they were all in the kitchen. Batman was only there because he was getting coffee, but that still counted as far as Clark was concerned. 

"I miss the Pop Tarts," Flash groaned.

"You ate them all already?" Lantern made a face. "Didn't we just have a new box?"

"I was hungry," Flash said, and Batman's face twitched. Clark suppressed a smile.

"Was it a good flavor, at least?" Clark asked, and Flash sighed like he could taste it.

"Strawberry," he said, nodding. Lantern threw open a cabinet and groaned.

"We're out of mint, too," he said, holding up an empty tin. 

"Can I see that?" Clark asked. Lantern handed it over, and Clark took a bite out of it.

"What the hell?"

"Um. Supes?" Flash shot him a concerned look, but Clark just grinned.

"I used to eat these all the time, but I don't like mint and at some point it just wasn't worth it to buy it," he said with a shrug, taking another bite.

"Can you eat anything?" Lantern asked.

"Probably."

"Even plastic?" Flash asked, lighting up. "You can save the turtles, Supes."

"Yeah!" Lantern turned to Batman. "Spooky, add this to the meeting agenda."

"No." Batman glared. His gaze shifted to Clark's and he held it for a few seconds. He had been there when Clark was in his phase of eating criminals' weapons in front of them. Thank Rao Batman wasn't the kind of person to bring that up. He grabbed his coffee and headed to the meeting room.

"Come on," Clark said, swallowing the last bite of the tin. "Meeting's starting."

By pure coincidence, Clark was early to the next meeting as well. Batman was there, as he always was, but he didn't have a coffee with him. Clark headed to the kitchen to get it for him, when an open cabinet caught his eye. An entire shelf was filled with mint tins, and a quick look with his x-ray vision showed all of them to be empty. Clark smiled, munching on a tin as the coffee brewed. By the time he was back, most of the chairs had been filled up with his friends. He set the mug in front of Batman, still chewing on the tin, and sat down next to Batman's chair.

"Did you bring those in?" Flash asked, nodding at the tins.

"Didn't one you bring it?" Clark asked, looking at Flash and Lantern. The two of them, along with everyone else at the table, looked confused. Clark mirrored their expression. Who else knew about Clark liking mint tins?

"The meeting will begin shortly," Batman said, though it was unnecessary. The only thing it did was cut off whoever—oh. Clark turned to look at Batman, but he avoided his eyes. Clark could still see the sheer amount of empty mint tins in the cabinet, and the thought that it was Batman who put them there...

"What's on the agenda today?" Clark asked, looking straight at Batman. For a split second, so subtle even Clark could have missed it, Bruce's heartbeat wavered.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Batman said, flipping through his reports. Clark smiled to himself. Batman would deny it for the rest of time if he could, but Clark would never forget the waver in his heart. The Dark Knight of Gotham had gone out of his way to somehow find more empty mint tins than Clark had eaten in his life, all because of a throwaway conversation. Clark couldn't stop smiling.

"What's with you?" Lantern asked. "Are you thinking about saving the turtles?"

"The what?" Arthur looked up.

"Supes is going to eat all the plastic before the turtles can," Flash said.

"That is a noble task," Diana said, and Clark smiled at her.

"The meeting's starting," Batman said, turning on the screen.

"It's still early," Lantern protested, but Batman cut him off with a glare.

"Thanks, B," Clark said, quiet enough that only Batman heard him. Batman grunted in reply, and Clark only smiled wider. He held on to the small waver in Batman's heart, the rhythm of it echoing in his head.

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Clark was back in Gotham again, far sooner than he'd expected to be. He knew B was working on a case, and Clark had found some information that would be helpful to him. But Superman, who did not work at the Daily Planet and overheard information about sources, couldn't give it to him. Clark had decided to go to Gotham as a journalist, and hand the information to Batman himself.

He regretted it almost as soon as he cross the Bay. He had waited until he knew Batman would be out for patrol to head to Gotham, but that was starting to look significantly less like a good idea now that he was here. There was a grim gloominess about Gotham that Clark could never get used to, especially right after it rained. The dark of the city seemed void-like and glossy, and Clark picked up his pace as he searched for Batman. 

Clark could pick up his heartbeat from outer space—something he would never admit to anyone, least of all Batman. He hadn't done it on purpose; it was just that B's heart was always so steady and calm that Clark started using it as a grounding force, and he had memorized it before he knew it. He could reach out from his apartment in Metropolis and hear Batman in Gotham, the familiar ba dump drowning out his racing thoughts. He reached out again, ignoring the rush of his own heartbeat when Batman's was much louder at the proximity. 

Batman was close. Clark had to pretend to be looking for him, but eventually turned to the rooftop of a nearby building. He was staring at Clark.

"Do you know him?" Robin asked, perched next to Batman.

"Something like that," Batman said, and Clark paused. Did he? "Head back to the Cave."

"I'm taking the Batmobile." Robin stepped away, presumably towards the car.

"No, you are not," Batman said. "Call Agent A." Robin scoffed and disappeared out of sight. Batman sighed, and Clark found himself smiling again. B jumped down to an alley, and Clark walked up to meet him there.

"Batman?" Clark called out in the dark, pretending like he couldn't see exactly where B was. "I'm—"

"Kent." B's voice was clipped. Shock flooded Clark.

"You know who I am?" he asks, eyes wide.

"I've read your work."

"Oh." Clark's face felt warm. Batman read his articles. His articles. And recognized him!

"You shouldn't be here by yourself," Batman said. "It's not safe."

"I came to give you a file." Clark pulled it out from where it was tucked under the jacket, and held it out to Batman.

"A file," he echoed, staring at it skeptically.

"For the case you're working on. The shooting on the docks."

"How do you know what case I'm working on?"

"Uh." Shoot. Clark hadn't thought of that. "Superman told me?"

"Superman told you, a civilian, what case I'm working on?" Clark could hear the eyebrow raise in Batman's voice.

"He mentioned it in passing," Clark said, grasping at straws. "I interview him a lot, so we're kind of friends."

"Hm."

"I heard someone mention a source at work, so I pulled a file and looked into it," Clark said. Batman finally took the file, flipping through it. Clark watched his face as he did.

"This is... useful." Batman tucked the file away, and looked up at Clark. "What else does Superman tell you?"

"Uh."

"Anything about the League? Missions? Other members?" Batman stepped away from the shadows and closer to Clark, definitely meant to intimidate him, but Clark was only getting flustered.

"Just conversational stuff," he said, tearing his eyes away from how the armor shifted as Batman moved. "I don't know anything classified." Batman stared, but didn't say anything.

"How are you getting back?" he asked after a while.

"The ferry?" Was it still running? Clark had no clue. Batman nodded.

"I'll drive you there."

"I thought Robin took the Batmobile," Clark said without thinking, and froze. Batman froze as well, turning around to face him. "The uh, wind carries voices." That sounded plausible.

"He didn't." Batman said, rushing to the Batmobile. Clark scrambled after him. 

The Batmobile, just like Gotham, was sleek and glossy. The interior looked like it was pulled out of a movie, and Clark kept his hands to himself as he watched Batman maneuver the car. It was surprisingly comfortable. The speed at which Batman drove had Clark gripping his seat like he wasn't invincible at all. He flew faster than this, but there was something about being inside a car that made the speed worse.

Batman drove in silence, reaching the Bay in no time. The Batmobile skidded to a stop, and Batman opened the doors for Clark.

"Next time," Batman said, "you can just hand the file to Superman."

"Oh. Yeah." The idea had not occurred to Clark at all. He decided to go see Batman in Gotham as soon as he got the file. "Thanks for the ride." Clark hoped his face wasn't too red. Batman simply nodded. He waited until Clark was on the ferry to drive away, threatening to break the speed of light. Clark smiled till his face hurt.

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Superman was several hundred feet in the air when the chunk of kryptonite was launched at his head. He dropped like a lead balloon, and it was by sheer coincidence that Bruce happened to be in Metropolis that day. He had stepped outside after a meeting right as Luthor catapulted the kryptonite, and he was suited up by the time he caught Superman in the Batplane. Bruce wasn't satisfied with the Watchtower's supplies to care for Superman, and took him to the Cave instead. He could only hope Superman was too disoriented from the kryptonite to notice they were under Wayne Manor. 

He took a worryingly long time to wake up. The gash on his head had started to stitch itself up when Bruce sealed the kryptonite in a lead box—and what a marvel that was, to watch his body put itself back together so quickly—but Superman hadn't stirred. Bruce had checked his vitals and taken what information he could, but nothing seemed wrong. He looked peaceful, at least, lying on the bed in the Medbay, the blanket Alfred had brought down pulled up to his shoulders. Bruce had the strange urge to tuck him in. He left, instead, asking Alfred to alert him if Superman woke up.

Superman was still asleep when Bruce got back. He cleaned and bandaged his arm, picked up his laptop, and pulled a chair up next to the bed, typing away at reports and anything else he had to do. He wasn't sure how long it had been when Superman started to stir. He sat up with a groan, clutching his head. The blanket pooled around his waist.

"B?" Superman blinked. "Where am I?"

"The Cave."

"You have a cave?" He squinted around the Medbay. "How long was I out?"

"Almost seven hours," Bruce said. Superman seemed alright enough, and he wasn't mentioning the Manor so his powers must still be coming back. Bruce had to get him out of there before that.

"Seven—gosh, I need to call my ma." His eyes snagged on Bruce's arm, blood crusted over his armor. "Did Luthor do that?"

"Yes." Superman narrowed his eyes.

"Seven hours ago?" he asked.

"It may have been more recent," Bruce said.

"You went after him? B!"

"I didn't think he would throw all of his kryptonite at you, and I was right. I got the rest of what he had," Bruce said. nodding to the lead box. "His bodyguard got me on my way out."

"Mercy? With what?" Superman leaned closer, staring at the wound.

"Harpoon." 

"A what?" He stood up, reaching towards Bruce. "Did you even bandage it?"

"I did, it's fine," Bruce said, but Superman grabbed onto his arm anyway, gently pushing aside the armor to look at the wound.

"I can't tell if it's infected or not," he said, frowning. It looked odd with his features.

"Your vision will come back in a while," Bruce said. "And I have medical supplies here."

"I know," Superman said, but he still looked worried.

"Does your head still hurt?" Bruce asked for a change in subject.

"A little," Superman said. "Like a throbbing, but it's already dying down."

Bruce nodded. "Can you fly back?"

"I don't know." Superman stood up, revealing his tattered suit. He frowned again, presumably trying to fly.

"I can give you a ride," Bruce said.

"You don't need to do that," Superman said. "Why didn't you take me to the Watchtower, anyway? I didn't think you'd let me in here."

"Only because your full powers aren't back," Bruce said. "The Watchtower doesn't have a way to take your vitals yet."

"And you do?" Superman quirked an eyebrow, amused.

"I like to be prepared."

"I know." Superman smiled. "Thank you, B." Bruce grunted and went to start up the plane. Superman followed him, flashing his blinding smile. Bruce found himself not minding the brightness of it.

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Clark couldn't remember how it had started, only that it had and he wouldn't stop unless Batman told him to. It was built into his routine at this point—pouring an extra mug of just black coffee whenever he could hear B's heartbeat in the Watchtower. He would place the mug in front of Batman, who would simply grunt in acknowledgement. Batman would also occasionally make a face—Clark couldn't really see his face, but he was sure B was making one—at Clark's mug, which was more milk and sugar than not. Batman's coffee was always so easy to pour, which always made Clark want to mess with it a little. He picked another lazy afternoon to start, when he was supposed to go over reports with Batman.

When he poured the black coffee, he added a pinch of cinnamon to it. He had to stop himself from grinning when he handed Batman the mug. Clark sat next to him, waiting for him to take a sip. B was going on about the reports, and Clark turned his full attention to what he was saying. Halfway through the second page, Batman reached for the mug and took a sip. He started to put the mug down as per, but paused, eyes snapping to Clark's. Clark simply grinned wide, and Batman set the mug down, continuing like nothing had happened.

Clark was emboldened by the time the next League meeting rolled around. He dropped a square of chocolate in Batman's mug next, mixing it into the coffee with glee. He was stuck with the sudden thought that he was behaving like a cartoon villain, and laughed at himself. He would find a flavor B liked, that was for sure. Early in the meeting, Batman reached for his mug and took a sip, his mouth twisting into a grimace. Clark bit back a laugh when Batman's eyes snapped to his again, opting to tilt his head innocently. B sighed softly, and took another sip.

He added a thin slice of butter next, when they were on a stakeout. Bruce had glared at the coffee, putting it aside and refusing to touch it after a single sip. Clark had laughed so hard he almost cost them the information they came for.

He started to look for more things to add to B's coffee when he went grocery shopping. He found pumpkin pie spice, peppermint extract, and a lovely hazelnut creamer. He was grinning to himself as he checked out, feeling a little ridiculous but Batman's reactions were too much fun for him to stop now.

B had downed the pumpkin pie spice coffee with a deep grimace while giving a presentation to the League, and try as he might, Clark couldn't pay attention. He was almost shaking with laughter at the look on B's face after the first sip. Winter had rolled around when Clark made the peppermint coffee. No one would ever believe him, since it had just been him and Batman in the room, but B had wrinkled his nose at the mug like a disgruntled cat. The image had branded into his brain, resurfacing more often than he would like. The hazelnut creamer, Clark only poured a little into Batman's mug. B frowned at the visible change in his coffee, but took a sip regardless.

"This is just your creamer." 

"It is now," Clark said with a grin.

"Glad this is doing something for you," Batman said dryly, and Clark laughed. He was looking up recipes now. This next one was going to be the one, Clark could feel it. He scrolled through until he found one he thought Bruce might like, and headed out to get the single ingredient before his shift at the Watchtower. 

Batman sighed when Clark placed the mug next to him. Clark just grinned, gesturing at him to try the coffee.

"What is it this time?" B asked, sighing again.

"Coffee," Clark said, and he could almost see Batman roll his eyes.

"Yes, what's in the coffee?"

"You're the detective," Clark said, unable to stop smiling. "I think you'll like this one." Bruce just grunted and finally picked up the mug. He took a tentative sip, pausing as his mouth twisted in a puzzled manner.

"Citrus," he said, and Clark nodded.

"Orange zest in the brew."

"Hn." B took another sip.

"You like it." Clark was grinning wider than he ever had.

"I didn't say that."

"I can tell when you're lying."

"I wasn't lying," Batman said.

"I can also tell when you like something," Clark said, and Batman went quiet. He took another sip. Clark wondered if he was blushing under the cowl, a soft pink blooming along his pale skin. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to resist the urge to reach out and look.

"It's not bad," Batman admitted, and Clark grinned again. B didn't look in his direction, quietly sipping away at the coffee, but Clark was unabashedly staring at him.

"I can make you one every time we're here," Clark said. "I already do." Batman gave a slight nod, and Clark ignored the warmth spreading in his chest. 

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Bruce knew a fair bit about Superman. Even if he didn't look into him, Superman talked all day and night about his life, leaving out details to conceal his identity but enough to gauge him as a person. Bruce knew Superman grew up in a farm somewhere, and had had parents he adored. He knew about the animals on the farm, the meaningless gossip at his work, and the date of his mother's birthday.

He also knew that Superman was a little too self sacrificing, and would still put 'available' for monitor duty slots even if he wanted to be somewhere else that day. Somewhere like his house with his mother, who Superman had talked in lengths of missing, especially with all the work he was swamped with.

It wasn't the least surprising to see his schedule say 'available' on his mother's birthday, leaving only a few hours to fly and spend her birthday with her. Bruce sighed, and signed both him and Superman up for that day.

J'onn was also free that day, and Bruce had asked him to join monitor duty. Superman walked into the monitor room with coffees in hand, early as usual, and cocked his head at J'onn.

"Are you joining us for monitor duty?" he asked, smiling, handing Bruce a cup.

"We're kicking you out," Bruce said, and Superman's smile turned confused.

"What?"

"Isn't it your mother's birthday today?"

"Did I tell you that?" Superman asked.

"Yes."

"Years ago," he said. "You remembered?"

"Yes. Go see your mother, Superman."

"Really? Are you sure, B? I can still see her after my shift," he started, but Bruce cut him off.

"Go," he urged, nodding down to Earth. Superman flashed a smile brighter than the sun, and before Bruce could fully register it, Superman was hugging him.

"Thank you, B, I— thank you." Bruce felt his voice more than he heard it, the words whispered right at his ear.

"Tell her a happy birthday from all of us," J'onn said, and Superman let go of Bruce, grinning. 

"I owe you," he said.

"Not at all." J'onn waved as Superman practically skipped back to Earth.

"You waited till he was here to let him know he was relieved from monitor duty," J'onn observed.

"If he knew he would be free, he would have signed up for something else," Bruce said unnecessarily.

"You are fond of him." J'onn looked at him quizzically. "As he is of you." Bruce said nothing, sipping on his coffee. Superman was still adding orange zest to his coffee.

"We should get back to work," Bruce said, closing the topic once and for all. At least, out loud. His mind, as it always did, raced with thoughts of Superman and his ridiculous smile.

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Being a billionaire CEO could get Bruce into all kinds of situations. Pretending to be his public persona could get him into even worse situations, like the worst kidnapping in the history of Gotham city. Bruce had barely entered his office when his window shattered and two thugs dropped in, aiming guns at Bruce's head. Two idiots with weapons would be nothing for Batman, but right now, he was just Brucie.

"I have plenty of money," Bruce said. "No one has to get hurt."

"We're not here for your money," one of them spat, which was always a bad sign. Bruce bit back a sigh, glad he had sent his secretary home early. They aggressively grabbed onto his arm, dragging him to the back exit of the building. They clearly knew where they were going, and Bruce's mind raced with possibilities of who could be behind this.

They tied him up flimsily, a paper thin blindfold over his eyes as they shoved him into a van. A napkin was shoved into his mouth. Bruce rolled his eyes when they struggled to get on the road.

"Batman's going to come for him soon," one of them said, and Bruce almost sighed again.

"He better," the other one said. Bruce wiggled out of his restraints—if he can even call them that—and pressed the emergency button that would let Alfred know what was happening. He leaned back against the dirty van, memorizing the turns they took. They were headed to the Bay, which was a risk because Superman was just across the water. They were probably being paid to kidnap Bruce—it wouldn't be the first time he was in such a predicament—but whoever had paid them wanted Batman. Too bad they wouldn't even see him.

The van came to a stop, and Bruce could hear the waves in the Bay. Not for the first time, he wished he could just get out of here on his own without having to worry about his identity, and just go back home.

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asked, pretending to be panicked as they took the napkin out.

"Nothing," the one with the bad hat said. "We just want Batman."

The metal of the van screeched as the doors were ripped away, and a flash of red and blue lifted Bruce out of it.

"Hi fellas," Superman said, his arms under Bruce's knees and around his back for some inexplicable reason. Bruce played his part, throwing his arms around Superman's neck and clinging onto him. The thugs stared, dumbfounded.

"Where's Batman?" One of them asked, voice weak.

"Aw, not a fan of me?" Superman grinned, and in a split second, still holding Bruce, he tied them up with actual restraints. 

"Where is Batman, anyway?" Bruce asked as he was being flown back towards the inner city. Superman was flying at a much slower pace than he usually did with Batman, likely because Bruce was a civilian right now.

"He's busy," Superman simply said. "I got the call since I was closest. Are you alright, Mr. Wayne?"

"Please, call me Bruce," he said. "Those idiots didn't know what they were doing, anyway."

"Didn't they?" Superman sounded amused. Bruce scoffed. 

"I could have left if I wanted to." He tightened his arms around Superman. "Thanks for saving me, though."

"Of course. Anytime, Mr. Wayne. Just say the word and I'll be there." Superman cleared his throat, looking straight ahead.

"Say, you're friends with Batman, right?"

"I suppose so, yes. I like him."

"You like him?" Bruce asked, exaggerating his expressions.

"I— well, I meant he's a good person. And he's efficient, and I respect him." Superman was very pointedly looking away.

"And you like him," Bruce added, and Superman blushed.

"Mr. Wayne—"

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," Bruce assured, and Superman turned the same color as his suit.

"It's not like that," he protested, but Bruce just smiled. "Shall I drop you off at the Manor, or at Wayne Enterprises?"

"The Manor's good," Bruce said. "I could convince you to stay for a cup of coffee, if that's not too much."

"That's not necessary, Mr. Wayne."

"I thought I told you to call me Bruce."

"...Bruce," Superman said, testing the name in his mouth.

"Just a cup, if you aren't too busy," Bruce said.

"I wouldn't want to intrude," Superman said.

"Nonsense, I'm sure my butler will be delighted to have you as a guest. Consider it my thanks for your help."

Superman paused, thinking it over. "Alright."

"Lovely." Bruce hoisted himself closer to Superman, watching the wind toss his curls. "How does orange coffee sound?"

Superman faltered, dipping down a little and tightening his grip on Bruce. "Orange coffee?"

"Oh, yes," Bruce said, having a lot more fun than he ought to. "A friend of mine had me try it, and I have to admit, I'm a little obsessed."

"That... sounds nice, Bruce." Superman touched down onto Wayne Manor, letting Bruce down into the grass. Bruce grabbed onto his arm and pulled him into the Manor. Alfred opened the door as they approached. He didn't bat an eye at Bruce pulling Superman into their kitchen.

"Master Bruce, I am glad to see you're well," he said, following them. 

"Alfred, you know Superman. Superman, this is my butler Alfred," Bruce said, waving a hand between the two of them. 

"It's nice to meet you," Superman said, looking a little sheepish.

"Likewise," Alfred said. "Master Bruce, did you need any assistance?"

"All good, Alfie. Just making coffee for Superman real quick," Bruce said, nodding at his butler. Alfred nodded, and left the kitchen. 

"I can help," Superman said, stepping forward, but Bruce pointed at him with the coffee grounds. 

"You're a guest,' Bruce said, echoing Alfred's words. "Absolutely not."

"I'll be here if you change your mind." Superman held his hands up. Bruce turned to the coffee machine, smiling to himself. He should mess with him as Brucie more often. He got the orange from the fridge and zested it in with the grounds, pressing a button to let the machine start. He turned to Superman as the coffee poured into the mug.

"Does Batman know you like him?" he asked, watching Superman's expression. He froze, eyes widening a fraction before his signature smile was back on.

"He is the world's greatest detective," Superman said.

"You're dodging the question," Bruce countered with a grin. "Anyway, if you do see Batman soon, let him know that the guys that kidnapped me knew to take the back exit away from people. My kidnappers usually don't know they way around."

"I'll be sure to," Superman said, and the machine behind him beeped to indicate the coffee was ready. Bruce poured two mugs, pushing the milk and sugar towards Superman. He smiled as he poured heaps of it into his mug.

"It's pretty good," he said after taking a sip. Bruce nodded.

"I thought it was a little strange when my friend had made it for me, but I've grown quite fond of it," he said. A softer look crossed Superman's eyes.

"Yeah," he said. His head suddenly snapped up, and he looked out the window. "I need to get back to work," he told Bruce, tone apologetic. Bruce nodded.

"Stay safe out there, Superman," he said. Superman offered a grin before disappearing. Bruce cupped his hand around the mug Superman was drinking out of. Maybe the warmth was just from the hot coffee, but maybe, just maybe, it was from Superman's hands.

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Clark Kent was back in Gotham, but this time, he didn't seem to be searching for Batman. Rather, he was walking around with his notepad, heading into dark alleys. Bruce watched him just barely miss a man with a gun, turning around the corner just as he approached, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. He was so clearly not from Gotham, it just made him more of a target. Bruce supposed he should be glad he had sent Robin back home to bed.

Clark had the gall to grin at Bruce when he dropped down next to him, eyes brightening even in Gotham's fog.

"I thought I told you hand off information to Superman," Bruce said.

"I'm here for an article," Clark said. "There's lead in the water pipes in both Metropolis and Gotham, and I'm trying to find the source."

"There's lead in the water?"

Clark nodded. "I uh, got an anonymous report. Metropolis pipes are connected to Gotham's somewhere down the line, so I figured I'd look around here, too."

"By yourself. Without a weapon." Bruce stared pointedly at Clark.

"I can handle myself," he said.

"In Metropolis, maybe. In Gotham, you'll need protection."

"Well, you're here," Clark said, eyes flickering to Bruce's cowl. "And I'm still alive."

"For now." Bruce ignored his first comment. "What are you looking for?"

"The company behind the pipes." Clark flipped through his notebook, and tilted it so Bruce could see his writing. Neat, slanted letters clearly printed out what he was looking for, and the specific numbers associated with different companies. LexCorp made multiple appearances. 

"These numbers," Clark said, pointing at a list of them, "are of shell companies that supply it, but they all trace back to LexCorp."

"Hm." Bruce would have to let Superman know about this before Lex did something ridiculous like put kryptonite in the water supply. "Superman couldn't help?"

"He's, uh, busy! Spring cleaning in the Fortress," Clark said, and winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He smiled sheepishly at Bruce.

"Here," Bruce took the pen from Clark and added a few more numbers to his list. "Theses are Wayne Enterprises numbers."

"Oh, I already checked them out," Clark said. "The areas they cover are all clear."

"Maybe Wayne should expand his reach, then," Bruce said, and Clark nodded. Bruce made a mental note to see about suppling water across Gotham as well as Metropolis. The sooner Clark's article came out, the faster he could have it done.

"What else are you looking for?" Bruce asked, and Clark smiled. They spend the rest of Bruce's patrol examining the city, almost giving Clark a tour of Gotham. He stayed close to Bruce, even as he stopped to deal with the occasional criminal. Clark simply smiled at Bruce when he was done, continuing his stream of questions like nothing had happened.

It wasn't much of a tour—the alleys must all look the same to a non-Gothamite, but Clark wrote on his notepad like his career depended on it. Bruce had looked into Clark after last time, and he'd found nothing suspicious at all. He was from Kansas, a town actually called Smallville, and moved to Metropolis to go to Met U. He's a diligent employee at the Daily Planet, pumping out excellent articles Bruce had enjoyed reading, but he also had a bit of a record with being late.

"Thank you for all your help, Batman," Clark said, sincerity dripping from his voice. "I really appreciate it."

Bruce grunted. "Don't mention me in the article."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Clark smiled, and waved as he headed back across the Bay. Bruce found himself smiling, just barely, but still there.

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Clark was back on the society beat—his own fault this time, since he'd missed the beginning of an important meeting to drop by Nepal for an earthquake. Of course, he couldn't tell Perry that, so here he was, at another Wayne Charity Gala. Despite his unfamiliarity with this scene, he went around and got all the quotes he could possibly need. Socialite after socialite, they all started to blur together, fancy perfumes and shiny jewelry. Clark found himself in the balcony sooner than he would have expected to, looking down at the gardens of Wayne Manor, trying his best to tune out the party. The last time he was here, it was as Superman, when Bruce Wayne himself made him a cup of coffee the same way he did for Batman. Clark had gone home dazed and confused, deciding it was just a ridiculous coincidence. It would be really funny if Bruce's friend who got him into the orange coffee was Batman. Clark smiled to himself, imagining the perfect circle it would make. 

"Care for some company?" A voice behind him asked, and Clark knew who it was before he turned around. Still, he feigned surprise when he saw Bruce Wayne stepping into the balcony with him. 

"Mr. Wayne! Of course not, I'm sorry if it seemed like I was skipping the party," Clark said, smiling at him. His heartbeat was so similar to Batman's, he wondered if it was a Gothamite thing for it to be so steady. He hadn't noticed the last time he was here as Clark Kent—the blood all over Bruce had distracted him—but he had as Superman. Clark pictured Batman letting him hold him like he held Bruce, and choked back a laugh.

"I wouldn't blame you if you were," Bruce said, amusement sparkling his eyes. He joined Clark against the railing, and gazed down at the gardens.

"I was just getting some fresh air," Clark said, and Bruce nodded. He turned to Clark, lips parting like he was going to say something when a scream came from the party. It was followed by the distinct sound of a gunshot.

"Stay here," Bruce said firmly, and headed back to the room. Clark ignored him, and followed. The room was quiet—the lights had been turned off, but Clark could see perfectly. A man with a gun stood in the middle of the room, holding the gun high. The socialites were huddled in a corner, and man in a perfect suit was clutching his arm on the floor. The smell of blood wafted towards Clark.

Bruce was moving in the dark like he belonged there, the expression on his face nothing like the ones plastered all over magazines and billboards. The man with the gun raised it at Bruce, and Clark was moving before he knew it. He knocked Bruce on his back, the bullet hitting his shoulder with a slight ping. Clark caught it in his hand before it could ricochet. 

"O-ow," Clark said, when he remembered he was here as a civilian. Could he pretend it never really hit him?

"Clark?" Bruce asked, looking up at him, searching in the dark. His eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. "Superman," he said, quieter, almost like a sigh.

"Uh." Clark got off of him. He quickly tied up the intruders—not with superspeed, though, because he needed to think. Bruce somehow knew who he was—he'd put the pieces together quickly enough, somehow recognizing Clark despite the darkness. Clark thought again of how easily Bruce had moved in the dark, how it seemed to almost reach for him. It could be because it was his Manor, but Clark didn't think Bruce Wayne was the kind of guy to memorize his room layouts to navigate in the dark. His heartbeat, Clark realized, had not once wavered, despite the gun being aimed right at him. Bruce Wayne wouldn't memorize room layouts, but Batman sure would. 

When Clark found the lights and figured out how to turn it back on, Bruce was gone. Well, he was still there, but as Batman. He was ushering people out when Clark made it back to the room, shooting a look at Clark when he spotted him. Clark stayed put, watching until the GCPD picked up the intruders.

He waited till everyone had left the property to head towards Bruce.

"Hey," Clark said, attempting a small smile. Bruce sighed, taking off his cowl to glare at Clark. His hair was mused, greasepaint smudged around his eyes—when did he have time for that?—and Clark couldn't stop staring.

"I could have taken that bullet," Bruce said.

"What? No." Clark almost scoffed, and then remembered something. "You made me the orange coffee I made you?"

"Ngh."

"Why did you ask me if I like you? Oh my god." Clark buried his face in his hands as his memories recontextualized. 

"You interview and pretend to be friends with yourself," Bruce said. He was pouting. Clark was going to spontaneously combust.

"Oh, hello." Bruce's butler, Alfred, walked into the room, eyebrows raised.

"Alfred, you've met Superman." Bruce waved in Clark's direction.

"Clark Kent," he said, reaching forward to shake Alfred's hand. He had a firm, steady handshake.

"Lovely. Shall I prepare tea?" he asked.

"Oh, I have to head back," Clark said apologetically. "Article due and all. Sorry."

"Another time, then, Master Kent."

"Clark is fine," he said.

"You'll be here a while if you want to fight him on this," Bruce interjected. "And I have to head out for patrol."

Clark nodded, pushing this incident away to deal with later. "I'll see you at the next meeting, then." Bruce nodded once, and Clark flew back to Metropolis before he actually burst into a million pieces.

Batman was Bruce Wayne. Clark had carried Batman in his arms across Gotham. Bruce Wayne dressed up as a bat and fought crime at night.

He hoped Perry wasn't expecting this article anytime soon, because Clark would not be able to write it for a while 

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Bruce was too tired for anything. He'd expected something other than a dull urge to sleep through monitor duty, but it was all Bruce felt when he made his way to the Watchtower. Superman—Clark Kent—was there way too early, sitting at his usual seat and bouncing his leg like he was prepping to walk into the sun.

He sat up when Bruce walked in, smiling sheepishly in a way that was more Clark Kent than Superman. If Bruce was a little more awake, he'd appreciate it a little more. Bruce took his seat and downed his coffee.

"B?" Clark looked concerned. "Are you okay?" 

Bruce merely grunted in reply. He debated if it was worth the energy he would lose to get up for another cup. He didn't have to; Clark had taken his mug away before he could do anything about it. He frowned at Clark, the words slowly forming in his head. Clark spoke before they made it out of Bruce's mouth.

"When was the last time you got any sleep?" he asked, leaning closer to examine Bruce. Clark was close enough for Bruce to feel the warmth radiating off of him. It reminded Bruce of a blanket straight out of the dryer, wrapped in the soft heat of it as he fell asleep. He remembered that Clark had asked him something.

"Few days," he said, not entirely sure of the exact number. That was a bad sign, but Bruce was too exhausted to think about it for long. Clark's face scrunched up again, and Bruce's fingers itched to smooth the lines out.

"You should go to bed," Clark said gently, resting his arm on Bruce's.

"Monitor duty," Bruce said with a frown. 

"I'll keep an ear out," Clark promised, impossibly closer. His eyes were so blue—did he know that? Bruce had to tell him. He reached up to touch Clark's face, frustrated that his gloves were in the way.

"Blue," he said, and nodded to himself. Clark's mouth twitched in amusement. The slight curve of the corner of his lips had Bruce's gaze in a chokehold.

"Come on," Clark said, pulling Bruce up to his feet. He blinked at the sudden movement, leaning his weight on Clark. Bruce grasped onto the red of his cape as Clark let him to his quarters in the tower.

"Do you want me to call someone?" Clark asked. "Alfred?" His voice was so quiet.

"I'm fine," Bruce said, the words thick and jumbled in his mouth. "You're here."

"I—yeah." Clark's face turned the same red as his cape, and Bruce reached out to touch his face again.

"Hi." Bruce said.

"Hi, B." Clark smiled a little. "I would wonder if you were drugged if I couldn't smell it on you," he said.

"Whatever they give me, I'd be immune," Bruce said. He leaned his head on Clark's shoulder as they reached his door.

"You're going to have to type in your password," Clark said, shifting around so Bruce had easier access to it. Bruce's fingers were typing it in purely by memory, and the door hissed open.

"Open says me," Bruce mumbled, and Clark laughed softly.

"Come on," he said. "Get to bed."

"Ugh." Clark dragged him inside. Bruce shut the door, leaving a trail of his suit until he reached the bed in just his compression gear. He crawled into the pile of sheets and turned around, looking at Clark expectantly. He smiled.

"Sleep tight, B." He turned, reaching for the door.

"You're leaving?" Bruce hadn't meant to say that out loud, but he hadn't meant for any of this to happen.

"Should I not?" Clark sounded confused. His ridiculous signature curl was bouncing against his forehead at the force of his turn, and Bruce was personally offended by this.

"No," he said, and patted the bed next to him. Clark hesitantly made his way to Bruce, slowly sitting down at the edge of his bed. Bruce scowled, grabbing Clark's arm to pull him down next to him.

"Uh. Bruce, are you sure you're okay with this?" Clark asked as Bruce curled up next to him.

"Warm," was all Bruce said before he shut his eyes. He was still awake, though, when Clark ran a hand through his hair, twisting the locks around his fingers. Bruce shifted closer and pretended he didn't.

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Clark was so nervous his heart was going to explode right in his chest. It was a disproportionate reaction—he dealt with far worse on a regular basis as Superman, but just the idea of going on a date with Bruce Wayne, with Batman, was enough to make him feel like he was going to explode. Or implode. He supposed time would tell. 

Bruce insisted he was going to pick up Clark at his apartment, so all he could do was pace around his living room and second guess his outfit for the millionth time. He'd stuck with what Clark Kent usually wore, for the most part; it wasn't as atrociously oversized as the suits he wore to work, but it was loose enough to hide his physique. He had a navy blue button up he thought looked nice, so he'd put that on as well.

He knew he was technically cheating, but he listened for the sound of Bruce's car. Or rather, his heartbeat that was moving at the speed of a car. Bruce was already at Metropolis, closer and closer to his apartment. Before Clark could overthink it, he grabbed the bouquet of roses he'd bought and headed outside.

The sleek, black car looked a little out of place in Clark's neighborhood. It came to a stop, and Bruce stepped out of the driver's seat to greet Clark. He was dressed as casual as he got—a crisp white shirt and slacks in a more relaxed cut. A soft, surprised smile crossed his face when he walked around and saw the bouquet. 

"Hey," Clark couldn't help smiling, the nerves he'd felt earlier dissolving. "I didn't want to show up empty handed, so I got you this." He held the bouquet out to Bruce.

"They're lovely," he said, taking them with a smile. He used his free hand to open the door for Clark. "I hope you're hungry."

"I could eat," Clark said, getting in. He didn't know car seats could be this comfortable. Bruce gently placed the bouquet in the backseat and started up the car.

"It's a pretty small place, so we don't be bothered," he said as he drove back to Gotham.

"The restaurant?"

"It's a pizza place," Bruce said. "Jason recommended it."

"Must be pretty good," Clark said, turning to freely stare at him. 

"Must be." Bruce smiled in a way that made Clark's chest tighten. He reached out to take Clark's hand, placing it on the gear shift and resting his own hand on top of it. Bruce's fingers brushed across Clark's knuckles, and Clark suddenly didn't know how to behave. A small part of his mind registered a waver in Bruce's heartbeat, but he was too focused on the sensation of Bruce's bare fingers on his, fingerprints pressing into his skin.

"There's empty mint tins in the glove compartment if you feel like snacking," Bruce said, and Clark laughed.

"You still keep those around?"

"It's not something you can eat often outside of costume." Bruce shrugged. "You should eat it if you want to."

"They're kind of noisy," Clark said, resisting another smile. Gosh, he couldn't stop smiling around Bruce, could he?

"Like chips," Bruce said. "I should see if I can get you a chip bag full of those."

"Bruce." Clark breathed out a laugh, flexing his hand under Bruce's. Bruce offered him a small smile, eyeing Clark as he drove.

"We'll be there in a few minutes," he said. They had already arrived at Gotham, Clark realized. Bruce must be more distracting than he thought if he didn't notice the stark change in scenery. 

Bruce kept driving until they reached a small building, hidden away behind a street, and parked in an alley nearby. Clark used his superspeed to go around and open the door for Bruce first. Bruce fondly rolled his eyes, accepting a hand.

"I'm paying, so don't even think about it," he said.

"I could pay," Clark started. 

"Not when I'm around." Bruce took his arm and led Clark towards the pizza place.

They sat down at a booth, and Clark let Bruce order for him. He smiled at Bruce when the waiter took the menus away.

"What?"

"Nothing," Clark said, still smiling. "You're easy on the eyes, that's all."

Bruce's mouth twitched. "That's not nothing."

"It's nothing new," Clark clarified, and a slow smile unfurled on Bruce's face.

"Yeah?" he asked, leaning a little closer. "You're not so bad yourself."

"Here they are for you," the waiter said, appearing out of nowhere to place two large and loaded pizzas on the table.

"Thank you, these look great," Clark said, and the waiter nodded.

"They really are. You two here on a date?" he asked, refilling their waters. Bruce blushed. He actually blushed—color bright and high on his cheekbones. Clark almost forgot he had been asked a question, practically gaping at Bruce.

"Our very first one," Clark said, and watched Bruce's face turn impossibly more pink.

"Aw, you guys are cute. Enjoy your food! Flag me down if you need anything." He smiled at them, and disappeared to the other booths. Clark turned his attention to Bruce, who was picking at the edge of the pizza and pointedly not meeting his eyes.

"This place is nice," Clark said as a conversation starter, and Bruce looked up, a smile in his eyes. 

"It is," he said, picking up a slice. "I've only been here once before, but it's pretty good." He took a bite, and Clark followed suit. It was good, the kind of pizza you eat on a pitstop on an unfamiliar town, the kind you thought of every time you had a slice that didn't compare.

"Wow," Clark found himself saying.

"Better than the pizza in Metropolis?" Bruce asked, an amused look on his face, though Clark could still see the remnants of the blush.

"No way," Clark grinned. "I'll take you to a better one next time." The words were out of his mouth before he could think it through, and he was blushing this time. The amusement on Bruce's face bloomed.

"Next time, huh?" He smiled softly, but a more serious expression crossed his face. "I'm not very good at this," he said.

"This?"

"Relationships." Bruce grimaced a little, taking another bite of the pizza to hide it. "I'm not an easy person to be around."

"Yeah," Clark said with a little laugh. "I know. I'm still here, aren't I?"

"I suppose you are," Bruce said, and he was smiling a little again. It was so easy, to be on a date with Bruce. Clark didn't think it would be—he had almost braced himself for the nerves, but try as he might, he couldn't get himself to be anything other than completely at ease around Bruce. This was his best friend, the man who knew him best, who he'd been in love with for years. Everything about Bruce came so naturally to Clark, and he found that he wasn't the least bit worried about it at all.

When they left the pizza place, Bruce headed back to the car and held the door open for Clark.

"I could fly back," Clark said. "You don't have to drive me all the way back when you live right here."

"Get in the car, Kent. Let me spend some more time with you." Well, Clark wasn't going to say no to that.

His hand was under Bruce's again as he drove, and the conversation turned to the best toppings for pizza. Clark was halfway through defending pineapple on pizza when the car stopped. They were at his apartment, Clark realized. He wasn't fully ready to leave Bruce just yet, but Batman probably had patrol after.

"Permission to come bother you at patrol," Clark said, and Bruce smiled.

"Granted," he said, undoing his seatbelt to lean closer to him. "I had fun."

"Me too."

"The flowers are lovely."

"Good. They can match you," Clark said, just to see the flush across Bruce's cheeks again.

"Are you going to stay in here forever?"

"I'll leave you alone." Clark smiled wide. "Call me when you get back?"

"Of course." Bruce leaned over to kiss Clark, and it felt like coming home.

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There are very few things Bruce doesn't plan around. One of them was Superman's secret identity, but that was only a slight hiccup. He could have gotten around that, except he had to go to monitor duty barely awake and fall all over Clark like that. He couldn't say he regretted it, though, because Clark had insisted on dropping him off at the Manor when he woke up hours later. He'd stood at the doorway to the manor and shyly asked Bruce if he wanted to get dinner sometime. Clark, for whatever reason, seemed to have the ability to strip Bruce down and force him to confront himself. And despite everything Bruce had told himself for years, Clark had been too much of a constant in his recent years to push him away successfully.

Somehow, saying yes then had snowballed into ending up in the passenger seat of Clark's truck in Smallville. He was relaxed as he drove, a leisurely speed as he cut through fields. Bruce had meant to look out at the view, but he had ended up spending the drive staring at Clark. He was in a more fitting flannel, void of his thick glasses and hair wind-tossed from flying. He looked like the perfect combination of Clark Kent and Superman. Bruce couldn't be blamed for staring, surely.

Clark stopped the truck in a middle of a field. Flat, empty planes stretched all around the truck, and Bruce couldn't see a single thing they could have come out here for.

"Where are we?" he asked, and Clark grinned.

"You'll see," he said, turning off the truck and getting out. "Don't move yet!"

Bruce bit back a smile, watching from the rearview mirror as Clark rummaged around the back, shifting around the blankets and pillows he'd bought along. Satisfied, he came around and opened Bruce's door.

"It's ready," Clark said, with a smile that rivaled the sun.

"What's ready?" Bruce asked, but Clark was already grabbing his hand and dragging him to the back. The bed of the truck had been piled with the blankets, creating a cozy nook with pillows against the sides. A picnic basket sat in the middle.

"Seen the stars out here?" Clark said, pulling Bruce into the pile of blankets. Bruce let him, settling beside Clark and basking in the warmth of the blankets.

"Stars?" Bruce looked up, and his breath caught in his throat. The sheer amount of stars in the sky wasn't a new view for Bruce, but he'd been in Gotham for so long, he'd forgotten what it really looked like. The entire universe seemed laid out in front of him, and his hand tightened around Clark's. Clark put his arm around Bruce and pulled him closer.

"Looks different without all the city lights in the way, doesn't it?" Clark grinned. Bruce rested his head on his shoulder.

"It's beautiful," he said. "I'm glad you bought me here." And that he doesn't have to rush to get back to patrol. It had taken so much convincing to leave Gotham with the kids for a night, but Bruce was ultimately glad he had. Gotham would always be there, and it was only one night.

"Me too." Clark leaned back onto the pillows, pulling Bruce down with him. "Hungry?" He didn't wait for Bruce to answer, handing over a sandwich from the picnic basket. Bruce took it without a word, quietly eating as he gazed at the stars. Clark somehow leaned even closer, pressing his cheek against Bruce's hair.

"I'm glad I dragged you out here," Clark said.

"Yeah." Bruce was still worried about everything, but here, under the stars with Clark, it all seemed a little less real. 

"How much of them can you see?" he asked Clark.

"Enough of it."

"Is it different here than in Metropolis? Can you see further out?"

"Bruce, if you think I'm staring at anything other than you right now, I've got news," Clark said, and Bruce rolled his eyes, ignoring the way his face felt warmer.

They watched the sky for longer than Bruce thought he would be comfortable, but Clark was prepared for any physical discomfort. The pile of blankets were soft and yielding, and his fingers were pressing into Bruce's muscles more often than not. The combination left Bruce like putty in Clark's arms, halfway to sleep and more relaxed than he could ever remember being. 

"We can head back to the farm if you don't want to stay the night here," Clark said, breaking the silence.

"Stay here? In the truck?" Bruce raised his eyebrows, but Clark just shrugged.

"It's pretty safe out here. Plus, what could someone in Kansas possibly do against Superman and Batman?" He grinned.

"You've slept out here before?"

"Sure have. But I know you haven't, and if you're more comfortable in the farm, we can absolutely head back anytime."

"We can stay," Bruce said slowly. "If something happens, I'm never letting you live it down."

Clark laughed, bright and open, and Bruce ignored the way his chest tightened. Clark settled back to lie down, pulling Bruce with him.

"Comfy?" he asked. Bruce was wearing one of Clark's old flannels and surrounded by blankets. Comfy didn't cover the half of it.

"I'll live," Bruce said, and Clark huffed out a laugh. He pulled Bruce against his chest and pressed his lips to Bruce's forehead.

"We should do this again during a meteor shower," Clark said.

"Good luck getting me out of Gotham again."

"I've done it once, I'll do it again."

Bruce scoffed. "Fluke."

Clark smiled softly. "Sure."

⋆ ˚｡⋆ -`⛤´- ⋆ ｡˚⋆

Clark had been let into Wayne Enterprises with much less resistance than he had been expecting for showing up without warning. The receptionist had been hesitant to let him in, but the second he told her his name and showed ID, she smiled and waved him up to Bruce's private office. Clark blinked, and simply made his way up.

He's had a hell of a week. Luthor had pulled out scheme after scheme, apparently growing kryptonite in his backyard because Clark had been hit with enough to last him a lifetime. It had been an impulsive decision to stop by and bother Bruce at work, especially in a state of mind where forming sentences would be hard. He needed a nap, really, but he wanted to see Bruce so here he was.

Bruce looked up as his door opened, his expression immediately twisting into once of concern when he saw Clark. He got up from his chair as Clark wordlessly closed the door and headed towards Bruce.

"Clark? What's—" He was cut off when Clark wrapped his arms around him, resting his head on Bruce's shoulder.

"Sorry," Clark mumbled, voice muffled by Bruce's shirt. "Wanted to see you." Bruce ran his fingers through Clark's hair, and he sighed.

"Tired?" Bruce asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft. Clark hummed, holding him closer.

"Long week, huh?" Bruce guided Clark to a couch nearby and set him down. "Take a nap."

"M'fine," Clark said, even though he was already falling asleep. His hand grasped Bruce's wrist and dragged him down to the couch, managing to curl up on top of him before sleep fully took him.

He woke up when the door opened again, blinking at the sight of Bruce's secretary walking in. The man managed to hold back his surprise at Clark, though a flicker of amusement sparked in his eyes.

"Mr. Wayne, there's someone insisting to get an interview," he said.

"Tell them to leave. I already have a journalist here," Bruce said from somewhere close, and Clark realized he was on the couch. He remembered now, pulling Bruce on there as he was falling asleep—gosh, the kryptonite had really done a number on him—and Bruce was still there, lounging against the armrest as he held Clark in his arms.

The receptionist nodded and left. Bruce returned to scrolling on his phone as he ran his fingers through Clark's hair. Clark wasn't in any particular hurry to leave, but he had barged in uninvited.

"Sorry," he said, getting up, but Bruce held him where he was.

"For what?"

"For coming here without telling you and falling sleep on your couch?"

"I didn't mind," Bruce said, and returned to reading whatever it was on his phone.

"Bruce."

"I'm reading an incident report."

"Bruce." Clark tried to sit up again, but Bruce refused to let go of him. "I'm keeping you from your work."

"No, you're saving me from having to deal with people," he said, and put his phone on the table. Clark's glasses were neatly folded next to it.

"Still."

"If you want to make it up to me, we can go out for dinner," Bruce said. "Or have it delivered. You seem comfortable." He went back to brushing back Clark's hair, his newly free hand cupping his face. Clark buried his head in Bruce's chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His thoughts were slowly coming back.

"I left on my lunch break," he realized, and Bruce laughed softly.

"Hungry? I'll order something," he said, reaching for his phone again. Clark managed to sit up as he did, Bruce arm still loosely around him.

"Perry's going to kill me."

"For getting an exclusive interview with Bruce Wayne? I don't think so."

"Bruce, you don't have to do that," Clark said. Sure, it was convenient that he could just ask Bruce for an exclusive, given the nature of their relationship, but he didn't like bothering Bruce with his work. He didn't want his work to overshadow the time he spent with Bruce, didn't want to think of outlining an article when Bruce was smiling at him like that.

"You can write about my secret boyfriend," Bruce said with a wicked grin. "Your article will be a hit. You're the only reporter I'll talk to, so you get the entire story."

"Bruce." Clark tried for his earlier tone, but a smile was fighting its way out.

"The Chinese place we went to last month does delivery now," Bruce said, scrolling through his phone. He looked up at Clark above his phone. Clark moved to wrap his arms around Bruce and tug him closer, looking at the menu over his shoulder. Bruce leaned into him, a familiar and comfortable move.

"Sounds good," Clark said.

"How are you feeling?"

"Much better. I think I'm all good now."

"Hm." Bruce eyed Clark like he could trace the lasting effects of kryptonite exposure.

"You're going to drag me to the Cave to run tests," Clark said, and Bruce nodded firmly.

"Let's go," he said, pulling Clark to his feet. "I'll have the food delivered to the Manor."

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Bruce woke up earlier than he usually did—that is to say, before noon. It was unusually quiet, he realized before he had even opened his eyes. It was a weekday, and everyone was somewhere or the other except for Alfred, who was probably on his way to make sure Bruce actually got out of bed. He had expected to be alone, but to his credit, he was only a little shocked that Clark was still in bed with him.

He smiled at Bruce, too early and too bright, shifting closer. Bruce frowned.

"It's a weekday," he said, not like a question but Clark knew one when he heard it.

"Yes," Clark confirmed.

"You have work on weekdays."

"Also yes."

"But you're here. In my bed."

"Yes, detective," Clark said with fond exasperation. Bruce's frown only deepened.

"Why."

"I didn't feel like leaving," Clark said like it was a reasonable explanation. "You looked cozy. I took a day off."

"Did you get hit in the head with kryptonite again?" Bruce probed the side of Clark's head with his fingers. Clark laughed softly. 

"No, B. I can't spend some time with you?" He was grinning, still too bright, and Bruce had half a mind to take him to the Cave and check him out. Lot of that happening recently.

"We work together all the time."

"That's not the same. You know it's not." Clark pulled Bruce hand away from his head. "I didn't get hit with kryptonite."

"Right." Bruce narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "We can go down to the Cave for a completely unrelated reason, then."

"Bruce." Clark laughed again, leaning closer. "You don't think I'd want to spend time with you?"

"When was the last time you willingly took a day off work?" Bruce countered. He knew the answer, had kept track of Clark's work hours since they accidentally revealed their identities to each other. He knew Clark worked himself into the ground, both as a journalist and as Superman.

"Okay, you got me there." Clark smiled as he sat up. "Can I at least make you breakfast while you run tests?"

"Fine." Bruce huffed, and followed Clark out of bed. 

Alfred raised his eyebrows as he descended the stairs with Clark, eyes flickering to a clock.

"Master Bruce," he said. "You are awake early. Shall I prepare breakfast?"

"Actually, Alfred, do you mind if I make food for Bruce today?" Clark asked, smiling. He seemed fine, but Bruce still wanted to make sure. "I promise not to screw up your kitchen."

"Very well, Master Clark," Alfred said, and headed off. Clark smiled brightly, turning to Bruce.

"Alfred doesn't think I got hit in the head," he said, nudging Bruce's shoulder. Bruce frowned.

"I'm still skeptical," he said, and Clark only grinned brighter. He held onto Bruce's arm and walked towards the kitchen. Bruce, despite himself, leaned into the warmth Clark radiated.

He stood behind Clark as he flipped pancakes, head resting on his shoulder. Bruce was going to get equipment from the Cave, but he stayed and opted for running his hands under Clark's shirt. Clark's grip tightened on the pan, but he said nothing.

"Is it good?" Clark asked as Bruce took a bite.

"It's alright."

"Liar." Clark smiled, leaning closer. "I know you like it."

"Hn." Bruce flushed, looking at his pancakes to avoid Clark's eyes. They almost sparkled when he messed with Bruce like this, the stunning blue impossibly brighter. Everything about Clark was impossibly bright.

"You don't want to run tests on me anymore?" Clark teased, and Bruce resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Fine, let's go down to the Cave and you take your shirt off," he said. Clark laughed, head thrown back with a soft flush high on his cheeks.

"Well, since you asked to nicely," he said, grinning.

"Tell me the real reason you didn't go," Bruce said, picking at the last pancake.

"Wanting to hang out with you isn't a real reason?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Who's going to interview Superman if you're here?" Bruce asked. Clark laughed again.

"You know, I'd love to see Bruce Wayne interview Superman," he said, like the thought had just occurred to him.

"We can make that happen," Bruce said. It would be a stunt, Superman's sunshine incarnate with Brucie's absurd reputation.

"I was kidding."

"It would be fun."

"Everyone is going to think I'm the secret boyfriend from the article," Clark said.

"You are."

"You know what I mean."

Bruce paused. His gaze went back to the plate. He hated the thought that surfaced in his head, but he hated it more when he didn't tell Clark about that was bothering him. 

"Would that be so bad?" he asked, voice quieter than he intended.

"What? No, that's not—" Clark leaned over to grasp Bruce's hand. "I mean for you, Bruce. The media has already picked you apart so much, I don't want them saying anything about you like that."

"I've handled much worse."

"I know. But you shouldn't have had to, and I don't want you to be subjected to any of it more than you need to be." Clark sighed, leaning forward to press his forehead against Bruce's.

"We could make it fun," Bruce said, bringing his hands up to hold Clark's face. His skin was warm as leaned into Bruce's hand. "They're already asking for talk show appearances and interviews about my boyfriend. You could show up at the end, just for a little bit."

"I want this to be something you're absolutely sure about, B," Clark said, breathing out a laugh.

"I'll get back to you in a week," Bruce said, and kissed him. "Now come on, we're going to the Cave."

"You still want the tests done?" Clark asked, and Bruce could hear the eyeroll.

"Yes." It was more to annoy Clark than anything, but Bruce would never admit that. "Then you're going to work."

Clark scoffed. "Good luck getting me off of you."

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It was a quiet day at the Daily Planet. Clark kept an ear out for Superman duties, but everything seemed to be going well. The low hum of office chatter floated around him as he edited his latest article. Lois tapped her pen against the desk next to him, occasionally muttering something under her breath as she typed.

Clark threw himself into his articles, working around mentions of Batman as his source when Lois elbowed his arm.

"Smallville," she said under her breath, nodding at the elevator.

"Hm?" Clark looked up to see a delivery guy step out with the largest bouquet of red roses Clark had ever seen, and an equally large box of chocolates. Bright, red ribbons curled and cascaded from the box. The delivery guy scanned the office.

"Who do you think it's for?" Lois asked, watching his movements like a tiger hidden in the bushes.

"I'm not sure," Clark said, turning to face the guy. The bouquet was the size of his torso, every single rose a perfect red arranged in a very pleasing circle. The box looked expensive, too. Someone with a lot of money to spare had sent them to—oh no.

The delivery guy walked up to Clark's desk and held out a clipboard.

"Clark Kent? I need a signature," he said. Lois gasped.

"Right," Clark said, ignoring Lois to sign the paper. His face was on fire as he took the bouquet and chocolates.

"This came with the delivery," the guy said, handing Clark a crisp white card.

"Thank you," Clark said, his voice sounding a little strange. Lois grabbed the card out of Clark's hand the second the delivery guy turned away.

"Lois!" Clark tried to get it back, but the giant bouquet was in the way. Lois' eyes were wide as she read the note. Clark could only hope Bruce hadn't written something insane.

"Are you seeing Batman?" she asked, her voice a sharp whisper.

"What?" Clark finally got the note back. Bruce's neat handwriting said ' happy birthday. if you need help with another article, you know where to find me' and instead of a name or initial, he had signed it with a quick but distinctive drawing of the Bat symbol.

"Wow," Lois said, examining the roses. "I mean, it's about time, but wow. How long has this been going on?"

"A while," Clark admitted.

"Uh huh. And how long is that?" she asked, and Clark only flushed in reply.

"Sorry I didn't tell you earlier," he said. "I wanted to, but..."

"The Bat would have had my head?"

"Well, no." Clark hadn't decided if he should say he's dating Batman or Bruce Wayne, since he couldn't be seen with one if he had said the other.

"The chocolates look good." Lois was already examining the box, turning it around to see what it said on the back. "Orange and coffee flavor? Is that something he likes?"

"Yes," Clark said. Bruce hadn't admitted it to him, nor would he ever, but Clark knew he liked the orange coffee.

"Huh." Lois went back to her computer, and Clark thought she was going to let it go for a full five seconds before she grabbed his arm. "He spent a fortune on the flowers?"

"Oh, geez." Clark glanced at her screen, and then immediately looked away when he saw the displayed price.

"Oh my god. I mean, of course he's loaded, but oh my god. Holy shit, Smallville."

"I'm gonna go call him," Clark said, getting up to place the bouquet on his chair. Lois raised her eyebrows. 

"Don't disappear on me," she said, and waved him off. Clark's face was on fire as he stumbled to the roof, fishing his phone from his pocket to call Bruce.

"Did you like the gifts?" Bruce asked as soon as he picked up. Clark could hear the smile in his voice, the casual way he tossed the words around to hide how much they mattered to him. Clark smiled despite himself.

"Lois has been looking up the prices," he said, and Bruce laughed softly.

"I had the chocolates custom made. She won't find them anywhere."

"Of course you did."

"Have you tried them?"

"Not yet," Clark said. "I was hoping to have them with you." Bruce hummed.

"And get you to finally admit that you like orange coffee," Clark added, and Bruce huffed out a laugh.

"Good luck with that," he said. Sounds of him rummaging around came through the phone. "Where did you put the saucepan?"

"In the top cabinet," Clark answered, and blinked. "Are you at my apartment?"

"Maybe."

"You broke in?"

"No. I have a key."

"B."

"I'm making you dinner," Bruce said. "It's a surprise."

"Please don't burn down my apartment."

"I know how to cook, Clark."

"I was there when you burned the eggs. Both times."

Bruce paused, the silence stretching long enough that Clark wondered if he'd hung up.

"I asked Alfred to teach me a few recipes," he finally said, and Clark couldn't help the smile blooming on his face. He had half a mind to fly to his apartment right at that second.

"I can help with the cooking," Clark said.

"Absolutely not." Bruce was moving things around in the kitchen. "I planned for this. It will turn out good."

"I'm sure." Clark didn't think he could physically smile any wider. "I'll be over in an hour or two."

"Okay." The call ended, but Clark stayed on the roof for a few more seconds, still grinning like a fool.

It was harder to get back to his articles than he'd thought—the red of the roses kept drawing his eyes, and when he finally turned back to his computer, a coworker would come around to inquire about the gifts. Clark couldn't outright tell them it was from Batman—mostly because they'd never believe him—so he had to run around the topic for a while before his desk was finally empty. 

As soon as the workday was over, Clark said goodbye to Lois and grabbed his gifts, practically running out the door to his apartment. He rushed in, grinning as he headed for the kitchen. The faint smell of something burning was in the air, but to Bruce's credit, it really was faint. Clark gently set the bouquet and the chocolates on the couch before throwing himself at Bruce.

"What—Clark!" He was dressed like he'd just stepped out of a meeting, collar open and hair mused from cooking. A tablet was open to a recipe and a text thread with Alfred, along with a bag full of ingredients he must have bought over.

"Hi," Clark said, and kissed him. "What did you make?"

"Food," Bruce said. Clark leaned over his shoulder to look into the saucepan. A creamy, tomato pasta bubbled, the rich smell wafting over the kitchen.

"Smells good," he said, mouthing Bruce's jaw. "What did you burn?"

"Eggs again," Bruce said, and Clark laughed against his neck. "You are way to excited."

"Mm. Is it done?"

"Yes. It just needs to cool down," Bruce said, taking the saucepan off the stove and on the counter.

"So you have a few minutes to spare?" Clark asked. He didn't wait for an answer and just kissed Bruce again. Clark's fingers hooked around Bruce's belt loops to tug him up. Bruce grabbed at Clark's hair to kiss him harder, He stepped back, knocking a spoon against a plate.

"The pasta's going to get cold," Bruce murmured.

"Wouldn't want all your hard work to go to waste," Clark said, but he wasn't letting go of Bruce. He watched as Bruce plated the pasta, arms still around him.

They ended up eating in the kitchen, partly because Clark didn't want to let go of Bruce and partly because a taste test turned into emptying the saucepan. Usually, Clark would do the dishes, but he'd ended up dumping them in the sink so he could keep making out with Bruce.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Clark was curled up on his couch with Bruce, gazing at the open box of chocolates. The roses were neatly placed into a vase on the coffee table. Bruce was in one of Clark's shirts, hair damp and shiny from the shower.

"You'll like this one," Bruce said, pointing to a round piece of chocolate decorated with orange zest. "It's mostly sugar."

Clark scoffed, but tried it anyway. Bruce was right, but he didn't need to know that. Through from the look on his face, he already knew.

"Which one's your favorite?" Clark asked.

"I had them custom made for you," Bruce said. "They're all too sweet for me."

"Aw, there has to be at least one you'd like." Clark picked out a rectangular piece that looked like it had the most dark chocolate. He held it up to Bruce's mouth.

"It's—" Clark pressed the chocolate to Bruce's lips the second he opened them, and Bruce took a reluctant bite.

"Is it good?"

"Still too sweet," Bruce said, but he took another bite out of Clark's hands. "Not bad."

"You didn't have to get any of this," Clark said. Bruce reminded him of a cat like this, pretending to dislike the food but eating it all anyway.

"I wanted to." Bruce's expression turned a little serious. "We worked all day on my birthday. I wanted to hang out a little bit."

"Sweet of you," Clark said. Bruce huffed. Clark reached up to brush damp locks out of his eyes. "Are you staying?"

"As long as you don't kick me out."

"As if." Clark leaned against him and let the noise of the city lull him to sleep.

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The meeting was almost over, but Bruce could see the League had mentally clocked out much earlier. The only one looking at him was Clark, and he certainly wasn't paying attention to the meeting.

Superman had walked in early, clearly excited and almost bouncing on his feet. He'd grinned at Bruce, and helped set up the presentation with enough enthusiasm that even Diana had noted it. Bruce knew enough that Clark had planned something, and if the continued glances at Bruce was any indicator, it was a surprise for him.

Clark was leaning forward on the table, leaning on his hand and gazing at Bruce. In moments only Clark could tell, Bruce had been closer than he'd expected to be to balling up a piece of paper and tossing it at Clark. There were jokes and rumors circulating the League about Superman and Batman being an item, and Clark's behavior wasn't helping in the least.

Bruce finally dismissed the room, and everyone rushed out in case Batman had something else to say, even though he never did. Almost everyone, anyway—Clark stayed behind, of course, but Diana was there as well. She smiled at him as Clark stood up and draped himself over Bruce.

"Hey," Clark said, resting his head against Bruce's. Bruce had an email to check—he'd felt the notification in the middle of the meeting, and he opened it up as Clark read over his shoulder.

"Why did I get an interview request from Clark Kent titled 'anniversary dinner'?"

"That's for Bruce Wayne, not you. Besides, you're the one who sent me a calendar invite instead of proposing."

"...that was a lapse in judgement." Really, it had been the nerves that got to Bruce. He had made an event on the calendar to block out anything else that might come up, and accidentally shared it with Clark while they were watching a movie together.

"Come have dinner with me," Clark said, smiling.

"We have monitor duty."

"Italian sounds good."

"I know this isn't the most ideal way to spend time, but we do have monitor duty."

"Actually, I will be taking your shift today," Diana piped in, and Bruce turned to her.

"I thought you were busy," he said.

"As did I, but my prior engagement fell through, and when Superman asked if he could take you out, I could only say yes." She got up to clap Bruce on his shoulder. "Congratulations on another year. I wish you many more."

"Thank you, Diana," Bruce said, and she smiled.

"Of course."

"Thank you, Di! I owe you one," Clark said, hugging her. He quickly turned around to grab Bruce before he could do anything. "See you later!" 

"Clark—" Bruce started, but he was already being dragged to the zeta tubes.

"We don't have to get Italian if you don't want to," Clark said, pausing to look back at him. Bruce stepped forward to wrap his arms around Clark, burying the cowl in his shoulder.

"We can get Italian," Bruce said. "I'm sure I can get a reservation somewhere."

"And you should admit to liking the orange coffee."

"Never," Bruce said, but he was smiling.

"One day."

"Keep dreaming, Boy Scout."