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“Bruce. I have to tell you something.”
Bruce takes off his cowl, not bothering to turn around to face Clark. “You have feelings for me.”
“What?”
“It’s obvious. You think I wouldn’t have figured it out?”
Clark hasn’t responded. Bruce doesn’t need to look to know the other man’s having a minor crisis. It’s cute, but he’s not sharing that. He doesn’t need to watch it either, the Batcave has state of the art surveillance. He’ll review it at a later date.
“If we’re going to have sex, we’ll need to make some ground rules.”
“Wait, wait–,” Clark isn’t content with their one sided conversation anymore, moving into Bruce’s peripheral vision. He’s one of the few people who can get away with that. “Sex? I’m thinking, like, a date first. Take things slow. Ground rules?”
Bruce ignores Clark’s babbling. “Ground rules. For sex.”
He types something into the Batcomputer, then goes through his third highest security clearance: bat-fingerprint, bat-eyescan, and bat-voice lock. Once finished, a small box emerges from the floor.
Clark stares at the box with concern. He can’t see inside, Bruce designed it lead lined. Most of the Batcave is lined with lead these days, it really shouldn’t be a surprise to Clark anymore. Bruce slinks over, opens it up and shows Clark what’s inside. There are three rubber rings, all with a slight green tinge. Clark’s face goes bright red.
“Why do you have condoms in the Batcave?”
“Because they’re specially designed bat-condoms.”
“That’s, what–”
“I embedded them with trace amounts of kryptonite. It’ll sting, but it should be mostly harmless.”
“Bruce-”
“If anything, it should only heighten the pleasure.”
“I don’t—“
He activates a secret compartment, pulls out a clear bottle filled with a substance that has a similar green tint. “Kryptonite lube.”
“No.”
“It’s non-fatal.”
“You made kryptonite lube?”
“Lube is important for sex, Clark.”
“I know that!”
“Your expression and general discomfort around the topic of sex suggests otherwise.”
“Because you— the— kryptonite!”
Bruce stares him down. “Kryptonite.”
Clark, a little frantic, tries, “But, you could’ve just, why not a red sun room?”
“A red sun room.”
“That’s, uh. That’s the safest way for me, usually.”
Bruce scoffs. “And what if the mood strikes with no red sun room around? High risk. Even if it’s used, lights could break. Intentional sabotage could occur. It’s too much of a liability.”
“Intentional sabotage?”
“Any one of my enemies would be thrilled at the chance to orchestrate my death in such a way. There's a very high risk.”
“I feel like I should be offended.”
“That you can’t outsmart Gotham’s criminal underbelly?”
“That I would kill you if we had sex.”
Bruce scoffs. “It’s a reasonable consideration. I can’t control how good I am. And if you kill me because of that, Gotham will fall into chaos.”
“I’m choosing to ignore that. What if the condoms break?”
“They won’t. They’re bat-condoms. Unbreakable.”
“You have more bat-condoms.”
“Protection. It’s necessary. I carry a few in my utility belt at all times.”
“Have you ever used a bat-condom?”
“When I need protection.”
“That’s not what I’m–” Clark takes a deep breath. Or, shallow, comparatively. For his superhuman lung capacity. Shallow breath. “Bruce, have you had sex while patrolling!?”
“Are we discussing our prior partners already?”
“Are you being deliberately obstinate?”
“I don’t see what the issue is, Clark. I have designed practical tools to ensure we’re able to have safe sex.”
“The issue is that they’re kryptonite bat-condoms.”
“Am I supposed to get Lex Luther to put his brand on them instead?”
“Absolutely not! For many reasons! Now you’re just being a jerk.”
“Well, you don’t seem to be taking my concerns seriously. I’m trying to have an adult conversation here, Clark.”
“I’m trying to process the fact you put the one substance that can actually hurt me into a condom.”
Bruce shuts the box. “I thought we’d been over this.”
“We made an agreement that you’d hold onto a reserve amount of kryptonite in case of emergency. I never intended for… this.”
“It’s a necessary tool in that arsenal.”
Clark only glares at him.
“What if you got hit with a new version of Poison Ivy’s pollen? A mysterious substance of alien origin? Or were affected by magic? I need to have safeguards in place for all plausible risks, and this is one of them.”
“Gee, Bruce. I’m swooning.” Clark says dryly.
Bruce sighs. “That’s not my strong suit. It’s never going to be.”
Clark’s eyes dig into him. It’s something that used to unnerve him, knowing Clark was watching, could see through him on a molecular level. On an emotional level. Not even his lead-lined suits could ease his mind, for the brief while he tried wearing them.
“You had already deduced my feelings. Didn’t even humor me with a chance to articulate them.”
“I’m the world's greatest detective. And I’m very busy.”
“Yes,” Clark says, the smile clear in his voice. “But if you have time to make kryptonite condoms, I think you can find time for this.”
Bruce finally turns to face Clark. He already regrets taking off his cowl, the built-in eye protection would’ve helped with the way the alien in his cave is positively glowing.
“I made them after I deduced your feelings. I already had the schematics.”
“How did you already have the schematics?”
Bruce doesn’t respond, he’s removing his cape and chest piece.
“Bruce?”
“I had been hit by Ivy’s pollen. You rescued me, it was the third time you’d decided to barge into my city. I was sure it was going to spread to you. I was disappointed when it didn’t.”
“Bruce…” Clark’s got that morose look on his face, the one he gets when he sees a child who’s lost their balloon, or when there’s no more homemade treats in the watchtower’s kitchen.
“I wanted you. You dropped me off here, and when I came back to my senses I had everything designed.”
“You could’ve asked.”
“At the time, I was under the impression your relationship with Lane was monogamous.”
Clark flushes a bit at that. “I wanted to talk about that, too, but–”
“I’ve been attracted to you since we first met.” Bruce has finished stripping off the top half of his suit, leaving his bare chest exposed to the well-regulated air of the Batcave. He holds back a smirk at the way Clark is fighting not to stare.
“You have?”
“If Superman had been easy, you would’ve had Bruce Wayne in your bed before I’d even told you my secret identity.”
“You don’t tell anyone your secret identity.”
“It’s always more awkward for them to learn they’ve had sex with me.”
“...How many people did you hook up with before they knew you were Batman?”
“Depends. Does Lane know?”
“Uh–”
“Five, then.”
Clark looks mortified. It’s endearing, so Bruce lets him wallow in it.
“She figured it out, I hadn’t intended to tell her–”
“I’ve suspected as much.” Bruce begins removing his utility belt.
There’s a strained pause as Clark shifts back and forth, trying to figure out what to say. Bruce knows he’ll lean into levity, he’s not going to drag a conversation out if it’s not necessary. The thing about being friends with Bruce, more specifically, staying friends with Bruce, is knowing when to drop a topic.
“For what it’s worth, I did have a crush on Bruce Wayne for a while, before I knew. You’re not so bad yourself,” Clark says.
“That's an understatement. I was voted Gotham's most eligible bachelor the last twenty years running.”
“You own the magazine.”
“I don’t have a monopoly on good taste, Clark.”
“Just the people who control it.”
“Don’t go reporter mode on me, I’ll get more turned on.” He’s still talking in monotone, but Bruce has switched to his trademark flirtatious banter. He knows it’ll throw Clark for a loop, and he plans to keep him off balance as long as he can. It’s not an easy task to get under an invulnerable boy scout’s skin, and Bruce has worked hard to master his own ability to do it.
Bruce detaches his codpiece, and he begins making headway on the remaining armor. It’s off quickly, all that’s remaining are his briefs. He drags them off casually, Bruce isn’t usually one to go around nude in the Batcave, but it’s not unheard of for the billionaire playboy persona of his to strut around in his mansion.
Said mansion is only an elevator ride away, and there’s a bat-bunk nearby, if that proves too far. Though, between his brains and Clark’s super-speed, he’s sure they’ll have options available to them.
“So. Do you still want to talk, or do you want to find a better way to use that mouth of yours?”
Clark’s sufficiently rattled. He’s bright red, and he’s looking above Bruce’s face, eyes fixed onto the cave’s ceiling. Clark hasn’t said anything, either, and it’s certainly an impressive feat to get him speechless. It’s nothing Clark hasn’t seen before, with the exception of Bruce’s kryptonite bat-condom. He selects one from the box, holding it up.
“Clark?”
“I do want to talk.” Clark says it carefully, treading lightly on a surface that’s seconds from crumbling at his feet. “But I didn’t expect you to be the most emotionally vulnerable partner.”
Bruce scoffs. Clark knew what he was getting into.
And apparently, so does he. Clark locks eyes with Bruce. His expression is matter-of-fact, determined. It’s a good look on him, one that always comes along with an idea that Bruce could typically get behind.
“I guess I’ll just have to fuck it out of you.”
Well. So much for keeping him off-balance. Bruce expected this would happen at some point, now he’ll focus on enjoying the ride.