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A soft, familiar whoosh interrupts Bruce’s steady concentration.
He and Dick had returned from patrol an hour ago after following a lead for a shipment of what he feared was a new batch of Scarecrow’s toxin. He sent Dick straight to bed so the boy could get at least a few hours of sleep before school tomorrow. He had been dead on his feet by the end of patrol and didn't even argue with Bruce about staying in the cave. He was grateful for Dick’s help as Robin, but he's worried that he's been running the boy too ragged lately. He’ll have to talk to Alfred about it tomorrow and see what the older man thinks he should do.
For now, he needs to focus all of his attention on why the bust went wrong. The Rogue has stayed underground since the last Arkham breakout, and this was the first thread of a new operation that Bruce has seen since. He can’t miss a single detail, and tonight proved that he was getting sloppy.
“Not now, Superman.” He mutters, knowing Clark will hear him, not letting his eyes drift from the screen. He pulls up his cowl footage of the night's patrol, skipping to the portion when they were at the abandoned warehouse that the shipment was supposed to be in. There were marks where someone had moved heavy pallets and crushed glass from a rushed exit, but no sign of Scarecrow or his toxin. All of the evidence points to someone getting tipped off about his movements; as he said, sloppy.
There were definite traces of activity, but no direction as to where the undertaking had relocated. If Scarecrow is cooking up something new, there has to be a trail; a loose end that isn't tied all the way shut.
There's a chance he missed something while at the scene, so he focuses on combing through every frame to make sure nothing is left out. It was tedious work, but it had to be done. When a Rogue of this level was on the streets, he couldn’t afford to waste time on something as trivial as taking breaks.
He could use another cup of coffee though… he’ll page Alfred soon.
He pauses, fingers freezing above the keyboard; he never heard the sound of Clark leaving. “I’m busy, Kal, whatever it is will have to wait.”
Still nothing.
Officially distracted, Bruce swivels around on his chair and stops as soon as he catches sight of Clark.
Something’s not right.
He scans the other man, filing away each inconsistency.
His hair is wrong. Bruce had taken an interest in how Clark’s hair never appeared disheveled after flying at supersonic speeds. It shouldn't be possible, but somehow, Clark always defies the impossible. There were only two times Bruce can recall deviation from this pattern, and they involved either magic or kryptonite; the only two weaknesses that cracked Clark’s consistent composure. Right now, his curls were a twisted disaster; a nest of tangles that made Bruce’s hands twitch in desire to smooth out.
Clark’s face is flushed, a bright, rosy red that’s steadily climbing down his neck- another irregularity to a man who is supposed to be impervious to strain and knowingly difficult to wind. Bruce had seen Superman crash through an alien mothership and destroy several others of the fleet without breaking a sweat. This heated look is one Bruce had never seen on the man before.
It unsettles him.
The sign that has alarms blaring in Bruce’s head is Clark’s eyes. They were devoid of the alien blue Bruce often feels himself drawn to. A shocking mix of cerulean and a color not seen on Earth, unique to Clark.
Bruce wishes he could study them, run tests; he wonders how many color variations Clark can pick up that humans can’t. He’s aware of the X-ray and microscopic vision, but he’s curious how far Clark has pushed those limits. Early on in their relationship, Bruce had filed away the slight changes in Superman’s eyes when the powers were in use, and the look right now didn't match anything in those files. His pupils swallowed his irises, all but for a sliver of that shocking blue.
They're an eerie black that Bruce decides doesn’t suit the man at all. He prefers the warm, steady gaze that never wavers, unchanging even in the face of some of the worst situations imaginable. This stare that Clark has him pinned in is deeper than that, intense in a way Bruce isn’t familiar with.
The rouge on Clark's cheeks deepens, and Bruce’s own face warms in response.
It takes him five seconds to catalogue, and then he’s in front of Clark in the next breath, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “Report!” He snaps, disconcerted by the lack of reaction. It was all wrong. Clark always had a response, something sunny and naively optimistic that Bruce would grumble at. He would never admit it, but he thought that Clark’s positive view on everything and everyone was the best and most endearingly human thing about him.
Clark gasps when Bruce makes contact, his hand shooting up to grasp Bruce’s wrist before he can pull away. Bruce frowns at how warm his skin is and the reaction the touch elicited.
“Superman, report!” He repeats, more forceful this time, not attempting to disengage from Clark’s grip until he is certain of Clark's awareness. One wrong move and he could crush all of the bones in Bruce’s wrist to dust. A normal Clark would never- Bruce has absolute trust in that, but he doesn't know what version of the man this is or how present he is in his own mind.
Instead of answering, Clark draws Bruce’s hand down to his cheek, nuzzling his face into the palm of Bruce’s hand. His mind stutters, tripping over itself for one brief second before it comes to a conclusion.
Ah.
A clear picture of what might have happened is starting to form in his mind.
He slowly raises a second hand to cup the back of Clark’s neck, maximizing the skin contact. Clark is warm and soft, skin unblemished in a way only a Super could be; a stark contrast to Bruce's own rough, scarred hands.
“Kal,” he says again, letting some of the Batman gravel slip into his voice. “I need you to listen to me.”
He strokes his thumb down to Clark’s carotid, resting it at the soft spot underneath his jaw to check his pulse; slightly more elevated than normal, but nothing to be too concerned about for now.
He would never normally allow himself this, the closeness, the familiarity. Yet, somehow over the years, Clark has wiggled his way through all of Bruce’s defenses.
It started with Superman cornering him after League meetings to talk, nothing serious or pertaining to the mission, just inane chatter about what Bruce had been up to, or if he was working on anything new. He can't pinpoint when, but somewhere along the lines, he started answering, giving more detail in hopes it would satisfy Clark's curiosity.
Then, it progressed into overlapping cases, Superman calling Batman when one of his Rogues had crossed into Metropolis. Their successful takedown of that case opened the floodgates for contacting one another when they required aid. Superman tended to take advantage more often than he did, but Bruce slowly found himself enjoying Kal’s company.
They worked well together in the field. Trust built on years of fighting side by side led them to read each other without even speaking. He could shift to the left, and Superman would follow to cover him without a thought. Clark could swing a robot and count on Bruce being in the right spot to deliver the final blow. They were a team.
That's not to say they never fought or disagreed. Clark could get under his skin in a way no one else quite could. The man has a stubbornness that rivals Bruce on his worst days, an incessant need to see the best in people, Bruce included. He could only ever see the flaws; be prepared for the worst that everyone has to offer. This topic still sits on the edge of every disagreement they have, a fundamental difference neither will budge on.
Their arguments were well known amongst the other Leaguers to be something that could derail a regular meeting into an hour of back and forth, only to be stopped by Diana stepping in to diffuse the tension. He isn't proud of his part in it, but there’s something about Clark that always manages to engage Bruce, even when he tries not to react.
Lately, Bruce has noticed his body starting to betray him whenever Clark is near. When Clark would laugh at something Barry said and look to Bruce with those crinkling eyes and infectious grin to see if he found it funny too, Bruce’s heart would jump. When Clark’s touch lingered: a hand on Bruce's shoulder, bumping into his side in a playful jostle, the close, gentle way he held Bruce when carrying him from one distance to another, when all other options had failed. Every time Bruce started to sink into the feeling, lowering his walls fractionally, he would catch himself and force the habit to stop.
Bruce knew what this meant, knew that his affection for Clark was something he held from almost the very beginning and had grown into an entity of its own, one he had no control over. He accepted it, was willing to smash it into a box, and stuff it into the furthest reaches of his heart, rather than voice it to anyone, let alone the man himself.
He lives a life cloaked in darkness and shadow; he can’t risk snuffing out Earth’s brightest light by contaminating it with the gloom of his world. He ruins everything he touches; only Alfred and Dick were exempt. Though there were nights when he lay awake, plagued by the idea that he was only making their lives worse. He was selfish with them; he couldn't give them up and keep going.
Bruce wouldn't be able to convince Alfred to leave him, even under the threat of death. The man had been bound to Bruce his whole life and refused to part from him, no matter what Bruce did to push him away. Dick had been different, an angry little boy who saw the worst the world had to offer, just like Bruce. He couldn't let Dick get swallowed up by the system, not with how much light the boy had to offer.
The difference with Clark is that he’s a grown man with his own life; Bruce wouldn't disturb him with something as insignificant as feelings. Earth needs Superman, needs Clark the way he is without Bruce’s influence. He couldn't subject that to change, not with how disastrous the consequences could be.
“B?” Clark rasps, grasping at Bruce’s side with his free hand. Bruce squeezes involuntarily at Clark's neck in response and takes a step back as Clark full-body sways into him.
“Bruce, something’s wrong. I- I need-”
And oh- Clark was shoving his face into his neck and inhaling, skimming his nose along Bruce's throat. He stiffens, stone still as his heart shoots off like a rocket.
He’s aware Clark can hear the racing beat, but he hopes the man will chalk it up to his worry about Clark and not look any closer.
Analyze the new pollen to which Clark has been exposed and synthesize an antidote.
That's what he needs to be doing right now. Not basking in this version of Clark that he doesn't actually have. They’re friends, colleagues, nothing more.
“Kal,” he says sternly, forcing Clark at arm's length so he could actually think. He did not appreciate the way his brain betrayed him anytime Clark was close, as if it lost all ability to think. Now that he’s looking at Clark, his eyes seem to revert closer to their normal. His pupils were still larger than average, but Bruce could make out far more of the color in his irises.
“Did you have a run-in with Poison Ivy? You’re exhibiting signs of pollen exposure, though what strand- I can't say. I’ll need to run tests to be sure, so I can synthesize an antidote that works with your Kryptonian biology. Are you able to get to the med-bay on your own?”
“I- Gosh, Bruce- I’ve never felt like this. I'm- I don't know,” Clark confesses, seeming to gain more awareness the longer they're in contact. A hypothesis he will need to test to be positive. He lets go of Clark and takes rapid steps backward, keeping his eyes on Clark’s reactions.
A keening noise rips out of Clark's throat almost instantly, tearing through Bruce's heart. He refuses to move, even though he aches to wrap his arms around Clark; he needs to see this through.
The dilation in Clark’s eyes is apparent even from where Bruce is standing four feet away. That’s one point in favor of his hypothesis. He opens his mouth to console the devastated expression on Kal’s face when Bruce is almost bowled over.
It’s a good thing Bruce is used to Superman flying into him; otherwise, he'd be flat on the ground right now. Clark is clutching Bruce to him in a desperate, animalistic sort of way. Another point in favor of his hypothesis. Even a minute without human contact has Kal reverting to his most base instincts.
He’s overwhelmingly grateful Superman came straight to him and wasn't caught unaware by anyone who would use his compromised state for more devious purposes. This is why he rarely allows metas into Gotham unless heavily supervised. They’re never prepared for what his city has to offer, the kind of horrible damage it can do to the best and brightest.
“It’s okay,” Bruce whispers, petting through Clark’s curls softly, trying to soothe the damage he caused. His chest hurts as Clark heaves in huge gulps of air right next to his ear. The distance must have worsened the impact after prolonged human contact. He won't try that experiment again unless he absolutely has to.
As much as Bruce wants to get started on the antidote as soon as he can, he wants Clark to come back to himself first. He lets the time slip past as he keeps one hand in Clark’s hair and the other running up and down the Super's back. He tries not to bask in the closeness, in the heat of Clark’s body and the feelings it causes in Bruce's own.
He’s been close to so many people, men and women; this shouldn't be any different. He knows what a body pressed against his feels like; he has never had any trouble distancing himself from the effects before. Why is it so hard for him now?
“Bruce, I- what’s happening to me?” Clark finally voices, breaking the hazy bubble building in Bruce’s mind. He blinks out of it, focusing on Clark, who is still wrapped around him, words mumbled into his neck. He suppresses a shiver as Clark's mouth brushes against his throat, breathing deeply to center himself.
“You’re under the effects of cuddle pollen. It seems like you need contact, or you revert to more base instincts. If you're amenable, we should move to my computer so I can contact Alfred to help with the antidote, as I can't do much if you stay clinging to me.”
Clark jerks back, the beautiful red darkening on his cheeks. “Oh man, I’m so sorry,” Clark makes an abortive gesture like he's going to pull away, but then remembers the condition he's in and hesitantly moves in closer. He glances up at Bruce bashfully through thick dark lashes.
Bruce has to take another deep, steadying breath.
“I didn't mean to interrupt and cause problems. I know you were probably in the middle of something important. I should have gone to the fortress instead of bothering you. I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me.”
Bruce frowns in response, “There’s no problem. I was closest, it makes sense.”
“Yeah, closest,” Clark mumbles, swaying back into Bruce without seeming to realize it. Bruce isn't sure what to make of that response, furrowing his brows as he stares down at the top of Clark’s head.
When nothing more comes out of the man, Bruce continues shuffling them towards the computer. The sooner he can get Alfred down here, the sooner Clark will go back to normal. He has a sinking feeling that he’s taking advantage of Clark's state in some way and wants to return to the predictable way they normally interact.
He hits a snag in his plan when they reach the desk and realizes he doesn't know how two men of their size will fit into his chair without entering a very compromising position. After pondering the decision, he sits and leaves Clark to do as he sees fit. Bruce will not force him into a situation he’s uncomfortable with if he doesn't have to.
Clark doesn't seem to have the reservations Bruce does because he plops down on Bruce’s lap within seconds, straddling him so their chests are pressed together and Clark can curl his arms around his shoulders, tucking his face into Bruce’s neck once again. Bruce tries not to think about the implications of how his scent calms Clark as much as the full-body contact does.
Bruce stays frozen as Clark shifts and adjusts in Bruce’s lap until all 220lbs of the man cuddle into him. There must be side effects to this pollen that cause overfamiliarity, because Clark would never act like this otherwise. It causes a sick feeling to rise in his chest that Clark is subjected to this position because he has no choice or control over it, while Bruce enjoys it.
“Is- is this okay?” Clark asks lowly, not removing his head from where it's resting in the juncture of Bruce’s neck and shoulder
“It’s fine, Clark. Just rest, Alfred, and I will take care of it.” He rolls the chair closer to the desk so he can reach his arms around Clark to press the button to alert the butler. “Alfred,” he calls, ignoring how much this position feels like settling into a warm bath to soothe the aches and pains of a long patrol. Comforting, relaxing, and home all at once.
He won’t think about it.
“Yes, Master Bruce?” Alfred answers promptly. “Will you be returning to your quarters soon?”
“No, Alfred. There's been an unforeseen issue that I could use your assistance with. Can you come down to the cave?”
A low vibration distracts Bruce from Alfred's answer, bringing his attention back to the man curled against him. He’s not sure if Clark is awake or sleeping, but he doesn't dare move an inch as the rumbling grows louder when Bruce presses a hand to Clark’s back. He’s never heard a sound like this from Clark before, but it almost resembles… purring?
His heart jumps into his throat. The most powerful man on Earth, who could level cities and destroy whole armies, is curled up on his lap rumbling like an engine because he feels safe with Bruce. The stumbling reporter who resembles the sun in how bright and kind he is is cuddled against Bruce like it's his mission, in direct opposition to Bruce, who’s so used to loneliness, it’s built a home deep in his bones.
Could this be a sign that Clark is more comforted by his presence than he realizes? That the man might have sought Bruce out on purpose, not simply because he was the closest. He knows cats purr when they feel content and happy… could the same be said for Kryptonians?
He banishes the thought immediately; cats also purr to self-soothe, which is much more likely in this scenario than Clark seeking Bruce out for comfort. Bruce attempts to distract himself by remembering everything he’s read on Kryptonian biology. He can't recall anything related to purring or other self-soothing measures, nor any mention of Kryptonians possessing traits similar to felines. When all of this is over, he’ll do more research so he's prepared for any future problems that may arise. He doesn't want to be caught unaware like this again.
He accepts the new quirk relatively quick all things considered; this definitely isn't the first time Clark has done something alien, and he’s sure it won't be the last. It’s just a reminder to Bruce of how little he truly understands Clark, how much more he has to learn.
He will have to ask about it when Clark is more cognizant, but for now, Bruce will accept that the vibrations, if nothing else, are a balm to his tight muscles and sore joints. He tries not to settle into the comfortable feeling, not wanting to lose sight of his objective: curing Clark of the pollen's effects so everything can go back to normal.
“Oh,” Alfred’s voice breaks through his thoughts and stops the purring in its tracks. Bruce won't admit how much he mourns its loss. “I did not expect you to have company.” He’s eyeing Bruce like he knows something Bruce doesn't.
He suddenly feels very, very exposed.
“It was unplanned. Clark has come into contact with one of Ivy’s pollens and requires physical contact to stay sane. As I am unable to move, it would help if you could draw blood so I can adapt the antidote to cure him.”
“Of course, sir,” Alfred nods, unfazed, then adds, “I wouldn't want to disturb this peaceful scene by having you move.”
Bruce narrows his eyes at Alfred’s tone and watches the older man as he proceeds to gather the supplies. “Is there something you want to add, Alfred?”
“No, Master Bruce. Though if you were to ask my opinion on the matter, I don't see the harm in the two of you waiting the pollen out together. The effects have only ever lasted a few hours at most, and by the looks of it, you're both comfortable in the current setting without going through the trouble of creating an antidote.”
“He can't consent to anything like this, Alfred,” Bruce responds, thrown by Alfred's blasé attitude. Can he really not see the ethical dilemma Bruce is in?
“Master Clark has never had an issue with affection; he still attempts to hug me every time he visits. However, if you are truly uncomfortable with his presence, that is another story, but do not pass your judgment on the man to avoid your own.”
“Hn,” Bruce grunts, thinking it over. He supposes there is some merit to Alfred’s words; Clark does seem to love physical touch. Bruce suspects that Clark would greet and exit every interaction with a hug if he could do it without making people uncomfortable.
He rests a hand on Clark's back again, stroking up and down tentatively. “Clark?” He asks, checking whether the man is awake and able to contribute to the discussion. He receives no answer other than the quiet purr starting back up.
“I believe that’s as much of an answer as anything, Master Bruce. It would be wise to appreciate what you have rather than push it away.”
“I don't want to overstep,” he mumbles into Clark’s shoulder, glancing away from Alfred’s piercing gaze. He wants this too much, for all of the wrong reasons, that’s why it’s wrong. If Clark knew what he was thinking, what he really desired, he wouldn't have come to Bruce in the first place.
“A little cuddle never hurt anyone, sir. You’re overcomplicating it. Enjoy the comfort, and you might even relax all of those tense muscles you have.”
Bruce grunts at Alfred’s teasing, even though he might have a point. Clark probably wouldn't be that upset by the situation. If anything, he’ll probably be embarrassed that he acted with so little restriction.
“That’s that then,” Alfred says, only a little smug, when Bruce doesn't say anything more. “Would you like me to put the kettle on for some tea while you work?”
“Coffee,” he argues, moving to the computer so he can go back to combing through the Scarecrow case. He might as well be productive while Clark naps away the pollen effects. It will stop him from enjoying it too much, if nothing else.
“Tea it is,” Alfred says, returning the items he had gathered and turning to exit back into the manor.
Bruce huffs a small laugh, unable to be too annoyed with a purring Kryptonian cuddling into him. He waits until he hears the door shut behind Alfred before he turns his gaze down to Clark.
The man seems so peaceful in Bruce’s arms, his breathing a steady flutter against his throat. He draws Kal closer with his hand, hoping- and there it is. The purring revs up to a louder rumble that has Bruce ducking his own face into Clark’s neck to hide his smile. Feeling threatens to overwhelm him, his whole chest aching with it. He’s not sure what he’s done to deserve this, not convinced he should be trusted with this vulnerable version of Clark.
As if sensing Bruce’s negative thoughts, Clark snuggles closer, rocking the chair. Bruce tightens his grip to steady them, taking it as a sign. He keeps one hand on the small of Clark’s back and uses the other to pull him back towards the desk so he can continue his work.
He learns quickly that his mind is too frenzied for him to think, let alone focus on the tiny details of the case. Clark's weight is far more distracting than he wants it to be. He sighs and goes against his better judgment, folding to the whims of what his mind has been screaming for him to do this whole time.
He leans in and presses a long kiss to the side of Clark’s head, soaking in the closeness, the dream. It’s such a deeply selfish action; he’s glad no one is around to witness it. A small smile moves his lips as he glances back at his screen.
He draws on all of his training to recenter his mind and gets back to analyzing the warehouse footage. Clark might hate him for this when he wakes, so he accepts his fate and allows himself to be greedy for Clark’s affection just this once.
If this is all he will ever get, he will learn to be okay with that. Clark’s feelings matter more than anything else.