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The air was still, the sky was covered in downy, blue-gray clouds, and the lights of the city twinkled like the stars might’ve, if not for the hazy chokehold of pollution over the industrial city. Batman was perched on top of a downtown building, watching the few people still on the streets mill about. This was the next to last stop on tonight’s patrol route. It was a good place to sit when the night allowed: peaceful, offering a good vantage point while also being too high up for prying eyes.
His survey of the streets was interrupted when the communicator in his gauntlet buzzed, startling him slightly. It was the particular haptic feedback coded to signify someone attempting to contact him. Except that was odd, because he wasn’t expecting information from any key contacts at the moment. Batman supposed it could be a tip. Gotham had been quiet lately. Maybe there was a reason.
He stood, sweeping away from the edge of the rooftop and lodging deeper into the shadows. He flipped up the small screen and examined the number readout. Instantly recognizing it, his body somehow tensed and numbed simultaneously as he scanned the screen, double- and then triple-checking the number, unsure if he was more desperate to be wrong or to be right.
When nothing changed the numb feeling in his chest quickly gave way to fear. He could be hurt. Hurt, somewhere. Alone. I never should have stopped tracking him. He could be dying and I’d only have this useless ping—
The ping… which wasn’t actually from the emergency line. Batman tightened his fists till the knuckles went white under his gloves, feeling the rush of blood under his fingers and the cool night air in his lungs. He shook his head. He needed to get it together. It’s been two months. It was only a comm request.
He quickly swiped to call the number before he could change his mind. The line rang in full twice, and with every second he stood there, coiled like a live wire, he felt a little more foolish. Finally, gracefully, there’s a click. Connection.
And then silence.
“Superman,” he finally greeted.
“...Hey.” The word poured through the line like warm honey, soft–and if Bruce dared to dream–breathy.
Not Superman, Bruce realizes, heart jumping in his chest. Clark. Bruce waited for him to continue, to say anything else, but they both just held the line, breathing together, too surprised the conversation is happening to actually have it. Batman finally remembers himself, and breaks first. “Do you… have something for me?”
The question seemed to shake Clark out of his stupor. “Sorry- sorry right,” he said, clearing his throat. “I need your help with something. There’s this case that I’m investigating, and I’m not getting anywhere with it. It’s been days and, I completely hit a wall. I could really use another set of eyes on it.” A pause. “It’s important.”
Batman wasn’t sure why the explanation made his heart clench. Of course there was a case, that’s what this line meant. Clark wouldn’t have just called him. Not anymore. He had a reason. That’s fine. It made it easier in fact. This isn’t about them, it’s about working together. They were good at that. Partn– colleagues. Colleagues.
“Okay,” he said, blowing out a breath to steady himself. “You still have access to this line, you can send the details here. I’ll look at them as soon as I end patrol.”
“Okay,” Clark replied. “Okay, good, thank you.”
Batman was about to end the call when Clark suddenly began to ramble again.
“Sorry- wait sorry, actually you need to- no, um, should. You should come in person,” Clark stumbled out. “I’ve got a lot of physical documents and just— it’d be difficult to scan them all, and so it’d be better. If-if you came here.”
Batman was silent. The numbness clawing its way back under his skin. He couldn’t… It would be…
“Please,” Clark said, voice breaking.
Bruce’s heart seized. No. No. He had to shut this down.
“Superman, I can’t drop everything to come to the Fortress. Even in the Batwing, it’s a several hour flight-”
“Not the Fortress,” Clark quickly corrected. “Here. Metropolis.” He continued softly, blind to how each word was stealing the breath from Bruce’s lungs, “I’m- I’m home. You could just swing by my apartment when you wrap up tonight.”
“...Metropolis?” Bruce asked cautiously.
“Yeah… If that’s okay.”
“I don’t- I don’t have the address,” Bruce replied, somewhat absently. What he means is rather, You never gave me the address. When they started trusting one another, they’d met in the Cave, the Fortress. When Superman kissed him for the first time after months of them inching towards each other… well, it wasn’t long before Bruce showed him into the manor. But outside of missions they never met in Metropolis. And he’d never been in Clark’s apartment.
It wasn’t as secluded as the manor. It was too odd for Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent to be seen together. It might make people start asking questions. Start looking too closely. It was too risky. That was what Clark always said when Bruce mentioned his place or his family or his friends. It was what he said during their last fight. It wasn’t even supposed to be a fight, Bruce was just growing tired of only being able to date Superman and not Clark.
“I’ll send it to you,” Clark said, sounding unsure of himself. “It’s not far from The Planet.”
Bruce really shouldn’t–
“Okay.”
~
Bruce gripped the steering wheel as he maneuvered smoothly into a turn, taking him further out of the heart of the city. What was he thinking? He would probably always help Clark if he asked, but showing up to his place? Bruce was a damn mess of warring emotions already and they’d only been on the phone for seven minutes. How was he meant to focus on being “colleagues” when Clark would be in his reach again? How was he meant to hold in just how badly he wanted to be held by him again, to see that crooked smile in front of him–real and alive–instead of cheaply copied on news reports? And then he sent him his address like it was nothing. Like they hadn’t been together for six months, and it was only now that Bruce should be let into his home? After two months of no contact and a fucking comm out of the blue? He felt like screaming. Or crying. Or both. Dwelling on it definitely wasn’t helping. The phone in the car rang and he picked it up instantly.
“Sir, your location is moving rather quickly towards the outskirts of the city. Is everything alright?”
Bruce cringed, realizing he’d been so stuck in his head he’d forgotten to mention the fact he was leaving Gotham. “Yes, A, everything’s fine. Superman has requested back up.” He remembered his panic at getting Clark’s first comm request and quickly added, “He’s not hurt.”
“Oh. I see.” The silence that followed felt very pointed. “And… you’re meeting him outside of Gotham this late?”
“He… has some important information to relay.” Bruce paused, chewing on his lip before revealing the rest. “It’s at his local base.”
Alfred let out a sigh that sounded more pained than judgmental and Bruce could picture the concerned frown he was no doubt wearing. “My boy, are you sure this is a wise decision?”
No, it’s almost certainly a terrible decision.
“It’ll be fine, A. He needs my support for a case, that’s it.”
“Right,” Alfred replied in a tone that said the exact opposite. After all, he’d been there, comforting Bruce through yet another heartbreak. It was his own damn fault he could never talk about his love life with anyone else. Andrea, Selina, Harvey. All that grief, forever silent and secret, shrouded by the cape. He’d opened up to Clark about some of it once. Maybe he could again. If Bruce didn’t fuck this up. If he held it all in, and proved they could work together. That they could maybe even be friends again one day without it hurting so badly.
“A case. That’s it, A. I’ll be back in a few hours,” Bruce insisted, equally as much for his own benefit.
“Alright,” Alfred said softly before ending the call. “Be careful.”
~
The window was already unlocked. Bruce couldn’t help but wonder if that was for his benefit, or if Clark always left his windows unlocked. Better to fly out of, maybe. He slid in quietly, closing the pane behind him and turned to see Clark on his forearms, leaning over the kitchen island. He was staring at a computer screen, the reflection playing in his glasses, as his hair fell slightly in his eyes. He was beautiful.
Clark looked up catching his gaze and blinked rapidly, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Hey,” he said, voice definitely breathy this time.
Bruce swallowed hard. Stay focused. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. “Hello,” he said, drifting to the center of the room. “What did you need to show me?”
“Oh!” Clark exclaimed. “Yes, the folders–I didn’t know you were on the way yet, I would’ve gotten them already. Let me just,” he held up one finger signaling Bruce to wait, while he went into another room down the hall.
Bruce itched to drink in the entire place but he forced himself to stay still and just take a cursory look around. It wasn’t what he expected. The living area he stood in only held a television and minimal furniture. New, or gently used by the looks of it. Everything was a bit more… modern than he’d have guessed, given the way Clark dressed himself. He wondered if Clark picked it out himself, and then quickly pushed down a pang of purely irrational jealousy thinking about whoever may have helped him. The kitchen was posh, probably updated not too long before Clark had moved in, but it didn’t show much sign of use. Actually… neither did anything else—besides the papers and notebooks strewn across the living area, and the takeout bag currently being used as a recycling bin. Bruce was still deciding what to make of that, when Clark came back in, holding several manila folders haphazardly in his arms.
“Okay, this is everything we need,” he said. “It’s not as bad as it looks, they’re just awkward t-to,” he stammered, almost dropping one, “hold.” He laid the folders out gently on the kitchen island and Bruce finally stepped closer.
The moment he moved, Clark’s head whipped up to look at him, before he seemed to cringe, shaking his head, and looked back down. Bruce ignored the action and just kept walking to the island, resolutely looking away from the flush of color that began to spread across the back of Clark’s neck.
An hour slipped past as they worked together. Then two. The awkwardness gradually bled out of the room as they fell back into step across from one another. Bruce had taken off his helmet and gauntlets a while ago. It felt natural, reminiscent of the early days, as if they were back in the cave doing an investigation together. Like nothing ever changed. It ached, in a bittersweet kind of way. He didn’t have Clark, but he was still here.
And it was okay. As long as he ignored every time Clark crossed his arms in frustration, his thin sleep shirt pulling taught across his chest and biceps. As long as he ignored every time their hands accidentally brushed when they reached for the computer at the same time. As long as he ignored the way Clark’s gaze was always so damn soft when their eyes met. It was okay. Colleagues.
Eventually Bruce spotted something, and the pieces spread all around them fell into place. “There! That’s your next lead.” He said, slamming his hands on the table.
Clark rounded the island to stand behind Bruce, leaning on one arm and peering over his shoulder to see what the detective had found on the computer screen.
“Oh my gosh, yes!” Clark exclaimed, scanning the page. He turned slightly, coming face to face with Bruce. “You’re the best, B.”
Bruce barely processed the term of endearment. He was too caught up in the full force of Clark’s smile: the dimples, the slightly too long canines, and the way Clark’s eyes crinkled just a bit more on the left side where his smile always rose a little higher. Bruce’s brain was static as he just kept staring, and staring, and staring. Consequently, he had a perfect view of the moment Clark bit his lip, ridiculously perfect teeth digging into the plush pink skin, reddening it. Bruce’s head shot up, his eyes meeting Clark’s, suddenly aware of the pounding of his heart. They were too close.
He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have driven here. He should leave. He should go, right now. The problem was solved; Clark could easily handle the rest on his own. There was nothing else they needed to say to each other. He stayed. Clark was staring right back at him. Shy. Hopeful. It made something split in Bruce’s chest.
“I missed you,” Clark murmured in the small space left between them.
The last shred of Bruce’s resolve crumbled. He surged into Clark, pressing their lips together gracelessly, and Clark opened his mouth to return the kiss immediately. He was as warm and soft as always, but this time there was a thrumming coursing between them. Bruce couldn’t tell if it was his heart or Clark’s beating with such desperate abandon. He had a feeling it may be both.
Clark suddenly stood in one fluid motion, wrapping his arms around Bruce, pulling him up and into his chest. Bruce gasped, choking on the feeling of being handled so easily, yet so gently. Being in Clark’s arms always made him feel small, protected, precious. As if he could ever be any of those things. He felt tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes but ignored them, focusing instead on coaxing Clark’s tongue deeper into his mouth, pulling like he could make them into one being, one self, if he just kissed the other man hard enough.
They should probably be talking. Except, Bruce didn’t even know where to begin thinking about anything other than finally holding Clark against him again. He felt a shift then, as Clark moved backwards. For a brief moment he feared Clark had come to his senses and was stepping away, and then he felt himself being led along. Towards the hall. His arms moved up from Clark’s chest to wrap around his neck as they moved clumsily. They bumped into the wall once, twice, Clark refusing to open his eyes or move his hands from Bruce’s body.
They should talk. Expectations. Boundaries. Or, better yet, Bruce should stop acting like a man possessed and go home. Clark would let him. If they were getting back together, this wasn’t the right way to go about it. He needed to focus. To stop.
One of Clark’s hands suddenly moved away from his back, and Bruce whimpered at the loss. He looked down, and realized it was because Clark had stopped moving them, and instead, his hand now rested on a doorknob. When Bruce looked back up, Clark was staring at him. Panting, absolutely red across the face, and looking at Bruce like he was holding the world in his hands. He’s giving me an out, he realized. A chance to make it easier for him. For both of them. Bruce just had to be strong enough to take it. He would only need one word.
He squeezed his eyes shut and brought his forehead up to tap against Clark’s. “...Please.”
The second the whisper left his lips, Clark reached down with one arm, and scooped Bruce up by the backs of his thighs. Bruce grasped at his back, digging his nails into the invulnerable skin with a broken moan. Clark pushed open the bedroom door.
~
Sunlight filtered slowly through the windows, caressing the planes of Bruce’s face. Instead of the usual apprehension he felt at the sensation, Bruce just felt… peaceful. He hadn’t slept that soundly since, well. He looked down to see Clark was plastered on his chest, breathing steadily, and chuckled. His weighted blanket, radiant in the sunlight as always. Bruce felt giddy. Light. He couldn’t believe it. He was waking up next to Clark in his city. In his bed. He’d have to collect the pieces of the suit strewn across Clark’s room at some point, but right now it was just them. Together. He ran his fingers through Clark’s inky black curls. After a few minutes, Clark stirred awake, blinking in confusion.
Then he saw Bruce. And his face spread into that beautiful smile. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Bruce said softly into the morning air.
“You’re still here,” he observed, sounding relieved.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Bruce asked with a small smile. “This was what I wanted.”
“Yeah?” Clark brightened further, if such a thing were possible.
“Yeah,” he reassured him, “Your place, your bed. Your life.” Bruce tucked one of Clark’s curls behind his ear.
“Oh,” Clark said, sitting up, his face falling.
Bruce instantly wanted the smile back. It’d been so long without it. Pushing down the sense of foreboding building in him, Bruce smiled weakly and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“This wasn’t…,” Clark’s brow furrowed. “Bruce, I haven’t changed my mind.”
It felt like the air had gone out of the room. “What?” Bruce managed to rasp.
“I mean, I can make more space for you, I can make more time for you, but I still think it’s risky for us to be too visible. I’m sorry, I can’t give you that.”
Clark’s words sounded far off as Bruce listened to him repeat the same rhetoric as always. “I don’t understand… Why did you- why did we-,” Bruce looked down at his still bare chest and moved away from Clark on the bed. “Why did you call me then?” he asked, voice cracking.
Clark looked pained. “I- I needed your help with the–
“Don’t- don’t bullshit me Clark,” Bruce snapped shakily as a tide of anger started to build within him. “Yeah, I helped, but we both know you’re plenty smart enough to have figured that out on your own. But you called me anyway.” The fight bled out of him as quickly as it had come. He cringed as the next words out of his mouth had only the tone of hurt behind them. “You called me, here.”
Startled, Clark looked around the room and Bruce watched as he realized how it looked from the outside. Jesus, it was like he didn’t even think about what this would’ve meant to Bruce. It… it hadn’t even crossed his mind. “I think I’m going to be sick,” Bruce said distantly, gripping the covers tightly.
“B, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-,” Clark said pleading, turning back to meet Bruce’s eyes. “I just wanted to see you.”
“How could you?” Bruce asked. (Or demanded, more like, all while some part of him foolishly hoped there was an answer he could give that would actually make it better. Stupid.)
“I just wanted to see you,” Clark said again, softer.
Bruce said nothing.
“I mean, I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he said, begging Bruce to understand. “I missed you.”
“You didn’t know this was going to happen?” Bruce scoffed, bitter. “You still led me to your bedroom pretty quickly though, didn’t you?”
Clark whipped his head up, gaze disbelieving. “Bruce… you kissed me.”
His stomach flared with embarrassment at the memory of his behavior in Clark’s kitchen–his mistake. “Only because I thought you– I thought we…” Bruce fumbled for words, before giving up and shaking his head. “I can’t believe you.”
Clark’s response was a shocked and high choke of a laugh, devoid of humor. “You can’t believe me? Seriously?”
“Yeah. Seriously.”
“Bruce,” Clark said, roughly. “You begged for me last night.” He let out another “not-laugh,” his voice brittle. “I mean, you cannot actually be saying this is all on me.”
And– he was right. Bruce had been telling himself this was a terrible idea ever since he hung up the call. But here he was anyway. Stupidly, predictably, hurt, and disappointed, with no one to blame but himself. He got out of the bed and started gathering his things.
“What are you-?”
“You’re right,” Bruce said, keeping his voice steady. “This isn’t all on you. I’ve been so fucking stupid.” He sighed that last sentiment under his breath, not that it mattered.
Clark started to stand. “B, don’t—”
“Do not,” he said, voice breaking. “Please don’t call me that.”
“Bruce, I—” Clark was crossing the room toward him, but Bruce stepped back.
“Please,” he begged, standing in the middle of his room with the pieces of his undersuit in his arms. “Just let me go, Clark.”
“But I’ll see you right?” Clark asked high and flighty. “This isn’t— it won’t be—”
“Goodbye, Clark,” he said with a sigh as he turned and left the room, closing the bedroom door gently behind him. He slumped forward and let his head fall with a thump against the opposite wall.
God, this had been such a bad idea.