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A pounding at the front door startled Bruce awake. Instinctively reaching for one of the batarangs under his pillow.
Free hand on his chest trying to calm his racing heart. Steeling himself for the worst case scenario.
“Bloody hell, it is 5am. 5 AM”
A grumpy looking Alfred appeared in the doorway. All eyebags and sleepiness.
“This one’s all yours.”
The older man continued grumbling as he made his way back to bed. Leaving Bruce to deal with the late night guest.
Alfred was clearly more frustrated than scared. There was no threat.
As the adrenaline subsided, annoyance took its place. He’d barely gotten back from patrol and started dozing off.
Slipping on a robe, he sighed and made his way downstairs. Mentally preparing for all the possible people who’d have the gall to knock at this hour.
I swear if this is one of the kids trying to pull another prank-
Rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes, he glanced through the door viewer.
Clark?!
On the other side of the peephole was a distressed looking Clark Kent. Shivering in soaked pajamas by the unrelenting Gotham rain.
Something had to be deeply wrong for Superman of all people to be here like this.
The off duty hero jumped as the door swung open. Clearly having been lost in thought.
He didn’t hear me coming?
“Bruce I’m so sorry-”
“What happened, what’s wrong?!”
Clark hugged himself. Becoming a ball of anxiety and. . . Shyness?
The man made sheepish eye contact with Bruce. Blushing slightly like he was about to say something embarrassing.
He looks kind of cute like that-
“I uh, lost my powers. Again. Zatanna said they should be back within the next couple of days.”
Should have guessed something like that.
“Okay. . .” Bruce got the sense there was something else Clark was struggling to say.
“Come inside, I’m freezing just standing in the doorway. I’ll grab you spare clothes and a towel while you figure out whatever’s going on in there.”
Bruce gave Clark’s forehead a gentle tap. The latter reddening slightly at the touch. Letting himself be led inside onto the couch.
- — - — - — - — - — -
5 minutes later they were sitting next to each other in the living room. Both of them warm and dry. Mugs of chamomile tea in hand.
“Tell me why you’re really here.”
Clark put his mug down and fidgeted with his hands.
“I- I couldn't sleep. . .”
Bruce took a sip and raised an eyebrow.
“. . .without being able to hear your heartbeat." A pause. "I uh, like listening to it as I doze off.”
Ack. A coughing fit wracked Bruce as the tea went down the wrong pipe. Not expecting to hear that.
Crimson bloomed across Clark’s face as he apologetically rubbed Bruce’s back. Coughing subsiding.
Clearing his throat, Bruce regained his composure. Trying to hide the way his pulse picked up speed at Clark’s words. He needed to play it cool.
“What do you like about it?”
Eyes wide, Clark was at a temporary loss for words.
“I uhm, listen every night. It’s steady and soothing, lulls me to sleep. . . Comforts me to know you’re okay.”
A smirk formed on Bruce’s face. He scooted closer to Clark.
“It’s too quiet without my super-hearing.”
Grabbing Clark’s, hand, Bruce looked into his eyes. Conveying the question, is this okay?
A shy but enthusiastic nod.
“That can easily be remedied.”
Clark’s soft hand, cradled by Bruce’s rough one, was led to the left side of Bruce’s chest. A soft thumping palpable.
“See? Just fine”
Bruce leaned back, untying his robe and exposing more of his chest. He made an inviting motion with his hands.
“Have a listen.”
And he did.
Bruce tensed for a fraction of a second as Clark laid his head on his chest. Soft black curls tickling his skin. But was almost immediately at ease. It felt very. . . right.
Warm arms wrapped around Bruce’s torso. A welcome embrace. Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around Clark. Some heat forming on his own face.
This is nice.
An involuntary yawn left Clark’s lips. His anxiety having faded, his body remembering how tired he was. Bruce’s familiar heartbeat comforting him.
“I think it’s past your bedtime Boy Scout.”
“Mhm,” Clark mumbled sleepily.
Bruce sat there for a while, gently playing with Clark’s hair as the other man drifted off.
The dim moonlight highlighting the contours of the sleeping man’s face. Endearing freckles and lines he had never noticed.
He’s beautiful.
Basking in the warmth, the comfort, the trust, Bruce's eyelids grew heavy. Deep affection leaving a soft smile on his face as he finally fell asleep.
- — - — - — - — - — -
Soft afternoon sunlight trickled in, pleasant as Clark slowly woke up.
The steady melody that lulled him to sleep continued its song in his ears.
“Mornin’ Bruce. . .?”
Clark opened his eyes and realized he was no longer lying on Bruce’s chest. Its absence left a cold empty feeling on his cheek.
Clearly his powers were back.
The chaotic sounds of Gotham and Metropolis made themselves heard. Nobody was in immediate danger, so he ignored them.
There were five heartbeats in the manor, including his. On instinct, he focused on the one most important to him. An intimately familiar sound. Maybe even his favorite sound in the world.
The distinct cadence of Bruce's heart grew louder as he emerged from the kitchen holding two coffee mugs. Sporting an adorable smile.
“Slept well?”
“Superbly.”