Archive of Our Own

A snowy night in Gotham, Bruce squats on a rooftop during patrol. The air swirls at a whipping pace, snowflakes melting on his exposed chin under the cowl upon their meeting. Patrol has been easy tonight. Quiet. He supposes even criminals get too cold to steal, murder, or wreak havoc on the dimly lit town. Christmas is still a month away but that doesn’t stop the stores from decorating early. Gift bags and elaborate toys shining under the spotlights behind frosted glass, working the consumer into just enough impulsivity to give in.

Bruce wouldn’t have heard Superman touch down on the roof a ways behind him had it not been for the crunch of snow under gentle feet. He can hear the ch ch ch with every step. His long time friend and partner (for work- though some nights, cold ones like these, he wishes it could be more) plops down on the edge of the building beside him. The gargoyles adorning the edges their only witnesses.

Clark sighs heavily, throwing a look to Bruce as he waits to be acknowledged. The bat doesn’t budge, he’s never been known to give in so easily.

So he sighs again, a little more gusto. Bruce can spot the playful smile on his face in his periphery despite how forlorn the meta human tries to play it off as. Their exhales puff into little clouds from the low temperature.

Clark’s about half way through another one before Batman finally looks over with narrowed eyes. He stops dead, mouth half open before closing so the smile remains.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me what’s wrong?” That undeniable midwest drawl exaggerated. Half for effect and half for the whimsy.

“Do I even want to know?” Bruce responds gruff and devoid of emotion, clearly done with whatever game Clark is surely playing right now.

“Well… the holidays are coming up. Thanksgiving at least… I’m feeling a little homesick.” Clark swings his legs as they hang off the ledge, juvenile and endearing all at once. Bruce’s heart twinges in his chest.

“So?” Bruce raises a brow. He’s not sure he likes where this is going. “What’s that mean?”

“It meansssss I’m going to be taking a little vacation. Heading back home to visit my parents for a few days.”

“Shirking your responsibilities already, are you?” Bruce can’t deny the teasing lilt in his voice.

“Wha- NO. I could hear anything from there anyway if someone really needed me… but I’ve got needs too. Besides, it’ll be good to be back home. Take care of some chores in the barn for my Pa, help my Ma with the dishes and cooking… maybe hit some of my old stomping grounds,” Clark looks over at the man beside him. He hopes his hints are obvious enough.

“Well. If that’s what you think you need.” Bruce only looks back out towards his polluted and clouded city.

Clark groans, unable to decipher if Bruce is being stubborn or outright doesn’t understand what he’s trying to nonchalantly offer. He decides to rip the band-aid off. Being subtle was never really his thing anyway. “I want you to come with me.”

Batman balks at the thought. He’s joking. He has to be… right?

“Why?” For some reason, it’s the only question Bruce can force from his brain and out his throat. It comes off a little more aggressive than he meant it to but Clark doesn’t shy away from it.

“Because! And it’ll be good for them to meet you! You’re all I practically talk about when I give them a call.” Clark blushes and he hopes Bruce will blame it on the weather even though the cold doesn’t affect him in the slightest. He didn’t mean to say that, not really… Well sort of, but he doesn’t want to come on too strong lest he scare away his crush before it’s ever amounted to anything.

Bruce’s brows furrow, confused and equally intrigued. He has two ways to play this. Coy or mean. Either way, he knows it’ll (unfortunately?) come out flirty when he says, “What do you tell them about me?” His shoulder’s close enough to Clark’s that he can feel the heat radiating off of him. When did they drift so close?

“I- Umm.. you know… the usual. Missions and such…” Clark tugs at his collar before remembering he’s not trying to be painfully obvious.

“Right…” Bruce says unbelievingly, he knows Clark wouldn’t risk such confidential information. He makes a show of thinking it over. “I guess it would be nice to meet them. Everything in their file is just what I could find through my usual investigative means.”

Clark’s eyes practically shine as bright as the sun, “Really?” An octave higher, disbelief and excitement written all over him. The implications of Bruce’s response flies completely over his head it seems.

“Sure, we’ll be alerted if shit hits the fan. I’m in need of a bit of a vacation myself. The amount of interviews Alfred has made Brucie Wayne partake in is taking a toll on my usual attitude.” Batman huffs and he can feel his teeth grinding.

“Great! I’ll let them know! Oh gee, they’re gonna be so excited. I can’t wait to tell them.”

Bruce stills in his seat before something (terror) takes over his features. “How are we getting there exactly?” His voice is rough, unsure.

“I’ll fly us-“

“No.”

“What?” Clark deflates. “Why not?” Then, he pouts.

“Because! It makes my ears hurt and my hair messed up and I’m always the one with the short stick because I end up with bugs on my face and you don’t!”

“Aww, c’mon you big baby. Don’t tell me Batman is afraid of a bad hair day and some bugs.” Clark teases even though he knows he’s got a 50/50 chance of getting slugged for it. Not that it would hurt, but it means the same thing in Bat language as it does any other.

“Batman? Never. Bruce? Absolutely.” He narrows his eyes at the reporter. “Can’t we just take the Batwing?”

“You’re no fun,” Clark huffs and rolls his eyes playfully. “Whatever you’re comfortable with Princess.”

He deserved the punch in the arm for that one.

…

“We could have save so much more time if I just flew us myself,” Clark grumbles in his seat behind Bruce. The leather squeaks under him as he shifts his weight. It’s obviously more about losing the chance to hold Bruce that much closer to him, above the skyline where nothing but the satellites can see.

“Hush up or I’ll eject you out of here myself,” the billionaire shoots back.

“Where the hell are you even gonna hide this thing? Not many shadows in Kansas.” Clark shoots back with all the grumpiness he can muster- which isn’t much.

But when Bruce simply parks the damned thing in a clearing encircled by huge trees, Clark eats his words. “No need to hide it. I’ll just send it home on autopilot and call it back when we’re ready to leave.” He says it like it’s easy. Like this is a totally normal thing- though normal went straight out the window since it’s a vigilante and an alien occupying said ship. The back opens up, hydraulics making the protruding steps soundless.

Bruce watches Clark closely as he grabs their duffles and descends the stairs onto the leaf littered ground he knows by heart. All muscle and confidence beneath red flannel and jeans. And damn does his ass look good in them. His brown belt matches his decorated and scuffed cowboy boots. Bruce looks down at his own clothes, black button up tucked into dress pants. Yeah. He’s definitely overdressed. All it takes is a click of a button for the ship to take flight once more and return to Gotham. The air that shoots off from its take-off is harsh but the crisp autumn breeze grounds him.

Clark carries their bags as they walk up to the quaint farmhouse. It’s cozy, looks well-loved. Bruce likes to think it’s got that midwestern charm about it. Nothing compares to his roomy, gothic manor- but this may prove to be a close second.

Two gentle raps on the door and it swings open, “Clark!” Martha Kent is already wrapping her arms around her gargantuan son.

“Hi Ma,” Clark does his best to return her gesture without bumping her with the bags- or his head on the doorframe.

“There he is!” Jonathan Kent stands tall, not as tall as Clark, when he ruffles his son’s curly hair.

“Hi Pa,” despite the embarrassed look on his face, Bruce can see Clark lean into the small show of affection. Mr. Kent reaches around to give his son a strong one armed hug. His heart slightly twists in his chest, perhaps envy, but the smile that graces Clark’s visage is enough to disengage it.

A man (or alien) as good as Superman deserves two loving parents (and not the two freaks who told him to start a harem and dominate the world).

“And who’s this?” Martha’s accent is thicker than Clark’s. Bruce smiles at the sound. He knows that she knows who he is, but everyone loves the theatrics of an introduction.

“Ma, Pa, this is Bruce Wayne- better known to you as Batman- Bruce these are my parents-“

“Martha and Jonathan Kent, it’s a pleasure.” Bruce sticks a hand out for them to shake and goes stiff in Martha’s snug embrace. 

The bruising hug is reminiscent of Clark’s and he smiles knowing where his long-time crush gets it from. “Bruce! It’s so nice to finally meet you! Clark can’t ever shut up about his fine billionaire friend-“

“Maaa,” Clark interrupts embarrassed.

“Oh hush now, let your mother drink this in. We don’t get to see you much anymore.” His father steps in and Clark looks properly chastised and guilty.

“It’s fine, Clark” Bruce adds. He actually doesn’t mind. When she releases him and he can breathe again, he takes his bag from Clark.

“Say, are you boys hungry? How was the flight?” The couple is already welcoming the two league members in and something delicious in the air wafts from the kitchen.

“It was good but it would have been faster if someone would have just let me- ow!” Clark looks at Bruce, betrayal in his eyes after the smack to his chest. It didn’t actually hurt, but it did disrupt his train of thought.

Jonathan laughs, “It’s alright Buddy. I didn’t like it all that much either.” He gives Bruce a firm pat on the shoulder.

“Well, I’ve got a roast in the crock pot and some mashed potatoes on the stove if you’re hungry. It’ll just be a minute till the gravy’s done- Oh! My gravy!” Martha rushes back into the kitchen leaving the men to stand only slightly awkwardly in the entryway.

“You know your mother,” Jonathan smiles at Clark. “Why don’t you boys go get settled upstairs. I’ll get the table set up.”

“Alright Pa,” Clark nods towards the staircase. “Follow me.”

Bruce gives Clark’s father a polite nod before ascending the steps towards the bedrooms. Clark’s is at the end of the hall to the right.

He’s only half surprised by the state of Clark’s childhood bedroom. Posters covering almost every inch of the wall and ceiling. A basketball hoop hanging on the closet door. A small desk with a shelf above it that’s overflowing with books. A lamp in the corner beside a notebook in the center. Wow, it looks untouched by time. There are CD’s from bands that Bruce has never heard of stacked beneath the bedside table beside a plug in radio.

And then his eyes are drawn to the bed Clark’s laid his back atop.

The small bed.

Very small.

“How the hell are we gonna fit on that? How did you fit on that?” Bruce points at it with an accusatory finger and Clark shakes his head when he takes Bruce’s bag from his other hand.

“We’ll worry about it later. I’m sure we’ve still got that spare mattress wrapped up in the barn.”

“Why do you keep it in the barn?” Bruce raises a brow.

“My Pa used to let me have sleepovers in there with my high school buddies. It was a real treat for me back then. I didn’t have many friends.”

“Shocker there,” Bruce teases. Clark’s reaction isn’t what he wanted though and he realizes maybe he hit a soft spot. Damn his social ineptness.

“I mean… I wasn’t exactly the most bearable. Too eager, too talkative. Most people don’t take to a bumbling geek.” Clark takes off his hypno-glasses and sets them on the desk.

“It’s okay,” Bruce brushes his arm, half in apology half because he wants to. “Most people don’t take to a spoiled hermit either.”

They share a soft smile and before the room can feel anymore suffocating, Clark makes his way back to the door. “Let’s go eat, yeah?”

…

“Gee, Ma. I’m stuffed.” Clark rubs his stomach like a pregnant woman.

His mother barks a laugh, “At least I don’t have to worry about your appetite.”

“Ah, he’s a growing boy!” Jonathan sips his water.

Bruce finishes the last couple bites of his food and leaves the cutlery on the plate. Martha and Alfred would get along, he thinks. “That was delicious Mrs. Kent.”

“Please, call me Martha.” She’s sensed the tension between the two boys but she won’t press for the sleepy looking one to call her Ma just yet.

“What are you two gonna get up to tonight?” Jonathan sets his glass on the table and wipes his hands on a napkin.

“I was thinking of going down to Smokey’s. Give Bruce a little tour,” Clark says with a bright smile.

“Oh! Well that’ll be a treat. Tell Joshua I say hi.” Martha returns from the kitchen with a warm apple pie and sets it in the center of the table alongside some smaller dessert plates.

Joshua? Bruce suppresses the feelings swirling in his gut. How does he not know of this JoSHuA? After all his research, he bites back a frown. His inner turmoil only exacerbated by the flush dusting Clark’s cheeks.

“Will do Ma.”

And now he’s seething.

“You’re not gonna let him go there dressed like that are you?” Jonathan points at Bruce and Martha swats him with a napkin.

“It’s impolite to point,” She huffs as she serves him a slice of pie.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Bruce looks down at his clothes before remembering. Nevermind.

“You’ll probably prefer something more comfortable… that you won’t feel guilty getting dirty. I’m sure Clark’s got some old clothes in that closet of his. Why don’t you two head up after dessert and take a look?” The older man offers and Bruce’s skin bristles with the idea of wearing Clark’s old clothes. Forget the jealousy, this is so worth it.

“Yeah that’s a great idea, honey.” She cuts a few more pieces for everyone else and takes a seat to eat.

“Fine by me,” Clark lets the idea roll down his back. He might (will) like the sight of that. “Let’s just hope we can get you something that fits.”

“Yeah I wouldn’t want to wear something three sizes too big like you do to work.” Bruce’s voice lacks his usual sharpness and Clark thinks he could get used to it.

…

After Clark and Bruce help Martha clean up, much to her dismay, they head back to Clark’s room to assess the clothing available.

“Oh no way! It’s still here,” Clark’s half in his closet before he emerges with a brown cowboy hat on his head.

“You’re serious?” Bruce deadpans.

“It’s not for you,” Clark rolls his eyes and continues rifling through drawers and shelves. “Here,” he throws out a blue flannel and some black jeans haphazardly in Bruce’s general direction. A little something to keep the billionaire on his toes. He can hear Bruce catch each article of clothing. “Try those on.” He stays in the closet looking for other things that might fit Bruce. “I doubt you brought anything suitable for our time here.”

Bruce hates that he’s right. He definitely has everything he needs to stay warm but it just doesn’t… fit in here. He unbuttons his button up, black t-shirt exposed as he tosses the fabric onto the bed. He undoes his slacks, setting his belt aside. He can see Clark trying not to turn around despite having found the rest of the clothes that just might fit Bruce.

He doesn’t understand why. They’ve changed in front of each other before… maybe something’s just different about doing it in his childhood bedroom. He slips into the black jeans, even as he pulls them over his thighs he can feel it’ll hug his ass. He tucks the undershirt in before zipping it shut and adding his belt. He slides on the blue flannel, thick and smelling faintly of laundry detergent. To his surprise, these clothes fit him like a glove. It’s a shock to think that Clark could have fit these at any point in his life.

“How’s this?” Bruce asks when he’s done.

Clark’s mouth gapes, clamps shut after the realization he just checked Bruce out. Holy… “L-Looks great! You’re just about ready. We just have to find you some boots. That’ll be a little difficult. Most of this stuff was from so long ago. I think I got that flannel when I was 13.”

“13?!” Bruce wants to rip it off. He can’t believe this, he wants to be embarrassed but- something about wearing Clark’s clothes feels right even if they’re from his adolescent years. Ugh, envy twists in his gut for an entirely different reason now.

“I-I was a bit above average! It’s not my fault! My- I-… I just have a hard time letting things go so I just shoved all the things that didn’t fit somewhere out of the way… Anyway here,” Clark hands him some black boots. They’re pointed at the tip and have some silver swirls that come up to the shin.

Bruce takes them with a skeptical look, “Are you sure these’ll fit?”

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” Clark shrugs.

It feels a little snug near the sides of his feet, but Bruce can manage. He clicks the heels against the wooden floors. “Cute.”

…

The ride to Smokey’s doesn’t take long. Jonathan offered to let Clark take the truck since he can’t get drunk and knows he’ll be responsible with it. But mostly because he can’t get drunk.

When they hop out and shut the doors after Clark’s parked out front of the old wooden bar, Bruce represses a shudder. It’s colder now even though it’s only 9pm. He crosses his arms over his chest and walks towards the entrance beside Clark. He wishes he had asked for something warmer.

“You really used to come here?” He looks at the Kryptonian skeptically. “This doesn’t really seem… super of you.”

Clark smiles, his shoulders relaxed and demeanor completely different from what Bruce is used to. “You didn’t know me in college, Bruce.”

The first thing Bruce notices once they pass the threshold is how much warmer it is inside. Strike the jacket he’d wanted moments earlier. The chatter so loud it’s muffled and the amber glow of the hanging lights in combination with the classic rock playing idly in the background creates an ambiance that strikingly contrasts with that of Gotham or Metropolis.

Bruce feels like a fish out of water. A man in a costume.

“Well I’ll be damned,” a man from behind the bar drawls. “Look what the cat dragged in.” He’s wearing all black, blonde hair mussed from a busy shift. He’s all bicep and shiny teeth. His roots are growing back in but it’s charming. Bruce hopes and prays this isn’t Joshua.

Clark’s smile widens and he leads the way towards the counter. “Joshua! How’ve you been?” He leans over the bartop to give his childhood friend a hug.

Goddamnit, of course he is. This is why Bruce doesn’t believe in a God. He grinds his teeth as he witnesses their too friendly interaction.

Joshua gives Clark a squeeze that only makes Bruce’s feet press harder against the floor. “Good, busy. Better now that you’re here. You didn’t tell me you were coming home for the holidays.” And of course he’s a charmer, Bruce wants to roll his eyes and shoot himself in the foot simultaneously. He’s never been one to judge this bitterly but the jealousy  squirming in his gut is a whole new vice.

Clark looks down at the counter, cheeks pink. Bruce hopes it’s from the heat and the guilt and NOT the begrudgingly gorgeous man on the other side of the bar. “Yeah, sorry about that. I got a new phone a while back and lost a bunch of my old contacts.”

Oh yeah, the mission where his phone slipped out of his super suit and into the Pacific ocean beneath him. That would be a hard one to explain.

“No worries, we’ll fix that right up.” Joshua casts a glance at Bruce. “Who’s your friend?” Anyone other than Bruce would have missed the suspicion and possessiveness in his tone. It’s not lost on him that this mere bartender is sizing him up (Again, Bruce would normally never judge- but this is… different).

Deciding to be the bigger man (i.e. play the game much better than this hick) he plasters his best Brucie Wayne smile on his face. “Bruce Wayne,” he holds a hand out for a handshake. When Joshua takes it, Bruce purposely squeezes just a little too hard. He never said he’d play it nice.

Joshua’s brow raises before his eyes narrow just slightly at Bruce when Clark looks away to scan the rest of the bar. “Joshua… you know Clark and I go way back. Isn’t that right, Sparky?” And now Bruce KNOWS he’s purposely pressing buttons.

Clark’s ears bloom a deep red at the childhood nickname. “W-Well yeah I mean..”

“Sparky?” Bruce looks at Clark confused… and a bit like a jilted lover- despite them only being friends. The reminder burns in his chest like a double shot of top shelf whiskey.

“Oh yeah, been called that since high school. We went to a party down at Maria’s and played seven minutes in heaven. This dork tried to turn the light on in the closet but pulled the string so hard the bulb sparked up and burst.” Joshua looked every bit as smug as he meant it to sound.

Bruce was not exactly new to this side of humanity. However, that didn’t quell the ripple of jealousy- of curiosity to just how much this JoShuA knows about his Clark. “Oh? I never took you for the seven in heaven type boyscout,” Bruce teases, that Brucie lilt always did get to him, to which Clark blushes even deeper. Maybe he can rub a nickname in Joshua’s face too.

“Well like he said.. it was a long time ago.. peer pressure and all that.” Clark tries to brush it off but Bruce knows better. It was probably one of those ‘learning American customs’ type things, and probably no more enjoyable than learning how to make coffee without breaking the pot. At least that’s what Bruce hopes for.

“That still work on you sunshine?” Joshua presses and his flirtatious voice grates on Bruce’s ears. If he grinds his teeth any harder he’ll need dentures.

Clark’s eyes widen at the shift in mood between the three of them. He’s finally picking up on the tension between his two… well his old friend and his crush. “Depends what it’s for.”

“Think we can get you back on the bull? Your picture’s still framed on the wall for longest ride,” Joshua nods to a corner with a wink.

A huge mechanical bull in its ring, the distinct scent of the inflatable safety cushion in this bar finally makes sense. There’s already a crowd cheering around it, loud and drunk as people take their chance and are subsequently thrown off. Behind it is a wall full of framed photos, different times beside the names. Sure enough, Clark is at the very top of the pyramid, white t-shirt see-through and clinging to this sculpted body. He looks virtually the same as he did back then. Perhaps a bit fuller, he’s really grown into the man he is today, hasn’t he?

Clark turns to Bruce, “I mean… is that something you’d want to try? I don’t wanna make you have to wait or be alone for too long or-“

“Get on the bull, boyscout.” Bruce huffs and crosses his arms, aiming to sound exasperated but instead it comes out as a command. Bruce tries to ignore the shudder that he catches running through Clark.

…

Bruce hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t this. Clark had been on the jolting and spinning mechanical bull for at least 15 minutes. Every attempt to shake him off only brightened the smile on Clark’s face. Bruce knows this must take a toll on Clark’s restraint- perhaps trying not to break the machinery. That doesn’t take away from how hot he feels under the bar lights and residual heat of fellow patrons watching the show. Because that’s exactly what it is, a show. Clark rides like it’s his damn day job, a pro without any of the accolades outside this bar.

He’s only further stunned when the cheers from the crowd push Clark to take his shirt off.

Bruce has to actively prevent his jaw from dropping. Sure, he’d seen Clark practically naked before- in the decontamination showers and after missions gone left- but this is different. Clark’s pecs shine from his efforts and his curls hang just that bit lower. Bruce blames his moments of weakness (blatant staring) on the implications of this happenstance. Joining Clark for the holidays, going home with him, meeting his parents, going to supposedly his favorite bar- it’s all too much.

The whistling from behind the bar, no doubt from Joshua, doesn’t make Bruce feel any less possessive either. His eyes run over Clark’s body like a scientist’s into their microscope, memorizing every minute detail. Every droplet of sweat down his rippling back muscles, the way his thighs cling to the sides of the bull. How Clark’s boots clap and press against the worn steel.

It also doesn’t help that Clark’s doing it one handed, the other one thrown up in, what can only be described as, true cowboy fashion. Bruce wasn’t sure how much of a ‘farm boy’ Clark actually was but if this was any indication, it definitely ran deep. Like this, he seems more human than not. Blush on his face, beaming smile, shouts and grunts the erratic ride elicits all the same. Bruce can feel his jeans press tight when his eyes catch the v-line and happy trail leading into Clark’s jeans, the dimples in his back just above his ass.

Clark’s cowboy hat is sturdy on his head despite the chaotic rocking of the bull. His eyes roll over the crowd looking for Bruce. When their eyes meet, he registers the tension in Bruce’s stance, the way he shifts on his feet and bites his lip. Clark smirks and in a particularly flashy move, removes his hat and throws it into the crowd. Of course, other people vie for a chance at wearing it but their screaming is silenced by it landing right onto Bruce’s head. Their audience roars, clearly there’s something Bruce is missing.

…

It takes 40 minutes to get Clark off that bull and by then the bar patrons were no less drunk or amazed by Clark’s talent. Some pat Clark on the back after he’s slipped his shirts back on and wades through them to meet Bruce. He’s already taken a new photo to replace his old one from way back when, a whole ten more minutes than the last. They sit side by side at the top of the pyramid of images. Other’s not making it past 19 minutes.

When Clark spots Bruce, he’s sipping an old fashioned and still wearing Clark’s hat. He blushes, even he knows the implications of such a thing.

“Guess there’s always more I can learn about you Supes,” Bruce whispers under his breath against the glass. Something only meant for Clark to hear. The sound curls around Bruce’s smirk and Clark tracks predatory eyes that slide towards him upon approach.

“I think I like that I can still surprise you.” Clark rubs the back of his neck shyly.

“I’m more surprised your glasses weren’t shaken off,” Bruce flicks Clark’s nose lightly and the latter’s heart races at the short bit of contact.

“I’m pretty good about keeping them on… can’t be exposed and all…” Dude get a grip! “Anyways! I didn’t think you were gonna get a drink, you and Joshua seemed a bit…”

“Oh no, it was perfectly fine after you gave me your little trophy,” Bruce’s fingers glide over the rim of Clark’s cowboy hat placed perfectly on his head. “Seemed to shut him right up,” Bruce smiles proudly.

“I- huh?” Clark is a bit confused but he’s not entirely oblivious. He hopes. Surely though there shouldn’t have been a reason for them to not get along. Sure, Joshua was Clark’s first kiss and first… couple of other things with a guy- but that was a long time ago! Besides, nothing could be more enchanting than the bat before him whose fingers are tapping against the high top table impatiently. At least… it shouldn’t have been a problem for Bruce, unless… Clark’s heart sings at what it could mean. What he wants it to mean. He strengthens his resolve. He clears his throat, “How about we head out after you finish your drink? I’m not really looking to explain my previous performance,” Clark can cover his intentions in Kent’s persona. He’s done this how many times? He should be allowed to at least this once considering Bruce used his Brucie Wayne on Joshua.

“Sounds good to me, now that we’ve been here for a while these boots are starting to kill my feet.” Bruce shifting from toe to toe is more apparent now that he’s said it. Like he can only stand to be on either one for a short period of time.

When it is time for them to leave, Clark doesn’t spare Joshua a goodbye, he settles for a nod due to the busyness of the bar but even that is enough to set Bruce off. He pretends to stumble in typical Brucie fashion and Clark catches him by the waist.

“Whoa there, you okay?” Clark asks as he holds Bruce upright, hands tightening on his waist.

“Yeah, it’s just these boot-“ Bruce makes a noise of surprise when Clark picks him up in a bridal carry. It only barely jostles his hat atop Bruce’s head. “Clark-“ He’s about to make a mock sound of disagreement which Clark settles easily.

“Won’t do you any good to keep walking on feet that’re sore.”

“I think you and I both know I’ve fared through far worse.” He fires back but they both know it’s much too comfortable to give up.

“Then think of this as my midwestern hospitality,” Clark teases.

As Bruce rests his chin on Clark’s shoulder he looks back to the bar where Joshua watches greenly. Clark’s hat on Bruce’s head, Bruce in Clark’s arms- Joshua looks like he’s fuming. And Bruce meets it with a wink.

…

When they make it back to the Kent’s farmhouse, it seems Clark’s parents are asleep. The porch light is their only indication of life aside from the animals farther away. Clark holds Bruce in one arm while the other fiddles with the keys he’s fished from his pocket, taking them upstairs quietly-floating so the floorboards don’t creak.

They touch down in Clark’s room and the first thing Bruce does it yank off the boots. He sighs in relief as he sits on the edge of Clark’s tiny bed and starts digging in his bags for a change of clothes and some slippers. He takes them out quietly, all suede on the outside and fur lining the inside. Some expensive brand that the super can’t name. Clark watches him quietly, carefully. Gaze flitting between his hat still worn by Bruce and the precise movements of the bat.

“I’m gonna shower… I’ll show you how it works, the knobs are a bit tricky.” Clark says softly as he pads towards his own bag and pulls out some pajamas. A huge black sweater with the Daily Planet’s logo screen printed on the front, some red and blue flannel pajama pants, boxers that Bruce tries to draw his eyes away from.

“Okay,” Bruce nods Clark steps out of the room.

…

Despite his better judgment, Bruce lets out a sigh of relief. He’s glad to be out of the bar where people were packed like sardines, shoulder to shoulder. Away from their noisiness and scents and drunkeness. He wishes he had ordered another drink just to rub it in Joshua’s face. A quick Google search was all Bruce needed to understand why the crowd went wild at Clark tossing his hat onto his head. ‘Wear the hat, ride the cowboy’ it had said. At last, the final piece slots against all other evidence that Clark feels the same. Bruce wanted to chalk it up to him being playful- but the other part of him, one he thought he’d buried, hopes so much more than he could possibly utter- that Clark reciprocates his feelings.

When the metahuman finally re-enters the room, hair damp and curls unruly, Bruce can’t keep his eyes off him. Running down his frame now that he knows in much greater detail what lies beneath. He swallows and hugs his pajamas to his chest.

He follows Clark back to the bathroom that they can barely fit into side by side- two large, muscular men and all- and Clark explains how it works. Bruce thanks him with a small smile, placing Clark’s hat back into gentle palms.

The water runs hot down Bruce’s back and he tries to devise a plan. Sure, he could just go with the flow, but the natural-born detective simply can’t help himself. The one thing he has going for him is that tiny bed- but even then he doesn’t think he could get what he really wants from Clark when they’re in such close proximity to his parents… Granted, he doesn’t want to deal with the aftermath of it either.

He walks back into Clark’s room, water running down the back of his neck that makes him shiver from the cold seeping in from the outside. Anticipation thrums in his veins. The mattress on the tiny bed is gone and so is Clark. Their bags sit beside each other at the foot of the bed frame. Great, so now he’s plan-less and Clark-less.

Almost as if the alien can hear his thoughts, he’s before Bruce in the blink of an eye- just barely stopping in front of him.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you no super speed in the house?” Bruce teases.

“No flying too but you’ve seen me break that rule already,” Clark jests back. He goes to the open closet and grabs two blankets. Even when they’re folded they’re about the size from Bruce’s waist to his head.

“What’s all this for? And where’s the bed?” Bruce asks quietly, trying not to speak above a certain decibel so they don’t wake Clark’s parents.

Clark blushes at the question. “I- I was setting something up for us that would be more comfortable.” He carries a blanket under each arm. “Follow me. Careful on the third step on the stairs, it creaks real loud.”

Clark leads them out to the barn and his story about sleepovers in there comes to the forefront of Bruce’s mind. Of course. Only Clark could think up something so practical and so… romantic. They climb up the steps in the loft which is much cleaner than the hay filled bottom floor. There’s a couple crates up here and it’s definitely more drafty than the house in the autumn weather but Bruce doesn’t mind. If he gets his way, Clark will be hot enough for the both of them.

There’s two mattresses on a tarp in the center of the loft, sheeted and covered in pillows and blankets. Clark adds what he’s carrying to the pile, flapping them out over the mattresses. There’s a small LED lantern giving the space a warm glow, a couple flashlights and a bowl of popcorn beside Clark’s laptop. How he gets wifi out here from the house, Bruce has no idea, but he doesn’t question the sweetness of the gesture.

Upon closer inspection, there are other snacks here too. Some of Bruce’s favorite dark chocolates and two cans of cream soda. Suddenly, he’s never been happier with the alien’s abilities. He feels just about ready to swoon but the stiffness in his posture makes Clark pause.

Bruce swallows as Clark’s eyes drag over him, curious and worried. “Is this.. too much?” Clark’s hands wring and his blush isn’t as hidden in the darkness as much as he’d like.

“No, no,” Bruce shakes his head. “It’s actually really…” romantic, sweet, “Thoughtful.” He pads over to the spread, sliding out of his warm slippers and under the covers. Clark sits beside him.

“I just thought, you know… we’re gonna be here for a few days so we should make it comfortable for the both of us. I know we wouldn’t have both fit in my room and I wouldn’t ask you to sleep on the couch.”

“But you’ll ask me to sleep in the barn?” Bruce tilts his head as he regards Clark.

The superhero blushes and stutters, had he gotten this wrong? “I-I- well- you- I didn’t-“

“Relax, Clark.” Bruce snickers ever so lightly, not used to the expression. “I like it. It’s perfect… I assume we’re watching a movie?”

“Oh,” Clark blushes all over again, embarrassed. “Y-Yeah, I thought maybe you could choose for us. I know the bar wasn’t really much fun for you..”

This man.

“Okay,” Bruce reaches over for the laptop, purposely plopping himself closer to Clark when he resettles to choose a movie from the streaming service.

…

The movie’s… well Bruce couldn’t have told you anything about it. He picked the first one off of Clark’s recommended list and spent the past two hours and fifteen minutes trying to work up the nerve to make a move.

Clark, however, was entirely absorbed by it. Must’ve been a good choice- whatever it was.

As the credits roll, something settles in the air between them. Cinematic music plays quietly in the background. The culmination of all that it was. And Clark finally spares a glance at Bruce.

Nothing happens. They simply look into each other’s eyes, exchanging words without them ever being voiced…

And Bruce leans in.

He can feel the hitch in Clark’s breath against his lips as they kiss. A soft press of lips that feels like too much and not enough. Bruce presses back harder, a hand coming up to hold Clark’s face and the other tangling in his curls.

Clark whines against him before he’s being hauled into the super’s lap. Then it’s like a dam broke. Years of longing flooding through rough and greedy hands that grope and bruise his ass.

Bruce is absolutely floored by his enthusiasm, he can’t help but tug him closer and grind down. It feels like forever in a nutshell. All the things he’d been denying himself for years laid out before him and he’ll be damned if he gives it up now. Fuck all the stubbornness and restraint, he deserves this. Wants this. Needs this.

“Clark-“ Bruce gasps for air when they pull apart. They’re equally hot and bothered, pressing against each other helplessly like it’s their first times all over again.

“Are you okay?” He whispers, blue eyes huge and partially worried despite the desire clouding over them.

“Yes I just- I just want you to know that-” Bruce’s display of unusual shyness makes Clark throb- his heart and otherwise. “I’m in love with you.”

Holy shit. Too much?

Clark groans and holds Bruce closer, hides his burning face in the crook of his neck. “I’m in love with you, too.”

Just right.

Their lips meet again with all the force of their mutual pining. The barn’s loft becomes a whirlwind of pajamas and blankets to accommodate for their greed and impatience. Bruce drags his nails down Clark’s back as he pulls him over him. There’s a joke about rolling around in the hay in here somewhere but it slips Bruce’s mind as Clark works his expert tongue into his mouth and memorizing every sharp corner of molar and incisor. It’s hot and wet and every ounce of need he’s ever felt is poured into his lover. Bruce intertwines their legs and though content for a moment it doesn’t last long. He flips them over in an absurd show of strength, the jealousy from before giving him a wicked idea.

Clark pants beneath him like a dog with the puppy-eyes to match. Bruce’s hand is firm on his chest, pressing him into the mattress- demanding and punishing all the same. He whines, stretches his neck upwards for another kiss before he’s denied.

Bruce smirks, “I don’t know what you and that country boy got up to in here…” He walks his fingers up to grip his chin harshly. “But I can promise I’ll treat you so much better you’ll forget every bit of it.”

Eidetic memory be damned.

There are stars in Clark’s eyes when he swallows, submission in the soft and dazed nod he responds with.

“Good boy,” and Clark preens at the praise. “You’re going to take what I give you and be grateful for it.” Bruce’s voice is heavy with desire. He maintains eye contact as he slides down that impossibly muscular body to situate between Clark’s thighs.

He takes his time, lips working in utter worship. Kissing, biting, and teasing every inch of skin as he makes his way up to the pornographic size of Clark’s cock that bobs against his stomach. There’s a small pool of precum just beside his belly button. The happy trail entrancing the bat. Clark’s hips shake with restraint. Bruce looks at him like he’s won top prize at the county fair.

Despite his best efforts, Clark’s back arches when Bruce licks a long strip up the base. Moans when he feels his tongue swirl against the tip. Bruce presses his hips back down into the mattress before taking him into his mouth. His pace is so deep and so slow it feels like a reward and a reprimand all at once. He realizes the sounds overwhelming his eardrums are coming from his own chest, it rattles in his brain. His blood pressure spikes every time Bruce moans around the girth of him. His eyes roll back when he realizes just how far down Bruce’s throat he really is.

God. He envies every man Bruce has ever given this to.

And suddenly it all makes sense. He has half a mind to apologize for his past- the other half wants to thank it for pushing Bruce off the edge and giving him this- this gift. But he’s so far gone he can barely form any words to begin with. Instead he moans louder, whines and begs for more to show his appreciation. How grateful he truly is. It’s better than he could have ever imagined and he’s so close.

“Bru- I- c-close, please please please,” he doesn’t even recognize his own voice anymore. What he does recognize is the smug glint in Bruce’s eyes. The criminal smirk that crosses Bruce’s lips when he presses his tongue harder against the underside of his cock in a slithering motion before pulling completely off of him.

Clark’s never cried so hard in his life. The first indication is the broken off whimper at the action, the second is the few rogue tears sliding down his cheeks. And when Bruce’s smirk bleeds into a dazed and satisfied grin- he cums. Untouched.

It coats his stomach in long waves, abs clenching at the release and frustration at it not being seen through. He reaches out for Bruce, hikes him up his body to kiss him. It’s needy and desperate and he can feel the teeth in Bruce’s smile against his lips when he kisses back.

“Fuck,” Clark curses and Bruce’s hands dig into his biceps.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before,” the bat teases when they break their kiss.

Clark furrows his brows but looks at Bruce like he’s lost and in need of his next instruction. “Please,” he can’t formulate a response to Bruce’s comment but he doesn’t know what he’s begging for either.

“Need something else, love?” Bruce cups his left cheek and brushes the tears away.

“You, please, closer.” Clark’s voice is wrecked, pitiful.

“How close?” Bruce slots his body over the metahuman below him. Presses his own throbbing erection against the mess Clark made, slides against where Clark is still hard. “This close?”

“Aaaah-“ Clark feels blissed out and frustrated and pathetic- and he needs more. “Y-yes! More! Please, Bruce,” he all but sobs.

“More?” Bruce grinds against him a few times, experimental and curious before he holds them both in his calloused hands and pumps. “Like this?”

Clark’s hips thrust into Bruce’s hands haphazardly, bucking upwards with the force of a bull. “Fffffuuuu- yessssssss,” his voice dissolves. He’s so whiny he barely makes a peep.

In the time that Bruce’s throat was stuffed full of cock, he picked up on a few things. Clark is especially sensitive just under the head of his dick and  even more responsive with stimulation to his tip. So obviously, the first thing Bruce does is press into his pleasure point and circle the tip of his thumb over his slit.

Clark’s erratic now, panting and thrashing every which way. He’s clawing at Bruce’s back for any semblance of relief. He can tell he’s close again despite having expelled much more semen than a normal man would have. Bruce can’t say he feels guilty at all for ruining Clark’s first orgasm, but he can say he’s utterly entranced- and wants to spoil him with more.

“Bruce! B-Bruce, please! Don’t stop, please-“

Bruce isn’t unaffected either. He’s spent more brainpower trying not to cum from all the sounds and stimulation of being pressed so tightly together than in all of his vigilante career. He maintains his breathing, focuses solely on Clark. “Cum for me.”

“Bruce!”

The mess coats his hand and the both of them within it. He pumps them a couple more times, milking Clark for all he’s got before he feels too close himself. He withdraws his hand and Clark’s penis falls against his stomach wetly. Clark is panting despite not necessarily needing to breathe and the image alone is enough to make Bruce get impatient.

The bat scoops as much of the mess as he can into his hands, thoroughly coats his fingers before leveraging one hand beside Superman’s head to lean forward. Bruce kisses him sweetly as he reaches back to prep himself.

Clark’s completely oblivious, consumed by Bruce’s mouth on his. It’s perfect. The right pressure, the right weight. Both of Clark’s hands slide into Bruce’s hair to hold him closer. To kiss him deeper. When Bruce moans against his lips, that’s when he notices the soft squelching sounds. He can practically hear Bruce’s muscles stretch as they take in two fingers. Clark moans into their kiss, tongue working overtime to embed the contours of Bruce’s mouth in his mind. The same thoughts running through his head of mine mine mine.

Bruce adds a third finger and Clark commits the hitch in his breath to memory. Kisses down his throat in encouragement. Sucks marks into his neck to lay his claim on the billionaire. Bites when he’s impatient and hard again.

Once the bat is satisfied with the stretch he withdraws his fingers, slides up Clark’s body to align them together. Bruce teases the tip as he speaks, “You know… you might work wonders riding that bull,” an inch breaches the rim and Clark is out of his mind in ecstasy. As Bruce sinks to the hilt and Clark’s cock protrudes out of his stomach he sighs. “But I’m about to show you what happens when cowboys are ridden.”

It’s a miracle Bruce can keep up with the arduous pace he’s set. His thighs burn with each bounce and grind. Every intrusion presses right up against his prostate, it’s so huge it’s like he can feel it in his lungs. The size of it makes him drool. In all honesty, he doesn’t know how long he’ll last. He feels like every second spent pleasuring Clark has edged him and now he can take what he wants without a slap of guilt. The sound of their hips colliding is sinful, spurs him on when Clark looks at him like he’s hung the moon and stars and given him the world.

“Fuck, Clark! That’s so good! You’re so good- So fucking big! Doing so well filling me up, fucking me right-”

Bruce is a lot louder than Clark thought he’d be and he loves it. Drinks it in like the last drop of water in a sweltering desert. The frigid autumnal air a thing of the past because he feels so hot. He doesn’t think when his hands grip Bruce’s waist. When he pulls the bat down against his aborted thrusts upwards. He could feel the exhaustion in the muscles clamped around him. Bruce is surprisingly receptive to the show of strength, the slight loss of control. Pliant under his grip as he fucks into him like a toy. The mere sight of Bruce’s eyes rolled back, jaw slack and stuck in a constant moan of his name. Clark thinks he finally understands what sex is supposed to feel like. He thinks he’ll never get enough.

One of Clark’s hands maintains his bruising grasp while the other slides up to twist and pull at Bruce’s nipple. A jolt runs throughout the billionaire’s entire body, Clark can feel him clench around him because of it. He doesn’t stop until it’s pert and swollen from stimulation, moves to the neglected one to give it the same treatment with a sparkle in his eyes. He wants to put is mouth on them. Clark’s hand slides up to the back of Bruce’s neck to bring him within reach and he goes willingly. His tongue swirls around the bud, sucking when Bruce’s moans pitch higher and higher. The sound stuttering and starting up again each time. He leaves marks there too, he can’t help it.

They’re so lost in the connection between them, the love in each action despite the bruises that will bloom darker tomorrow. There’s love in each nip and slap of skin on skin. Bruce thinks he’s never loved someone as much as he loves Clark. That he’ll never love someone as much as he loves Clark. There is no getting out of this and despite the part that begs for self-preservation, he affords himself none. He wants to be swallowed whole. Wants to lose himself in the Kryptonian beneath him for the rest of his life and there’s nothing better than seeing that same desire reflected in Clark’s eyes. It’s enough to bring him back to his senses, even if only slightly.

“Clark! ‘M so close, keep going. Be good for me,” he grabs handfuls of Clark’s pecs. Anything to ground him for a second longer, to be present in the moment when this long game of yearning finally comes to an end.

“Bruceeeee,” Clark whines and thrusts harder- brings the bat down with even more force than before. One hand on his hip and the other fisting Bruce’s cock. “I need you, I love you, please let me- need to-“

“Me too- fuck you’re so good. Give it to me, Clark.”

It’s a wonder they haven’t woken every animal on each acre of this farm.

They cum together, black spots clouding their vision. Clark gives a startling three more thrusts before Bruce collapses onto his chest, breathless and covered in sweat. He can feel his stomach inflate from how full Clark’s pumped him, can feel it sliding out and down his thighs. It’s made an even bigger mess of both of them.

They stay like that for a while, Clark dragging his fingers up and down Bruce’s back soothingly. Bruce feels wrung out, he couldn’t move a muscle even if he tried. He’s perfectly content to remain connected like this until morning. The stickiness left behind can be tomorrow’s problem.

…

He wakes up a couple hours later to Clark wiping him down with a dampened warm towel. The metahuman must’ve cleaned everything else up while he was asleep. There’s a blanket or two missing from the initial pile and he’s wearing his pajamas. He leans over to kiss Bruce’s forehead and he never thought The Batman would ever swoon, but here we are. Once Clark is satisfied with his work, he eases Bruce back into his pajamas too.

They lay down side by side and Clark nestles Bruce under his arm, head on his chest. Bruce used to think he’d never find a safe place that was just for him… now, he realizes how easy it is to change his mind.

“Well… that was…” Clark still seems dazed, like he’s reliving tonight’s events all over again. “Wow.”

Bruce snickers, “Rendered you speechless, huh?” The words are mumbled and sleepy but it makes Clark smile all the same.

“We’re way past that. I’ll be lucky if my brain functions at all in the morning.”

“Tryna charm your way into my pants, again? You’re insatiable, Clark.” Bruce teases, readjusts his head on Clark’s chest to get a better look of him.

“You’ve ruined me for anyone else, I think I’m entitled to being a little greedy.”

“Lucky for you, I’m all yours boyscout. We’ve got all the time in the world.”