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— Clark?... Honey? — It almost seemed like a joke for Bruce to be searching a tiny apartment for a man over six feet tall. — Clark, are you in here? — he said, stepping into the somewhat messy bedroom. The bed was a tangle of sheets, a tie hung from the wardrobe, and a box—one that had never been there before—sat slightly open.
He heard him humming in the shower and figured he’d gotten a bit too immersed in his own concert. Smiling at the thought, Bruce touched the edge of the box, his eyes catching part of a note sticking out from the folds of wrapping paper: "My sweet Clark." His brows furrowed instantly, his hands acting fast to see past the gap.
With a racing heart, Bruce pulled the paper back, reading the rest of the short text and coming across a "With love, Ma." A sigh escaped his lips.
— You idiot — he chastised himself mentally, but his hands didn't stop there, feeling the texture of leather under his fingertips.
Lifting the piece, he felt the firmness of the material, worn down by time and daily use, along with the Kansas dust he wasn't accustomed to. He could feel something embossed on the inside of the hat, which he discovered were the initials C.K.
A half-smile took over Bruce’s face as he pictured a younger Clark wearing it to hide from the harsh Kansas sun. An interesting curiosity seized his thoughts. Before he even finished his train of thought, he found himself stepping in front of the bedroom mirror, adjusting the hat on his head, tilting the brim slightly, and evaluating his reflection. He didn't look too bad. Obviously, it wasn't something you'd easily catch Bruce Wayne wearing, but honestly? There was nothing that could make him look bad. Even the jeans he had worn today matched the new accessory in a way.
— Honey? Sorry, I ended up taking long...— Clark froze mid-sentence, swallowing the words that forgot to come out.
He stood frozen under the doorframe, a towel draped over his neck, wet hair dripping water down his torso. His gaze slowly traveled down, taking in the full view from Bruce’s dark jeans all the way to the top of his head, where his leather hat sat perfectly adjusted.
For a moment, the silence in the room was absolute. Clark seemed to have forgotten how to use his legs, blinking slowly as he tried to process the sight of the Gotham billionaire, who had grown up wearing the finest, softest silks, wearing the most country accessory from his childhood. Breathless, he took two unsteady steps backward and collapsed onto the edge of the bed, never taking his eyes off Bruce for a single second.
Bruce didn't drop the pose. He turned slowly, resting one hand on his hip and using the tip of his index finger to lightly tilt up the brim of the hat, keeping a provocative, flawless smirk on his face. — Suits me, don't you think? — Bruce let out, his voice calm and laced with teasing.
Clark remained static on the edge of the mattress, as if recording every single second in his mind. He swallowed hard, shaking his head vigorously, his voice coming out completely unfiltered and with a heavier Kansas drawl than ever:
— Y-Yes, ma'am...—
Bruce took a few steps until he was standing right in front of the large man, who was breathing heavily. — Tell me, when did you use to wear this? —
Clark opened and closed his mouth without making a single sound. It was comical to see the man with the fastest hearing and sharpest mind on the planet staring at his boyfriend with his brain completely fried, unable to form a coherent sentence in front of that sight.
— Hm? — Bruce murmured in a tone so low it would be imperceptible to anyone else, but it echoed in Clark’s sharp hearing with the clarity of a secret whispered right into his ear.
— W-When I rode horses or bulls... Rodeos, you know?—
— Interesting, then...— Bruce said, taking his time with every word. He knew perfectly well the effect he had on his boyfriend.
Bending his knees, he settled directly onto his lap, resting one hand on his shoulder to keep his balance while holding the other's surprised gaze — I should take it for a ride too.—
From the moment Bruce settled onto his lap, Clark let out a short laugh, gesturing with his hands in the air before finally resting them on Bruce's waist to keep him secure.
— You wouldn't last two minutes on a real bull, Darling — Clark teased, trying to regain a bit of control, though his goofy smile betrayed how completely disarmed he was. His voice still carried that subtle country tone that surfaced whenever he was caught off guard.
Bruce merely raised an eyebrow, touching the brim of the hat once more.
— You think so? I usually adapt quite well to any kind of mount.—
Clark shook his head, laughing at his boyfriend's boundless cheekiness, and rested his forehead against Bruce's chest for a second to compose himself. The contrast between the imposing figure of the Man of Steel and his simulated vulnerability against Bruce's teasing kept the moment light.
— My mother would be horrified if she knew the use you're giving her present— Clark joked, looking up and meeting Bruce's blue eyes.
— On the contrary. I'm sure Ma would approve of seeing the hat put to such good use — Bruce replied, finally letting a genuine smile show before sealing the moment with a kiss.