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Pink maybe wasn't exactly right. The gift in Bruce's hand was a pale-hued stone; if he knew no better, he'd say it was rose quartz. He wanted to know better. "Thank you." It was a gift, appreciation before inquiry. "You like it?" Richard was still half unpacking, some of his return to earth, happy to see his room sort of energy still filtering out of him. "A bit bohemian for the everyday." The stone, or pendant rather, had nearly a trance-inducing quality to it, with sharp angles and lines finding ways to a spiral like a staircase; it was captivating once you got to staring. "But yes, it was very thoughtful." Dick and the Titans had been all the way on planet Colu assisting Querl Dox with recon, and still, he'd taken the time to bring back a souvenir for Bruce. "Donna said it should open your Anahata Chakra." The heart. "She's been on a real kick lately." "So is this Donna's way of saying I'm too old to go stag?" "I think she's worried about your blood pressure." Dick teased. "I don't know, doesn't have to mean anything, just a good luck charm, alright? Something different for your rock collection." Dick was asking the conversation to move on. Dick was both somehow too old and too young to feel comfortable lingering in any sense of sentimentality. He might not have even truly noticed, but this was quite a milestone in their relationship. It used to be Bruce would return home with some small gifts and large stories. The scales were starting to even. Dick was branching off on his own more and more. "Well, it brought you back in one piece, so it seems to be working it's magic already." Bruce gave Dick a pat on the back, eventually opting to pull him in for a hug. "Unpacking can wait, let's have some dinner, I want to hear all about your travels." Bruce pocketed the pendant as they went downstairs. ☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。Bruce's first opportunity to wear the pendant was at a party. The theme was Midsummer's Night’s Dream, a yearly event held at the conclusion of Gotham's arts and theatre exhibit. Bruce's newly acquired pastel pendant fit alongside the ethereal tone of the occasion. Beyond that, he wasn't wearing much else. The dress code was both revealing and elusive, loose-fitting togas and identity shrouding animal masks. Puck would approve. Bruce had been mid-conversation with Mayor Hill and Dean Nederlander on the success of the cultural event when he blindly reached back at a serving tray for another flute of champagne. As his luck would have it, someone else had the same idea. Their fingers grazed, and that gave Bruce just enough cause to turn. "Sorry." The stranger standing before Bruce didn't glow; quite the opposite. It seemed as if every lantern, string of fairy lights, and moonbeam sponged right to him. He was pulling in light, demanding eyes travel to him, less they be left in the dark. "That makes one of us." Bruce couldn't help but smile. He was no longer interested in the alcohol, busy drinking in the sight in front of him. The man's hair was combed back, trying to be neat, but there were wisps of playful curls teasing at the edges. The light pastel blue cape he was wearing highlighted the soft tan to his skin, and there was plenty of it to see, for the man wasn't wearing a toga as most were; he'd opted for a leather skirt worn by Roman soldiers to battle. It ended above his knees, leaving his chest and abdomen on full display.
"Go on, have it. You need it more than me." Bruce spoke before his appraisal turned to straight ogling. "That so?" The man's smile was bigger and bolder than anyone, in nothing more than a sheet and a prayer, should ever be, but it was not overconfident. It was just— Charming, amused, interested. "Yes, I believe your mouth is watering." "Suppose it is." Bruce was not alone in his bewitchment. He watched as the man's eyes scanned him, taking some small sips as he did so. Bruce's clothing choice left slightly more to the imagination, an asymmetrical tease covering what it needed, accentuating what would be a shame to hide. It rode high, draping all the way over his right shoulder, but on the left, it was bare right to the crest of his pectoral. The man kept looking, gaze holding eventually on a more daring fold. In contrast to that modest shoulder, Bruce's right leg, fully up to the hip, was exposed. Bruce smirked as the man's fingers twitched a little around his glass. He wanted to touch; he wanted to grab. "Though it seems unfair to leave you thirsty." Perhaps the man had noticed what Bruce was acutely aware of himself. He'd been moistening his own lips under their shared stare, swallowing a bit harsh. He might've audibly heard his Adam's apple click. "We could go find you a drink together?" A hand extended out to him. There was something very earthy in those blue eyes. From behind the man's gold crow-themed mask, the way he looked at Bruce, it wasn't entirely lecherous. There was lust, but an odd respect, manners, or fondness, seemed to hold alongside it; Bruce didn't know the man well enough to know which. "Gentleman, I'll be right back." Bruce turned to the conversation that seemed ages behind him now. "I doubt that. See you sometime next fall." Dent had at some point joined the fray, an arm over the mayor's shoulder as he shooed Bruce off. He'd shoulder niceties so Bruce could go off and pursue more enticing engagements, a true friend. "Let's venture into the forest then." Bruce grabbed the man's hand, enjoying the just a hair too hard grip he gave.
"Why a fox? If you don't mind me asking?" The man questioned Bruce's mask choice as they finally found new drinks. "Why a crow?" Bruce countered. He had his reasons, but it was a long story and not one for strangers, no matter how handsome. "Not the most eye-catching of birds at first glance I'll admit but there's more to em than you'd think." The man turned with an 'I'm so happy you asked' sort of grin. He was the sharing type, it appeared. Bruce could think of worse things."Were you about to make an Apollo reference?” The crow was the sacred animal of the Greek sun god, Bruce could see some resemblance to artistic renditions. "You should, it suits you." “Apollo?" The man blushed at the compliment "Mythology an interest of yours? I studied a bit in school." Bruce followed the man to a comfortable cushioned bench where he willfully listened to facts and fables he already knew, nodding and smiling, just content, it was nice just to listen to the man speak, and boy could he ever. Quality and quantity, any topic the pair dipped into. The man had opinions, obscure facts, or thoughtful questions. They ran the gambit from Greek myths to Shakespearian tragedies, sports rivalries to the best places to enjoy downhill skiing.
Something stuck out the more they conversed. The man spoke slower, with a softer edge to his vowels than most. There wasn't exactly an accent, more a temperament to his voice that stuck out. Bruce's brain couldn’t help but analyze every little detail about the stranger. "I’m positive I’ve never met you before. I can tell you're not from Gotham.“ He blurted out after further consideration. "Really? So sure?" The man chuckled in mock offense. "Is my mask not doing its job? Or are your eyes just that incredible?" He had said incredible; he meant handsome. Bruce could hear the compliment hiding under the theory. In case there was any doubt, the man, Clark was his name, reached out, let a large hand frame Bruce's mask, boring holes into those 'incredible eyes'. "If you think my eyes are good—" "What an impatient fox." Clark's hand had dropped, looping a finger into the necklace around Bruce's neck, tugging him closer. Clark could speak and catch a hint. He was also a decent kisser, inquisitive and engaging, not too blunt but not satisfied to let a corner of Bruce's lips grow cold.
After being leaned into the cushioned bench, they were sitting on, Bruce found words, found a question he wanted answered. "Not that I'm complaining—" Bruce wasn't complaining; he was chasing Clark's lips, his tongue, any further embrace he could catch. "Very glad for that." When Clark grabbed at his bare hip, Bruce's mouth opened even wider to voice not a complaint but a praising groan. "But if I didn't invite you, how'd you find your way here?" Bruce simply wanted to know where to send the thank you fruit basket. "Raffle at work." Clark grinned when Bruce let his fingers thread into his hair, fingernails scraping at the base of his neck. "Lucky me." Clark leaned in for another kiss but was halted at the arrival of company. "There he is! I told you I'd find him!" Dent was a true friend, but sometimes he could be a right asshole. He and three scantily clad acquaintances of his stumbled onto the bench that quickly went from cozy to cramped. Bruce wasn't sure if this was to score points with one of Dent's mystery companions or as payback for some unknown trespass; it truly could have been either. "We should get a picture!" Someone blurted. A sea of phones started a feeding frenzy of lights and commotion, laughs and poses, bodies being ushered around like musical chairs. It went beyond selfies. The familiar sound of professional paparazzi swarmed the group. When the commotion quieted, and Bruce turned to ask Clark for his number, he was gone.
☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。Bruce tried not to lament on what could have been; occasionally, he would glance at his phone, a particularly cute photo, all things considered. In one frame, Clark had leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek, it wasn't a gesture Bruce was used to receiving from men, and it was a shame he hadn't truly appreciated it in real-time. As luck should have it, Bruce didn't have to lament. Could have been wasn't good enough for his mystery man, it seemed. Bruce was informed as such a few days later at his office. "Mr. Wayne?" It was the chief of security Carl ringing him, which wasn't a promising way to start a Monday. "Yes?" "Do you happen to be missing a —" Carl pulled the phone away from his face. "Will you just let me see it?" There was a pause. "Some pink rock on a rope?" "Yes." Bruce's hand went up to his throat; he'd lost the necklace Dick had given him the night of the party. He'd searched everywhere for it but to no avail. "Someone's found it?" He'd assumed it'd been swept up with the hanging moss and flower petals, long gone to some compost heap by this point. "Yes, but he's—“ The pause for dramatic effect did seem a bit overdone, but Bruce gave Carl his moment. "A reporter. He won't hand it over to me. He's insistent he gives it to you himself, but if it's yours, I can just call the PD and—" "That won't be necessary. Just send him up." If the reporter was returning something to Bruce that now had two positive memories attached to it, Bruce felt it within him to reward them with something a bit more desirable than a restraining order. A few moments later, the door opened, and Bruce was surprised, to say the least. "I like Carl, no-nonsense that guy." For one, no one liked Carl; it wasn't his job to be liked. "You — looked good with it on. Hate for you not to have it." There, in an outstretched hand, was the necklace he had lost. "I think I liked you better as a Greek god." Bruce smiled. It was Clark who had returned the trinket. It truly was a good luck charm, just as Dick claimed.
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"Sorry to disappoint." Clark, now that he was wearing a shirt, a jacket, and a press badge, Clark Kent, looked not unattractive, just more to scale than the larger-than-life person Bruce had met at Midsummer. "Not disappointed, just curious. It's a change, the glasses and all." Clark likely wasn't smaller, shorter than Bruce remembered; just the way he held himself wasn't demanding you look at him, more politely asking you to look anywhere else. 'It's a—' Bruce was about to think a shame, a crime that Clark cloaked himself in the mundane, but then he reconsidered. "You only dress that proactively to celebrate a rousing raffle win?" Bruce watched as Clark readjusted those glasses, wondering if they were for fashion or function. He hadn't needed them to stare Bruce through before. "It was a— I— don't cut so loose often." A conversationally competent looker who didn't ride the party bus from station to station, Clark's modesty wasn't a crime; it made him a hidden gem. "Now, I won't lie, Clark. I was prepared to give a scoop to the man who was kind enough to return my lost treasure—" Bruce did take the necklace back; it swayed between them for a second or two. "It would, however, disappoint me if that is all you're here for." "I didn't come for a story, Mr. Wayne." "You seemed to be happy to have Bruce on your lips before." Clark reddened a shade or so. "We're on a first-name basis." His smile hadn't changed, bright as anything, even on a Monday morning. "So? Don't keep me waiting. What did you come for? That you came all the way here from—" Bruce glanced at Clark's press badge again; he must've swung here before or after some work assignment. "Metropolis?" "Well— Half as an apology. I am sorry for running out. I was having a great time with you. I just— All those cameras, all your friends, I felt a bit out of place." "You could have warned me." "Guess you looked good having a good time, didn't want to ruin it." Clark scratched the back of his head to really sell how he'd already scolded himself for turning tail. "I'm sorry." "Apology and compliment accepted. What's the second reason for your trek?" If Bruce's hunch was right, he was far more interested in that than any apology. "I wanted to see you again. Maybe if that went well, ask you to see me a third time?" That sealed it. Clark wasn't shy; that was a bold enough shot from a man Bruce hardly knew and had ghosted him days prior. Clark was just private. Bruce didn't get the luxury of privacy often, but he did understand the appeal. "I'd like that, Clark." Bruce grinned, adjusting his tie and collar to drop the necklace he'd put back on within his shirt. Clark might have liked the way the pendant looked, but it pushed beyond the limits of business casual for a CEO. "Did you have anywhere in mind?" Bruce smiled wider when Clark's eyes caught and held on to the fact that he'd left his tie just a smidgen looser than before. "I hadn't, but, What are your thoughts on ice cream?" Bruce could have been lactose intolerant, and he wouldn't have had the heart to shoot down Clark. He looked more than keen on the plan. "You said scoop, and then it hit me." "It is supposed to be a warm one." Bruce looked out his windows toward a perfect summer day. Contrary to popular belief, the sun hit Gotham just as squarely as the rest of Jersey. "You've sold me." Ice cream seemed different, just like Clark, would hit the spot, just like Clark. "Great! Now the best ice cream you can get in the city is from amusement alley." Clark was stepping closer, maybe hoping to sell his plan with more presence. "Says who?" Bruce chuckled. Ice cream was cute, but a carnival? Anyone else would have offered a quiet dinner or drinks downtown. True to Apollo, Clark wanted them to embrace the sun. "Says my stomach. I was happy to do so, but I don't just travel the bridge to see you, Bruce." Clark answered with a bit of a tease. "Well, from this moment forward, if you step foot in my city without letting me know, I'll be heartbroken." Bruce crowded Clark's space, it wasn't a power move, just an organic one, he wanted to be closer. "It's a date then?" Clark let a hand rest on Bruce's hip, his gaze still eyeing Bruce's loosened tie. "I would pay good money to see you squeeze into a spinning tea cup." Bruce shot Clark a mischievous smile. "It's a date." "Great, pick you up here or at— What? What's that look for?" Bruce had been blinking a bit owlish. It had been quite some time since anyone had picked him up for a date. Normally he'd meet his company wherever they were headed. Though before being side-tracked, Clark had looked like he'd be willing to throw Bruce over his shoulders and carry him there. "Pick me up at my home at six? I'd give you directions, but you really can't miss it." "Can't wait." Bruce got the moment he missed last time, a kiss on the cheek. "That's cute, Clark. I'll never turn it down, but" —Bruce snuck a finger into Clark's collar and pulled him forward, giving Clark a kiss on the lips— "that's better." "No arguments." Clark gave a reciprocal peck. "See you at six." When quarter to six rolled around, Bruce had showered, had dressed, and was about to head downstairs to wait for Clark when something called out to him from atop his bureau. "I think he likes you." Bruce mused either to himself or the pendant as he placed it on, glancing out the window at the Nash-Healy at the gate. "Of course, our sun god drives a convertible."
☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。Bruce found a new thing to like, to find charming about Clark, at every turn they took at that silly carnival. "I'm not going alone, Bruce. Come on." "Alright, alright." Bruce had asked to see Clark in one of those spinning tea cups, and Kent hesitated not at all to pull Bruce by the waist, place him square on his lap, and take him along for the ride. It was quite the spectacle, drew a bit of a crowd, several women outright pointed and laughed at the two grown men riding around in oversized china. Clark didn't mind being silly, laughing with them. It was nice that Clark didn't take himself all too seriously.
After meeting Bruce's prerequisite, they went and found what they had come here for. "Tell me I was wrong." Clark grinned between licks of his ice cream cone. "Best in the city?" "Perhaps in the city." Bruce agreed after a few considerate licks of his own. Clark quirked a brow, inquiring Bruce to go on. "Have you ever had Kulfi?" "Can't say that I have." Clark shrugged and waited for Bruce to continue. He had to wait a few extra seconds; Bruce needed time to chuckle at the fact that Clark was already licking his palm of any residual cream. His dessert had already vanished. "Saffron, mango, it comes in a lot of interesting flavors. I first had it in India, but it's fairly widespread nowadays.""We'll have to try it sometime." Clark had made a face at the prospect of saffron-flavored ice cream, but he seemed willing to give it a shot. A man willing to try things outside his comfort zone; another titillating trait. The concept took Bruce places past ice cream. After ice cream they had gotten lost in the maze of mirrors. Lost was inaccurate. You get lost by accident. Clark had been eyeing him up since they entered, finally at one turn, he seemed to put a plan into action. "Can stare at you from every angle, but it simply wasn't enough." He'd pressed Bruce's back right into one of those full-length mirrors. "No?" Bruce questioned into Clark's lips; they'd been kissing for maybe ten minutes before Clark had decided to explain his impulse. "Needed to get my hands on you, Bruce. Easy on the eyes—" Clark's thumb skimmed across the bolt of Bruce's jaw. "Most handsome man I've met." His fingers wove in and curled with Bruce's hair. "Too tempting not to touch." His free hand grabbed at Bruce's hip, the tips of his fingers finding purchase on the muscle that laid behind. In small spurts, in private little moments, Clark would be like this for Bruce, confident and charismatic, firey and amorous. It confirmed Midsummer wasn't a misinterpretation of Clark, just a peek at a side of him he'd like only to share with someone worthy. He was proclaiming he thought Bruce was one such man. "Don't just touch Clark." Bruce hooked an arm around Clark's neck, deepening the kiss. "Get your hands full." Bruce took Clark's hand down from his face and pulled it brazenly behind himself. "Breaking a mirror is seven years of bad luck." With a shift in the hold and a hefty lift, Bruce was no longer face to face with Clark; instead, his hips were framing Clark's cheeks. "So I've got to be careful." Bruce watched as Clark used his mouth to undo the button on his shorts. Seeing Clark's teeth then hitch on the zipper was an image Bruce was glad to view in multiple reflections. "You have the easy job, careful." Bruce did gesture the back of Clark's head forward, groaning when he felt Clark's tongue press moisture and heat right through his briefs into his skin. "I've got to be quiet." "I'll make it worth it, Bruce." Clark chinned at the elastic to Bruce's waistband, and the second his cock hit the open air, it was taken past Clark's lips. "Clark." Bruce ground forward, enjoying the responsive grip to hold him in place. The slight dig into his ribs by Clark's thumbs had the semi-public moment feel a little more intimate. He felt had; no one was taking him out of Clark's hold. Bruce needed that strong grip because Clark was unpredictable. Pace, depth, pressure. Once Bruce thought he was in a familiar rhythm, he'd writhe and bite down a shout as Clark changed the rules. "Clark, Clark, slow down," Bruce begged when Clark decided to really go on with some determined tenacity. It's not that the speed was crushing or cruel; Bruce just wanted the moment to last. Clark gave a curious glance up, there was concern at first, but it melted into amusement. Clark liked that Bruce couldn't help but dangle close to the edge. He did slow so much that it worked against Bruce. Clark had time to wind around and map Bruce with his tongue. "Fine, fine, please." Clark had been lavishing the head of Bruce's cock with slow, careful attention, and Bruce's nerves were near shot. "Please, Clark." Just as Bruce thought he might scream if he couldn't cum Clark lunged forward, pressing Bruce's back a bit harder into the mirror. There might have been a crack to the old weathered glass; Bruce hardly was in the mind to care. All he cared about was holding on and simultaneously letting go.
The kissing and heavy petting took high marks, but a consistent thing that Bruce enjoyed that became more frequent as the night went on were the passive touches, grabbing of hands, and holds on shoulders. Bruce especially liked when Clark's hand would just rest on his lower back, not to keep hold of him, not to venture lower, just to prolong contact, just to be close. They paused during their walk, Clark's eyes held in the distance, their edges crinkled amused. "Did you want to play?" Bruce had noticed Clark's gaze drifting, his smile widening. "Just noting how proud of the Bat your city is." Clark was staring at the high striker strength game. The prizes that surrounded it were a sea of plushies, a good eighty percent of which were bat-themed. "Depends on our mood. It's a marketable brand, though, for sure." "Heroes are sort of like sports teams." "Hot take. How so?" Bruce hadn't asked for Clark's opinion on vigilantes, but if he was offering, Bruce saw no reason not to explore this rabbit hole. "All of them are playing the same game. Make similar plays." "Give or take." Bruce curled a little closer into Clark's hold as they got closer to the game. "But each city's hero? It's an extension of the city itself. They win, you win, they lose, you lose. You're their harshest critic, but— you're also their biggest supporter, their motivation. Cities need their heroes to protect them but also someone to root for, to be their symbol, someone you relate to." "You've thought a lot about this." "If I go three weeks without having to build Superman up as the second coming, Perry starts warning me to get my priorities in check. Heroes are always news; they are built on the stories told about them." "So you built Superman?" Bruce elbowed at Clark's rib. "No. Metropolis did; I just get the byline." It was a somewhat melancholy middling opinion on those who donned capes, but Bruce found Clark's reasoning sound, not too harsh, not propping them up on infallible pedestals. "Well? Take a swing, bag yourself a bat." "I could." Clark eyed up the mallet, the target, all the way to the bell at the top. "But this game is rigged. Come on, I'll win you something at the darts booth." Much like the strength game, darts were rigged as well. Bruce noticed the duller edges to the tips, meant to bounce right off the slightly under-inflated balloon. Clark's aim was on, but he was playing at a disadvantage. "Clark, all the games are rigged." Bruce went a few steps over to the ring toss. "That's half the fun." The rings he was handed were metal-coated plastic to make for an uneven throw and a more likely bounce off his target. On top of that, those 'stationary' milk bottles he was aiming for moved, not much, maybe an inch or so, but on his first two throws, he noticed the bottles dipped on an incline. "What's so fun about cheating people?" Another dart missed. Clark turned, confused and a bit frustrated, to watch Bruce's next throw. "About not giving them a fair shot?" "Nothing." No one knew the trajectory of projectiles quite like Bruce. It was easy to adapt to the small handicaps he was presented with. His third shot caught the bottle. "It's winning despite the odds; that's the thrill." "Looks like we've got a natural!" The carney either didn't care or chose not to remark on the honesty of the game. Bruce's second shot followed a similar confident arc. Bruce had a hunch the carney wasn't going to hit the pedal on his last toss in an attempt to throw him off balance. He adjusted his wrist accordingly. "Pick out your prize, Clark." Bruce had good hunches and better aim; he sunk his last shot. He glanced over to see if he'd truly dented Clark's moral compass or pride with his skill at crooked games. While Clark's arms were folded over his chest and he was squinting disapprovingly at the game itself, he had a small smirk. He might have hated the game, but he was proud of the player. The smirk bloomed into a smile, and Clark spanned their distance. "You got lucky, is all." Clark crowded Bruce's space, kissing him but oddly not holding him. It didn't feel the same without Clark's hands gripping his shoulder. Bruce was one date in, and he knew how he preferred Clark to kiss him. "My lucky little fox." Clark had been grabbing behind Bruce, plucking a small little red plush fox, or maybe it was Clifford, the big red dog, it was hard to say. Either way, Clark bopped it into Bruce's nose once he pulled back. "It's all skill, I assure you." Bruce snuck his thumbs into Clark's belt loops, pressing his chest against Clark's, humming pleased into another kiss, this one more to his liking.
It didn't take long before something else caught Clark's attention. "Do you hear that?" At first, Bruce didn't, but making sure to keep up with Clark, not wanting to lose him to another crowd, the noise did eventually hit his ears, a crying child. "Over there!" Near the line for the Ferris wheel was a small boy, maybe around six or seven, sobbing to the point of hyperventilating. Bruce felt a small bit of anger that no one was helping the child. People saw and heard him, they made sympathetic faces, but no one was doing anything. He didn't think they were bad people, he understood the bystander effect well enough, but still, how could you ignore a child? Clark was an exception. The man was no bystander. Without a second thought, Clark had paused their good time to help someone in need, though by the looks of it he needed some saving of his own. "Can you tell me your name?" "What if they left without me?!" The child wailed. "Your parents?" Clark had crouched down to get at the small boy's level, but it didn't stop the near-dry heaving of the boy in the slightest. "Can you remember where you last saw them?" "Noooooooo!" The child was scared and displaced in an environment with a lot of distractions and unfamiliar landmarks surrounding him. "OK, OK, that's fine. Why don't we—" "Here." Bruce had come to Clark's rescue. He'd taken off his pendant and placed it around the boy's neck. "What's— What's—" He couldn't get a sentence out, the poor thing. "A good luck charm from my son." Bruce watched the boy fiddle with it for a few seconds, his breath calming down just a bit. "Do you know what it does?" "Makes you lucky? Like a rabbit's foot?" "Something like that." Bruce chuckled. "But it's a very specific sort of luck. It brings you whoever you're looking for. It brought me Clark here, for instance, not once but twice! Clark tell my friend—" Bruce paused for a name. "Tim. Hi, Clark." The boy sniffled. "Hello, Tim." Clark waved. "It's true. I keep getting lost just like you did, and that right there pulls me right back to Bruce, just like magic." "Really?" "Now, Tim, you and I are going to wait here and just wait for the magic to happen." Bruce sat down on the ground next to Tim. "On the off chance my charm is still recharging, Clark is going to the security booth near the front entrance to call for your parents, alright?" Bruce smiled at Clark, who nodded, gave another wave to Tim, and started to jog off.
Clark did end up finding Tim's parents, returning a short while later, much to the child's overwhelming relief. "Don't forget your luck!" Tim was unwilling to let go of his mother's leg, but he did hold up the pendant to Bruce. "We can't have that now, can we?" Bruce looked over his shoulder. For a brief moment, Clark played confused, staring at his surroundings in an overdone play at panic. "You're really good with kids, you know?" Clark kissed Bruce on the cheek again as Tim and his parents waved goodbye. "Well, I should hope so. I really have a child." Bruce was sure Clark knew that already, but still, he watched for any anxious reaction. Maybe he thought Bruce one of those hands-off rich patriarchs that did not let parenting cramp their style. "Two don't always go hand in hand, but—. I'm just saying you did great." Clark was now the one fiddling with the necklace that had found its way back to Bruce. "Had me believing it, you sold it so well." "I simply told him the truth. Children respond better to facts than adults give them credit for." "Well, I'll do my best not to get lost again." "You better not. We make too good a team, Clark."
"How bout one ride on the coaster, then I'll get you home?" "I feel like I should consult my legal team before getting on that death trap." Bruce glanced over at the stall for the roller coaster. The ride operator had an unopened six-pack of beer sitting next to the controls. There were bolts that were weaker than the task being asked of them. Perhaps not an accident waiting to happen but certainly a ride that needed a fresh coat of paint and better moderation. 'Do I own this park or lease the plot?' "Not a fan of heights?" Clark noticed Bruce's study of the structural integrity of the steel behemoth in front of them. "I get it. I used to hurl every time I rode one of these. The drops didn't agree with me." "Used to?" Bruce was now unsure if he would end the night, rubbing Clark's back as the man buried his face in a garbage can. "As I grew older, I grew a taste for them. I can't really explain the feeling I get but —" The reporter really did seem frustrated that he couldn't find the words. "Guess it brings back lots of memories. I've got a sweet spot for coasters." "I suppose I can suck it up if it means that much to you, but in exchange, I get to choose where we go on our next date. Deal?" "Deal. Come on, it won't be so bad. I've got you." Clark did have Bruce. For the first few months, Clark had Bruce in hand heart and, more often than not, in bed once a week, twice on weeks that he could sneak to Gotham on his lunch break. Though Bruce Wayne works as hard as he plays, sometimes leaving little room to share meals, days, and dreams with your boyfriend.
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"You seem distracted, Batman. Is everything alright?" Clark noticed the Bat wasn't the first nor the second member to hop on the ship. He was lingering on the loading dock, reading the mission dossier for if Clark hadn't missed a scan the tenth time this hour. "I don't trust these coordinates." "You think we're being sent on a wild goose chase?" "No. I think we're being set up, that they want us there." "Who? The Angtuans?" "I don't know. I find the brevity of their distress call suspect. There are life forms on that planet, but I— Don't think this a relief effort, Kal." "OK, why?" "I— It's just a feeling more than anything." There was more to it than a hunch, but it was all Batman seemed willing to give up at this time. "Well, I trust your gut as much as I do that head of yours." Clark tapped a fist against the Bat's cowl. "We'll do a deep sweep before landing." "Right." Clark knew something else was bothering Batman; he just wasn't sure what. "And?" So he asked. "And?" "What else is on your mind?" Clark leaned against the ship's hull, studying the small sideways twitch of Batman's lips. "Something at home?" If it was a case nagging him, those lips would have curled to the right; instead, it was the left. 'Oh boy, I'm in deep, aren't I?' Clark realized, as he studied Batman's face for tells, he was making mental parallels, noting similarities between its shape and Bruce's. 'He left two days ago on business, and you're already seeing his smile on any Gothamite who can grin.' "It's nothing that will get in the way of the mission." Batman might have taken Clark's studying as scrutiny or doubt. "I'm not interrogating you. Just an ear, you know?" Whatever was bothering Batman, it was something private. Clark could respect that. "I don't want to leave right now. Space missions are always unpredictable in their time frame, and— Things are busier than usual at home." Clark knew he wasn't going to get details, but part of that 'busier' likely had to do with the fact Robin had been injured on the last Titan's mission. Not mortally, but still, one can't ask a father not to worry. Plus that left Gotham to— Batgirl and— Who's ever turn it was to be antihero this month. 'We both sort of monopolize our turf.' People harped on the Bat for being territorial, but the Man of Steel didn't exactly share a ton of airspace. "While I won't pretend to understand—" Clark did not have a son in a splint to think of; he had people to care for, miss, and worry about, it simply wasn't the same. "I can empathize. If you need to sit this one out, you can. I'll miss your company but enjoy the extra elbow room. J'onn, GL, and I can—" "I said I didn't want to leave. It doesn't mean I feel I shouldn't. I put myself on this mission because I have a bad feeling about this Kal, and I'd rather know the bad facts."
☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。"Someone's down there, in a mine of some sort by the looks of it." That's all Zuun was, a labyrinth of practically barren mines. The air was polluted, the seas toxic. There were very few inhabitants on this ravaged rock. Angtuans were among the few races that would find such a place hospitable. The league had run into survivors of Angtu doing thankless jobs in merciless environments on more than one occasion. The race had a work ethic and a constitution that was unrivaled, but they did have a habit of not knowing when to call it quits. "Zuunium is what they're digging for. It's a scarce mineral, there's not much left, but even dust could be sold for millions if not billions at this point." Batman spoke with the confidence of a man who had the specs of this mission imprinted on the back of his eyelids. "B, I think you might be right. I think it's a trap." Clark checked one more time, but still, things weren't adding up. "What makes you say that?" "They do need our help." Clark could see down into the mines, could see there were about a half dozen bodies that appeared to be in writhing pain. He could hear their screams, no words, just guttural sounds of anguish that all checked out; only one thing didn't. "But there's no cave-in, no monster, no—" "Reason for them to stay in the mines." "So either their hiding from something above ground I can't see or—" "Something in the mine you can't see is binding them there." "Yes." "J'onn, Lantern, there are some unaffected locals on the south eastern hemisphere. You two take the ship and get as much information as you can on what we're dealing with." Batman's entire face was now obscured. His voice rasped with the hiss of an added breathing apparatus to accommodate the atmosphere. "So you two are just going to— get trapped?" Lantern wasn't so much protesting so much as asking to be filled in on something he missed. "If we can get to the injured, it's worth a bit of mandated quality time." Clark peered at the case Batman was packing up. It wasn't full of additional smoke bombs and batarangs. It was diagnostic equipment, a few species spanning medical aids.
☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。They didn't need Clark's x-ray vision or even sonar equipment. They were following the sounds of screams. "Kal— Kal, are you listening to me?" "Huh?" Maybe the screams had gotten so loud he hadn't heard Batman going over some theory or attempt at small talk. "Now, who's distracted?" Batman was teasing, but something was wrong. Clark's mind was racing over nothing, he took too long to reply, and Batman took note. "Your breath is short, you're sweating, eyes are over dilated. You're not in control of your functions like you normally are, Kal." "It's like I'm forgetting to breathe." Maybe this atmosphere was even toxic to Kryptonians. "Kal, you don't need to breathe. Are you claustrophobic?" Batman thought Clark was having a panic attack. 'That's not it— my powers are fluctuating, but we can't turn around now.' Clark focused on shutting down any overactive muscles in his diaphragm. "I'd say yes, but I feel like it would end up on some file somewhere." Clark smiled. He couldn't see if Batman shared any of the humor in that. "I take up a lot of room and do my best work above ground, but I can always— make room, B. I'm fine." "No, you're not! Get topside. I'll—" "Two of us trapped together is a risk worth taking; sending you in alone isn't. You can take point, but this isn't Gotham. You don't get to ditch me in the sewers." Batman wasn't listening. He was checking his Geiger counter for any spikes in radiation. "Looking for a needle in a haystack, this whole planet is teeming with radiation," Batman grumbled, frustrated. He sized Clark up for a second. "Kal, whatever is affecting them is affecting you." Batman activated his com. "Lantern, swing back as soon as possible and tell J'onn to meet us in the med bay." "I'm stronger than they are. I can take it." Clark knew they were close. They could finish their part of their mission. He just needed to focus. "You don't know that." "I'm a strong believer in positive thinking." "I'm taking point, and if I tell you to back down, you do it, Kal." Batman wasn't conceding to Clark's optimism, more his stubbornness. He worried if he put his foot down, Superman would slip into the mine system a different way, not willing to desert those in danger or his teammate. The Bat knew it was better to keep Clark where he could see him. "We're wasting time. Their screams are getting louder." "No, Kal, just can't control your ears. Come on, maybe if I can find the source, I can figure out a way to neutralize it."
☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。They were about three miles deep into the mine when things went from bad to worse. "Superman, get back!" "What is it?!" Maybe it was his wonky ears or jumbled thoughts, but Clark didn't listen to the Bat's order. Instead, he sped to catch up to the human who'd outpaced him. "Superman, I said, get back. They aren't Angtuans! They're Daxamites. They're down here hiding from the suns!" Daxamites were not just similar to Kryptonians; they were genetic cousins. Thousands of years before the fall of Krypton, several hundred separatists had settled and integrated with the locals of Daxam. Their bodies looked and responded the same as a Kryptonian would, but Clark was under no illusion he'd stumbled onto a family reunion. The Daxamites were an extremely religiously devoted and notoriously xenophobic race. They wouldn't be caught dead mining up moon dust unless death was exactly what was on their mind. Clark froze. This was a trap. It was a trap laid for Superman. The distress call from Angtuans, just a cover. Clark wouldn't have gone on the planet if he knew people genetically similar to himself were being afflicted. It would make him exactly what he was at the moment, a liability. "I don't understand why they would be hiding from the—" "Kal, get ou—" That was a sound Clark, unfortunately, knew too well, the crash and crack of a Bat being thrown into stone. "Get to the ship!" Clark had two choices, leave Batman to fend for himself against six to ten wounded and possibly rabid Daxamites and hope he got to the ship in time to scoop up something with a pulse. Or he could ignore Batman, who he'd given leadership over the mission, and try to pull the Bat out before he was too far gone himself. 'I can do it. I need to. I can hold out long enough. I know I can.' Clark went in after his partner.
☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。"Now, whose breath is short?" Clark heard Batman's breathing before he had the strength to open his eyes. He also could hear monitors beeping, electric humming, the Lantern strumming his fingers impatiently at the control panel down the hall. "We're on the ship." Clark blinked, fully conscious and confirmed. "It's back." Clark looked at his arm, and there seemed to be skin there. His last conscious thought had been it had melted off. "We needed to get you away from the suns. That's why the Daxamites were staying underground. That stone turned their skin translucent. You were all overcharged to the point of blinding pain." Zuun was within a three-star solar system. Hiding from radiation was like attempting to stay dry in the ocean. "Did I attack you, Batman? I don't remember much after—" "Ignoring me?" "They could have killed you." "You also could have." "Your ribs, how many are broken? Did I—" "It made them aggressive. You seemed more paralyzed by it than anything. You threw me out of the shaft, then you fell— then you screamed." "Are you alright? The Daxamites are—" "I'll live, Kal, we'll all live; thanks to your positive, I think I can, attitude." Batman chuckled. "J'onn is pumping the Daxamites with a steady stream of potassium iodide, and it seems to be helping. I don't know if they reacted differently due to prolonged exposure or—" "It's not all positive thinking; it's training. They're not used to heat vision and super strength. Their planet, Daxam, has a red sun just like Krypton. So to have powers they're not accustomed to, at full throttle, they couldn't control themselves. I could, just enough. You said it was a stone. What color was it?" "A red mineral I've never seen before. It curiously has a similar structure to kryptonite but—" "Or that." Clark chuckled. He'd given himself too much credit. "Hmm?" "Red Kryptonite. It's— tricky." "Tricky?" "Studies done on it were inconclusive. The effects it had on subjects affected varying wildly." "Wait, you're just now telling me there is more than one sort of kryptonite? How long have you known? This one had a more rapid half-life than green K." Next to Clark, and perhaps Luthor, no one on earth knew kryptonite down to its atoms like Batman. Clark and the Daxamites were lucky. If the Bat hadn't followed his gut and persisted in going along, things could have gone far worse. "B, can we save the science specs for later? Yes, there are— Or were— I've only ever read about them, other than your standard bargain bin Green K. I assumed all the rest were— just history files." "Kal, who else would have access to those files?" "Alive? Brainiac would have access to them." Clark's own wealth of information in the Fortress was a combination of Kryptonian studies and Brainiac's fastidious record keeping. "But this seems a bit impulsive and small scale for him." "Petty? Putting aliens of three different races in harm's way in the pursuit of taking down one Kryptonian? Could be this isn't Red Kryptonite from your planet at all. Maybe it's a synthetic lab-born concoction. A lover’s spat, perhaps?" Batman's money appeared to be on Lex. "The Daxamites!" Some brain cells got enough spark to drag Clark to another possible option. "A suicide mission?" Batman queried. "Or a misinformed one. They branched off from Krypton long ago, perhaps before deep testing had been done. They were less passionate about science than my race. They had more— faith in their superiority. It's possible they thought with Sard's blessing, nothing could touch them. If the stars spoke to them, if someone offered them assistance curing their lead allergy, heck, just because I'm some familiar blemish, there are plenty of reasons for them to want me gone." "We don't have enough information. I'd like to study the kryptonite, Kal." Clark could study it himself. He had the tools to do so the reference material to compare it to; he didn't need the Bat to do all the heavy cranial lifting for the team. "I didn't like seeing you like that. I didn't like not knowing how to help you— If I could help you. You should have trusted me with this information before." "I told you, I thought it was myth, legend. In one story, I kid you not, a man claimed to be turned into a dragon by the stuff." "We need to sift Arthurian legend from Kryptonian fact. How many other colors are there?" Clark hesitated; there wasn't much that could take him down. The second his rouges had found that rock, it seemed to be everywhere. Batman himself had not been shy to explain he had his own stockade. 'Is it better to keep it to myself and hope this was a fluke? Or explain it and hope the information doesn't get into the wrong hands?' Clark almost asked Batman to drop it for now. He needed time to think about what he was willing to share, but then he saw the Bat's lip twitch to the left. "I don't need a periodic breakdown just— Is red the worst? Does it get worse, Kal? I need to know." Clark wasn't just a case to him. He was a friend. A friend he was as worried about him as he was cautionary. Clark was an ally, but he could become a danger, a threat. If some of those 'myths' were true, someone would have to keep him in check. That someone was Batman. "Black." Clark hissed as he sat up; his skin felt irritated and raw, and his muscles cramped and overused. "Black Kryptonite separates the subject. Their moral compass swallowed into a dark abyss, friend, foe, means nothing, blood is inevitable." That sounded the worst to Clark. "Silver elicits paranoia." Clark went down the list. He had to think. This wasn't his favorite late-night read. "Turquoise is just Green but— rarer." Clark watched the Bat's fists clenched, could hear his heart rate spike at all these vague yet ominous possible threats. "Periwinkle—" "You've got to be shitting me." Batman slammed a palm against his face. Clark had never said this was a short list. "Subjects lose all their inhibitions. It's said to be a less stable strain of Pink Kryptonite which makes Kryptonians amorous, crave the contact and affection of others, and is used as an aphrodisiac by some. See? Not all scary." "Still dubious. And the others? Salmon? Violet? Umbra?" "White seems to have an adverse effect on plant life. Those in contact with Jewel Kryptonite show temporary signs of psychic ability. Then—" This was the part Batman was going to like the least. "Then what?" "There are those that appear to have no effect at all. Blue, Gold, Clear. Kryptonian geologists studied them but noticed no change." The unknown, Batman both deplored and weaponized the concept of that which must exist but cannot be explained. "Under a red sun." Batman amended. "Who knows what it would do to you, Kal." "I don't know." Clark sighed, laying back down in bed. "I don't have any to test." "Alright. Enough for now. Thank you for trusting me, Kal. I swear I never want to abuse your biology, but it's too volatile to guess at." "Volatile." What an angry, aggressive, unsafe word. "That's me." "I didn't mean it like that." The Bat stood and walked to approach his bedside. "Go check on the others. Maybe they're ready to be forthcoming about how they ended up on the wrong rock, with the wrong rock. I'm going to rest my eyes a bit." "Alright, I'll send J'onn to check on you in a few hours." "Batman?" "Yes?" "I'm sorry we have to linger longer." Due to Clark's 'volatile' state, it was unlikely they'd zoom home after dropping off the Daxamites. Batman would have to delay his busy home life longer than he'd planned. "—I know you had other things you could have been doing." "Success is simple. Do what's right, the right way, at the right time." "One of your self-help books?" It was a nothing phrase, but it was something to Clark. It was a reminder that the Bat was more than a teammate, more than a friend, something else. Maybe a kindred spirit? "Forbes, actually." 'Something else, that's for sure.' Clark's head hurt too much to think on it any longer. He tried to get some sleep.
☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。Clark woke and felt drained, more exhausted than when he'd closed his eyes. Under any other circumstance, he'd crank up some sunlamps and roast a bit, but they were stuck adrift because the sun wasn't his friend at the moment. 'Lonely up here.' On Top of feeling unwell, Clark felt out of sorts in a different way. It used to be that space missions were just a good way to rest his ears from the noises of Earth, but he found himself missing conversation, missing contact. He had always been a social creature, but this void he was feeling was specific and Bruce-shaped. "Sweetheart, darling, the sun in flesh and blood. Do you know what time it is in Switzerland right now?" Bruce had answered the phone with a raspy yawn. Clark couldn't help but smile. It was worth figuring out how to tap his cell phone from deep space. Bruce wasn't going to pick up for some random number, even if it was the Justice League. "Sorry, I just—“ Clark did some mental math. It was roughly four AM, and some change in Switzerland. "I can call back." "Not letting you off the hook just like that. You woke me up. It's your job to tire me back down. I feel genuine heartache Clark. I miss you so much it hurts." Clark loved when Bruce laid it on thick, loved the coy little sparkle that shone in Brue's eyes as he did so. "That so? This the part where I tell you what I'm wearing? What I'll do to you when you get home?" Clark could hear the amused and slightly interested chuckle on the other end of the line. "I'm wearing nothing at all, Bruce." Clark left the part out that he was naked because the skin-tight suit against irritated flesh had felt like hot coals. "And everything, I'll do everything you like the second I have you back." "That's a long list." The sound of Bruce swallowing down a lump in his throat was pleasing. Clark was still in pain, but the endorphin spike by that sound made it fade momentarily to something bearable. "You know this is having the opposite effect of tiring me out, Clark." If Clark closed his eyes, he could see Bruce moisten his lips and seductively churn his hips. "Point taken. I'm just at a loss, Bruce. It's hard to tire you out without touching you." Clark was a little hard at the thought of touching Bruce, which was impressive in his weakened state. 'Soon, I'll see him soon.' Clark swallowed down his pent-up lust. "When do you get home again?" "A few miscommunications have turned out to be quite the stitch in my side. I'll be stuck here another week, perhaps two." "Really?!" Clark would be stuck in space for another forty-eight hours to be on the safe side. He had been hoping to touch down and then find his way back to his partner. "Guess your lucky charm has its limits, huh?" Clark tried not to sound discouraged by the news. "I miss you too, Clark." Clark still felt awful, but that sent warmth through his chest, no sunlamp required. Someone would be happy to see him when he returned, Clark, not Superman, not Smallville, Clark. "Which reminds me, I wanted to ask you something." "Shoot." "The week before school starts, Alfred and I take Dick on a trip, a last hurrah of summer, a treasure hunt. It's a bit of a must." "What do you need with treasure?" "Sorry, that's just what I've always called it to hold Dick's interest. It's prospecting of a sort, recreational geology, I guess you could say. I like digging in obscure places for rare things." "Even your hobbies are cultured." Clark chuckled. This checked out. Bruce was a pack rat, of the ornate, of the old, and would be forgotten. Wayne Manor, when left in a room alone, did have a museum-like quality to it. Clark sometimes fought the impulse to tell Bruce his love of the rare bled into his romance. He had a one-of-a-kind Kryptonian wrapped around his finger. "This year, we're torn. Dick wants to cliff dive cenotes in Mexico; I've been dying to see the ghost town of Kolmanskop, Namibia. I was wondering if you'd be willing to cast the deciding vote?" "Deciding— Are you sure? Sounds sort of like a family affair." It's not that Clark hadn't met Richard, he had, multiple times, but this seemed different. A tradition, Clark was being welcomed into a family tradition. "It is. I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't sure. I— want you in my life, Clark, and this is— a step I hope you're willing to take." After being nearly killed, likely by his closest genetic relatives, this was an unexpected but welcomed offer to Clark. It reminded him ‘Family’ didn't have to be a dirty word. That warmth in his chest blossomed, started to vein out and energize all of him. He was feeling better already. "I'll gladly slather you in sunscreen, Bruce. Namibia or Mexico makes no difference to me." "I'm so glad to hear you've chosen my side."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The trip had started fine, more than fine from Clark's perspective. "It's still early. What are you doing, Clark?" They had arrived at the hotel late in the night, unpacked, and gone straight to sleep. Bruce had fallen asleep face forward in the sheets, and Clark had found his calling as a jet-lagged weighted blanket over top of him. "Waking you up." They'd already slept through breakfast. They did need to start their day. Clark could have made some coffee and hoped the smell would stir Bruce from sleep, though his plan of peppering kisses into the back of Bruce's neck until he woke spoke to Clark as the superior choice. "Ah." Bruce reached up behind him and held Clark there by the hair. "Is there anything I could do—" Bruce hummed, pleased when Clark pressed up his shirt, his kisses moving to Bruce's shoulders, then licked at the bit of spine in-between. "To convince you to stay in bed a while longer?" Bruce arched back, grinding ambiently against Clark's morning wood. "I can think of a few things." Clark placed a palm at the center of Bruce's chest, pulling him back into a kneeling position on the bed. "Claamph." Clark had seen Bruce was already hard and decided not to waste any time. He took Bruce in his hand and began stroking, all the while grinding slowly from behind. He got greedy and stole a kiss as well. He wanted Bruce panting sooner rather than later. "Now I could get out of bed." Clark sped his palm slightly. "Don't you dare stop, Clark!" Bruce groaned as he bucked into Clark's fist. "Well, I can't fuck you dry, Bruce. And you do want me to fuck you? Or will a nice morning rub suffice?" Clark could be flexible, find fun in both ideas. "I could wait." Clark ran his cock hard against Bruce's ass. "Clark." Bruce seemed to doubt Clark's conviction. "I could wait all day Bruce, something to look forward to all day, hmm?" Clark bit at Bruce's neck, feeling the heavy thump of his pulse. "I'd be staring at you all day, just waiting to get you back into this bed." "You're not subtle when you stare, Clark." "Why should I be, huh? Just look at you." Clark increased the pressure to his hold, tipping Bruce over the edge into orgasm. He let out such a delightful moan, followed by some hazy breaths of self-collection, flushed cheeks, and charming bedhead. "I'd be crazy to look at you any other way. Plus, you like it when I stare. So we can wait." Clark's fingers coated in Bruce's cum reached back and pressed at his entrance. "Or we can stay in bed a little while longer. Up to you." Clark grinned as Bruce sank to take his fingers. "Both." Bruce had such nice hips. They moved so gracefully yet full of urgent command. "I want both, Clark." "Well, we are on vacation." Clark took a moment or two to make sure Bruce was ready. "Clark!" "It's a time to indulge." Clark did so, let himself plunge in and bask in the decadent feel of Bruce. ☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。By lunch, things grew a little turbulent, but nothing unbearable. "You two never let up, do you?" Dick was eyeing Bruce and Clark's clasped hands at the table when he joined them. At first, Clark thought nothing of it, smiled, shrugged, and went about eating, but then he noticed Dick studying him, staring at him. "Everything OK, bud?" For a moment, Clark paled, contemplating the thickness or lack thereof of the hotel walls, dreading if Dick had heard him and Bruce greeting the morning. "You two have been together all summer." "Mmhmm," Clark knew what sort of conversation was on the horizon and so, apparently, had Bruce, who gave a slight squeeze to his hand. "So, you two are serious?" Clark being here, on this family trip, it was a turning point in the relationship, not lost on Bruce's son. Clark didn't know how to respond at first. A simple yes was not enough. 'Do I ask for permission? His blessing?' Clark decided to answer a question with a question to be evasive, or less than sure, and that wasn't him. "I love Bruce very much." The sound Bruce made wasn't exactly a gasp, more an expanding breath, their world growing a little larger. "And I think he puts up with me just fine." "I love you too, Clark." It was second nature by this point to reward such a statement with a quick peck on the cheek. They'd said ‘I love you’ to each other before. They hadn't been sparing or skeptical with the words. Telling someone else, though, was different. It didn't mean more or less; it was just part of becoming real, becoming serious, being seen as not two people together but a solidified pair. "You're a nice guy," Dick stated as he piled his plate with food. Being a good guy was normally a compliment, or a dismissal of someone who you aren't interested in romantically. Dick wasn't saying it in either context, and Clark was confused. "Would you rather me be a bad guy?" "He's dated nice guys before." That's the only response given for a while. Dick tilted his head, studied Clark harder. "Those men weren't Clark." Bruce's tone was calm and contemplative like he was trying to read in-between Dick's words. Clark noticed that among Dick, Bruce, and Alfred, there was almost a Mexican standoff chain of glances. Clark felt out of the loop. Clearly, they were having some family conversation in front of his face but beyond his hearing. "It hurts him worse when the nice ones go." Dick gave just a small window for Clark to peer into. He hadn't said if Bruce had been left by these nice guys, or if it was the other way around, just that— nice wasn't enough to sustain a relationship with Bruce, and that breakups with bad boys didn't hold the same sort of sting. "Dick, I don't need you to defend my lovesick heart." Bruce gave a chuckle mixed with a sigh. Alfred replied with a scoff that seemed to disagree with Bruce's sentiment. "They think they know him, think they love him, but they don't or— can't, not all of him." Dick pressed on. "And when things get real, when he lets them in— Bruce is alone again. Because things aren't always easy or nice, things are real." If Dick stared at Clark any harder, he was going to look through him. "He doesn't deserve that. My dad is a good guy, Clark, one of the best." "Dick, that is natural. That happens. I don't regret— trying with others, but Clark is different." Bruce took the lead here. He understood in a way Clark couldn't fathom how a father's attempt at finding love could be perceived by a son. "How?" It was somehow such a small and large question at the same time. What made this relationship any different than the others? "Because I'm not going anywhere." The answer came so easy, so confident and sure. "I won't give the way I feel with Bruce up for anything. Love is finding someone you can be yourself with, easy, nice, and everything else. Being at this table feels right." Clark knew these words weren't enough; he'd have to prove his staying power over time, but he remembered what Bruce had said about children months back. 'I simply told him the truth, children respond better to facts than adults give them credit for.' "Clark's different because— this feels different, Dick. It really does. I'm really happy." The table grew quiet, eating and drinking, the meal resumed, but Clark found it far too tense for a conversation that seemed to have ended well enough. "If you wanted relationship advice, you don't have to project on Bruce and me. You can just ask. I know it's too soon to come to me for fatherly advice, but Dick, I'm always willing—" "Wait, wait, hold up! What?!" Dick's voice had cracked slightly at the question, his hands waving feverishly for Clark to stop. "Oh." Bruce caught on and chuckled before joining in on the tease. "I told you to invite Barbra. Things are getting serious between you two as well, aren't they?" Dick seemed to be scanning the room for exits, desperately wanting to flee. "I— No— I mean— Wait! How do you even know about Barbra? Bruce, you shouldn't be gossiping to your husband when—" Everyone froze a bit at that slip of the tongue. Clark froze fondly, his eyes and smile wide with happiness and a bit of hope. "I've met Barbra. When she's come over to 'tutor' you in French, you pretend not to understand." Clark watched Dick's ears turn red. "A very nice girl. I think you two are good together." "We're dating. We're not—" "A tandem wedding would starve off the carpal tunnel in my calligraphy hand." Alfred had remained mostly silent, sipping his tea, but swept in with a crushing blow. "Alright, alright! Enough. We should get to the ghost town before it gets too crowded." Dick likely feared he'd leave for the astral plane himself if they spoke on this topic much longer. ☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。"Clark, remember to drink something! I very much like the sweat you've worked up, but you need to stay hydrated." Bruce handed over a water bottle. "Sweat?" It should have been a red flag in retrospect, Clark had been in the center of active volcanoes, and while his clothing couldn't always take the heat, he didn't recall his body having to work to cool itself. "Guess you just have that effect on me, Bruce," Clark smirked as he took off his shirt, bunching it into his back pocket. Clark didn't see the red flag because he was blinded by the good time they were having. It was nice to get away from everything, away from cities and stories. Watching Dick sleuth and explore the buildings being swallowed by sand, walking next to Bruce in a place where time moved slow, maybe even not at all. It was quiet and comfortable, a reset from the attention-grabbing hustle and bustle of their everyday life. It was a relief not to have to share Bruce, not to have to read or god forbid write on the newest gossip swirling around a man most still perceived to be a playboy. "Alfred didn't want to come on your treasure hunt?" Clark was concerned that was his doing. People said Bruce was hard to read, but that was wrong. He was very honest; you just had to listen to him, look at him, and he was willing to share. People liked stories too much, unwilling to accept facts. "He says a hunt of any sort is not what vacations are for." Bruce was squinting, searching amongst the sand for something. "He just wants to hunt the bottom of a bottle of Blackwood and the end of his novel uninterrupted. I think he may have friends in town." On the other hand, Alfred was honest in that he did not care that you knew he was lying. He had secrets and opinions held politely just out of grasp, unwilling to tell or simply figuring one should work for his truth. He was difficult to get a straight answer out of. Clark wasn't sure where he stood with the man. "What are we looking for again?" Clark couldn't improve his standing with a man who wasn't here, so he focused on the man right within his grasp instead. "Clark, I know I've told you of my rock collection." "Told me? It's what attracted me to you in the first place. I saw you and went, ‘That looks like a man who appreciates a good rock!’" "Tease all you like. Practically marble yourself." Bruce ran a hand down Clark's chest. "But look at it from my perspective. It's a hobby I can't just— buy my way to the top of the trade. It takes research and exploration; it's a passion project of mine." "You do know this mining town was abandoned— because they ran out of diamonds, right?" Clark decided to lean against one of the crumbling homes, catching his breath slightly and pouring some water over his head. Another red flag that went unchecked, a little pant was no price to pay for pulling Bruce in by the waist into a kiss. "If I was looking for something as pedestrian and terrestrial as diamonds, I would be out of luck then." "Pedestrian as diamonds, huh?" Clark kissed Bruce again, his eyes caught on that pendant around Bruce's neck, that gift from Dick. Was it some celestial stone? It looked vaguely familiar, but Clark couldn't quite place it. "I have fine, extravagant taste." "I'll find you something fine and extravagant then." If Clark ever asked Bruce to marry him, he would have quite the challenge, it seemed.
Clark initially thought it was a mirage, a bathtub full of sand. It was like something out of a Dalí painting. He walked closer because something seemed off. Something seemed less than pedestrian, less than terrestrial. There was a small lump of turquoise tucked in the mounds of sand at the feet of the tub. 'Maybe blue clashes less with business suits than pink.' Clark grew giddy, short-sighted, and maybe even a bit light-headed at the thought of presenting it to Bruce. He reached out, and it burned his palm. He might have cried out, or he might have crumpled quietly. Either way, he fell. That's what happens when you charge at red flags as if they are a matador's cape.
"Clark?! Bruce?! Bruce, come here! Clark's hurt!" Bruce had heard the thud. He had been casually walking to take a peek but then burst into a sprint when he heard Dick shout. When he entered the room, Clark had been shoved on his back, a seeping wound on his forehead. With a quick side glance, Bruce noticed he must've been busted on the lip of the tub during his fall. Clark's face and chest were coated in sand. His eyes fluttering and tearing, he was convulsing slightly. "Bruce, his skin is turning gray. He's burning up! Bruce, do something!" Dick had Clark's head in his lap, Clark's cheeks in his palms. "Clark, breath!" There was a slight pink foam coming from Clark's mouth. He must've bitten his tongue at some point. "Heatstroke” was the obvious assumption. Bruce glanced up at saw the ceiling had a large gap in it, the sun beating down on them at full force. "Support his head, Dick." Bruce scooped Clark up under his thighs and shoulders. He wanted to squeeze Clark, an instinctual part of him wanted to shake Clark to wake him, but he kept his hold loose, let the fit run its course as they carried him into a room with more shade. "He stopped moving. Bruce, he stopped moving! Is that good? Is he alright?" Dick asked impatiently as Bruce laid Clark out. The convulsions had stopped, Clark's breathing was less erratic, and his skin was regaining color. Bruce leaned his ear down against Clark's chest. His heartbeat was low. They weren't out of the woods yet. "Richard, call for a medic." Bruce pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it over to Dick. "K-K-K-K“ Clark's eyes hadn't opened with any meaningful glance, but he was making some awful clicking sounds, which was better than nothing. "Clark, you'll be alright. We just need to cool you down. Alright? Just stay with me, Clark." First, Bruce wanted to get a good look at that gash. He took his water bottle as well as the scarf from around his neck, dampening it. When he wiped away the drying blood, what he was looking at made no sense. "What?" There was no cut. "Need, away, got to—" Clark was panting out mildly incoherent words. "It was— Should have known it was— Shouldn't have touched it." "What shouldn't you have—“ Bruce soaked his scarf and placed it on Clark's forehead. "You're going to be OK, Clark, don't worry. Just cool down, hot stuff, OK?" Bruce stood. "Richard, watch him! Do not let him leave." Bruce was out the door, headed back to the room they had come from. "Leave? He can barely move. Bruce, what's going on?" "He will in a second. I think he found what I was looking for." Bruce scanned the room, and that's when he saw the small turquoise rock that he'd chased rumors of. 'Green but rarer.' Bruce recalled Kal's description of the mineral. "He'll be disoriented, scared." Bruce dumped out the contents of his satchel till he found the lead containment box. "Clark, I'll be right back. Everything will be OK." He locked up the kryptonite.
When he returned, sure enough, Clark was woozily trying to get to his feet. "Does that mean Clark's—“ Dick was connecting the dots. "Clark, here, arm over my shoulder, we'll get you to the car." Bruce didn't think it was the premiere time to unpack all they had just discovered. Though his mind paced over that clipped question. Was Clark a Kryptonian? If Bruce had a nickel for every time it was touted that Kal was the last son of Krypton, he'd have a fresh billion to his name. Secondly, with the number of head hunters that came for Kal, it was unlikely a second Kryptonian son, if there even was one, could fly under the radar. The third strike, a Kryptonian wouldn't just reach out and grab kryptonite. Bruce knew of a race with less knowledge but a similar reaction to the element. 'He's a Daxamite.' Close to Kryptonian, but common enough to not cause a commotion. "What just happened?" Clark took some staggering steps away from Bruce. 'Does he not know?' Bruce shared a questioning glance with Dick. "The rock you just touched— It's a rare form of kryptonite. I packed it away. It can't hurt you." Clark had found himself in a corner; he was silent for a few long minutes. "Clark, you're still weak. You need to rest." Bruce held out his hand. "Kryptonite," Clark repeated. His inflection didn't give away if Clark knew what that was, what it meant. "Yes." Bruce had wanted to avoid this conversation until Clark was in better health, but it seemed he wouldn't get that luxury. "You write a lot about Superman, don't you?" "So?" Clark's eyes grew immediately defensive. 'Clark knows he's not human.' Bruce slowly handed the led box over to Dick. "It's from his planet. It— comes in varying colors and has adverse effects on— him and those with similar genealogy. Clark— It affected you." "You don't —" Clark stopped, closed his eyes, wiped his face free of sand. "I need my glasses. I need to— Please don't drag my parents into this. It's not their fault." Clark was trying to get to the doorway. "Their—" Clark thought Bruce was going to turn him over to the government or some research facility! "Clark, I won't tell anyone, I swear!" Bruce placed his palm over Clark's heart. "You've done a few stories on me, haven't you?" Clark's brow puzzled up, but he did stop trying to push by. "You're aware I'm a benefactor to the Justice League?" "I am." Clark calmed slightly. There were enough out-and-about aliens on that team. It would be out of character for Bruce to decide this one particular extraterrestrial should be contained. "When I said this treasure hunt was a passion project that— wasn't a lie so much as a stretch. Kryptonite is something, for as dangerous as it can be, we don't know enough about, and the fact that the person who knows the most about it is my direct competition—“ "Luthor." "It's a passion project of the highest order. I've been working closely with the League to keep them on the right side of this arms race." "You didn't tell me. Why?" "The same reason you didn't tell me you're an alien, a secret with lives on the line." "An alien?" Clark's face dropped completely as if he'd just walked in on this conversation and been called some dirty word. Was alien offensive? Kal never minded it, but Kal took all attention as good attention. "My alien?" Bruce stepped a bit closer. "Bruce, I am—“ Clark grabbed Bruce by the hips. His hands still had an alarming bit of shake to them. "I don't want to be an alien to you. I don't even want to be your alien. I just— Want to be Clark." Bruce was used to aliens such as Kal or J'onn, who had embraced their alien heritage to propel them into heroic grandeur. That's not what Clark, a good-hearted but, at the end of the day, private man, wanted. Heros are not born; they're made. Clark's biology did not indebt him to a life of fighting injustice. "I wouldn't tell the League unless lives are at stake." "I'm sorry I lied to you." Clark pulled away. "Both of you." Clark tilted his head to look at Richard. "Hello? Yes, I just called and said someone was dying? False alarm, my dad was working on his tan on a sand dune. He's just drunk and dramatic, not dead. Might happen again, no promises, but our dearest apologies." Richard clicked the phone closed. "What?" "I'm sorry I kept this from you. I just— I don't have a lot of experience telling people. I was afraid if you knew, not just what would happen to me but—“ "I always figured Bruce would end up with an alien." Dick shrugged. "You did?" Clark smiled for the first time since he'd woken up. "My son knows me well. I have extravagant, fine taste Clark." Bruce saw a mountain of worry crumble from Clark's face. "What was it you said? Love is finding someone you can be yourself with, easy, nice, and everything else?" "And everything else." Clark grabbed Bruce by his cheeks and kissed him. "You two really don't ever stop, do you? I don't care what you are, Clark, as long as what you are is in it as much as Bruce is. Dying counts as leaving; don't scare us like that again." Dick buried his own concern for Clark under being an overprotective son. "Might happen again, no promises, but my dearest apologies." Clark smiled. "I'd hug you, but I'm covered in sand." "We won't let this happen again, now that I know Clark. I promise I'll protect us." Bruce took Clark's hand. "I don't need you to protect me, Bruce. I just— need you." Clark was still a bit gloss-eyed. His hand was a bit clammy in Bruce's clutch. "Fine, it seems all my luck transferred to you two today." "I wouldn't call this a lucky day, Bruce." Clark chuckled. "You survived near death and came back to me." Bruce gave Clark's hand a small squeeze. "And Richard? He gets to drive." Bruce tossed Dick the keys. "Yes! I'll pull the car up!" Dick jogged out of the building. This near-death scare, petting his hand through Clark's hair as they drove back to the hotel, Bruce felt closer to Clark, like this moment of trial by fire had strengthened their bond. He felt like a certain level of intimacy he couldn't fathom achieving any other way had been achieved. There would be scares like this, not just for Clark. Bruce would fall, fracture, and show sides not meant for the public, and they could get through it. ☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。When they returned, Clark went to shower to clean himself off. "Clark, may I come in?" Bruce knocked on the bathroom door. Twenty minutes had turned to well past an hour, and Clark was still in there. "Yes." Clark leaned back against the tile wall of the shower, not washing himself, just letting the water cascade over him. "Feeling any better?" "I can fly, Bruce." It was said with a smile but one that seemed to die just short of Clark's eyes, contemplative and off in the distance. Clark had clearly spent more time thinking over the day's events and still had things to say. 'Most aliens can.' Was the immediate answer that came to mind, followed by a tension cutting option of 'neat trick', but Bruce went with neither. "May I join you? Is the water even still warm?" Bruce started to peel off his shirt. "I'll keep you plenty warm, Bruce." Clark was right. Bruce did like it when Clark stared, just unapologetically took stock of his body. Bruce did eventually join Clark and pressed his palms into Clark's chest, pleased to feel a steady, healthy heartbeat had taken root there. "What's—“ Bruce paused when Clark took him by the back of his head and pulled him up for a deep kiss. "What's on your mind, Clark?" "I've never just told anyone that before." Clark's thumb rose and fell lazily along the back of Bruce's neck. "That I could fly." He chuckled again, but his eyes still looked far too conflicted. "It's— Remember when I told you I liked coasters but couldn't explain why?" "Mmmhm." Bruce knew Clark was more talking out loud than looking for a back and forth. Bruce knew the practice well, did some of his best thinking in such a manner. He just leaned a bit closer in against Clark, giving him his presence, letting Clark know he was here for whatever he needed. "That's why. It was the closest I could get. I could ride with friends, and when we got off, talk about the wind in our hair, turning and flipping on a dime, looking down at people the size of ants as our stomachs fought to keep up with our speed. It— No one knows who I am, how I feel, and I couldn't tell anyone— Until now." Perhaps Clark had imagined relief or euphoria instead of headaches and seizures, being how he finally greeted the world with honesty. "Clark, I know this isn't exactly how you wanted to tell me this, but— I'm not afraid of you or repulsed— I— like you said, you're still Clark. I still love you." "There's more to me than what you know, even now, and I should tell you. I want to tell you! But part of me worries— I'm not ready, or maybe you're not ready. I should tell you everything. I owe you that, but—“ "We can talk about it as little or as much as you want. I'm not going to test you or expose you. I'm just going to— Love you. I promise. I don't need all your secrets handed to me all at once. I have secrets too, things I will share with you one day—“ Clark was a fucking alien, and Bruce was being wildly understanding of that fact. Telling Clark, in turn, that he was Batman could be seen as an open door just waiting to be walked through, but it didn't feel right. "Not yet, though." "What does that say about us, Bruce? That we're keeping secrets? Does it mean we don't trust each other? That this isn't real?" "Does your race not know how to love?" "They loved— differently in some aspects, but they knew how. They did love." Clark didn't know any other Daxamites, perhaps any other aliens full stop. He felt himself a true oddity, a legacy of one, displaced in a world not built for him. Everything must have felt so uncanny valley to him, near right but just off enough. Bruce could introduce Clark to other aliens in time. He'd rather keep Clark away from Daxam, but that would be Clark's choice, eventually. Right now, Clark didn't want to be an alien; he just wanted to be Clark. Bruce was more than happy with that. "So your secret isn't that you don't love me?" "No, of course not. Of course, I love you." "Good, mine either." Bruce felt similarly. He didn't want to be the Bat, a hero that Clark wrote stories about. He just wanted to be Bruce, the man Clark loved. "We can be interstellar men of mystery a little while longer, so long as that is true. Deal?" Clark grinned in a way that finally reached his eyes, but oddly he did not answer. "Clark?" "I have such a hard time believing you're keeping secrets from me, Bruce." Clark took him by the shoulders and walked him to face the far shower wall. "Because I think I have you all figured out." Clark let go and stepped out of the shower. "Clark, there's soap!" "And eight feet away, there's lube. I love your impatience, but soap is bad for you—“ Clark was back. Perhaps he used a bit of increased speed to cover the distance, which made Bruce wonder, Clark likely had been holding back his strength, would he drop that veil as well. "I'm just going to be good for you." Bruce spread his legs and let Clark's fingers do good, downright glorious work to tease him open. "As I was saying—“ "You were saying something?" Bruce's head lulled back into Clark's shoulder. He groaned when fingers were replaced with something far more filling. "I've got you all figured out, fox." Clark began to thrust slowly and rhythmically. It wasn't any more or less powerful than before. If sex stayed the same, Bruce wouldn't be disappointed, but he would be forever curious. "More Clark, harder." Bruce had secrets, but he didn't want his curiosity to be one of them. "What you are, is a man demanding just what I promised you." Clark did pick up the pace, the power, the pull and push at Bruce's hips. "Yes!" "I promised you morning and night, I'd fuck you in that bed, stare at you in-between to make the time go by." "Clark!" Bruce felt Clark sturdy himself by grabbing the back of his neck, kissing, and biting at Bruce's shoulder. "I'm going to hold up that promise. I'm going to take you to bed and prove that I love you, maybe till morning. So this— This right here?" Clark's chest pressed into Bruce's back, making each thrust shorter yet striking deeper. "Please, Clark!" "—just a bonus. Looks like there was some luck left for you after all."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Bruce's nights as the Bat were unpredictable, but his mornings had a fairly repetitive routine to them. A routine Clark had slipped almost effortlessly into upon moving in. They were more than a fling. They were a couple. Living together only made sense. Bruce's routine was mundane. He would wake, shower, toss on a robe and join Clark, whose day started before his own, for breakfast. "Another late night of obligations?" Clark didn't even look up from the morning paper when he spoke. He didn't elaborate either, simply took another long swig of his coffee. "It can't be helped, Clark." Obligations were the broad term Bruce used when he didn't have a direct excuse for his late-night escapades. "No?" Clark snorted, the newspaper in his hand crinkling in his fist. "Or do you not want to help it?" Bruce was always busy, had been busy their whole relationship. It had never been an issue before. Bruce wasn't sure it was an issue now or if Clark was just choosing low-hanging fruit to pluck at. This was the one part of their routine Bruce thought needed some improvement. Clark was crabby at breakfast. It hadn't been that way at first. He used to be sunshine from dusk till dawn, but Bruce figured that must've been a being on your best behavior thing that had dissolved over time. Clark would be rosy by the time lunch rolled around, always answering the phone on the first ring, eager to talk to Bruce and hear all about his day, wanting to make plans for the upcoming ones. On mornings, however, Clark could be unrecognizable at times, icy, and on a few occasions, he picked a fight. Bruce had a feeling this was one of those occasions. "Clark, I'll find more time for us. I've just been—“ Summer was ending, and so were prison sentences. Well-rested mobsters and rogues were rehashing their never-ending turf wars. "In-demand lately." Bruce had placed a hand on Clark's shoulder, and the man had honest to God flinched. "Don't touch me." "Clark?" "Do you not even care? Does it not bother you at all?" Clark slammed down his coffee. The chair squeaked loudly as he pushed himself out from the table. "Clark, I'm sorry I've been busy lately, but—“ "It's— Forget I said anything." Bruce usually loved when Clark kissed him on the cheek, but this time felt different, like Clark was doing it because he couldn't stomach pressing his lips against Bruce's. "I've got to go to work. Busy is as busy does." Clark sighed before leaving.
Bruce was hurt and confused. Instead of feeling sorry for himself, he tried to make sense of this. Theories came and went. Absentmindedly Bruce placed a palm at his chest that felt quite struck. As he did so, his fingers groped at something else that felt different, felt more bare than average. Something was missing, the necklace, the pendant, his 'lucky charm'. Bruce wore it near constantly, only taking it off when he was out as the Bat. It was a good rule of thumb that any article of clothing or jewelry worth retaining should not be gambled on Gotham nights. You're almost comically bound to lose them. Bruce recalled when Dick first gave him the necklace. 'I don't know, doesn't have to mean anything, just a good luck charm, alright?' He remembered how he himself had explained it to the child at the fair. 'But it's a very specific sort of luck. It brings you whoever you're looking for. It brought me, Clark, here, for instance, not once but twice!' Moments continued to flash in his brain: When his head of security had held the pendant. 'I like Carl, no-nonsense that guy.' When that small child had it around his neck, Clark had jokingly looked dazed and confused, perhaps waking from a fog. Was this no joking matter? He thought to when they first met, first locked eyes. Clark looked immediately smitten, snared, spellbound? The only time Clark saw Bruce without the pendant was first thing in the morning. Coincidentally, Clark was distant and sometimes argumentative first thing in the morning. 'It's not— magic, is it?' That didn't make sense. If it was magic, when the spell was released when Clark was out of range or the pendent removed, why didn't he simply leave? Get some restraining order or something? Though Bruce let out a snide sort of snort at that. His lawyers could trounce any legal tape between him and Clark. That notion made Bruce's hand drop from his chest to his stomach, that had bottomed out when a new theory hit him. 'It's not magic.' Bruce paced up to his bedroom and found the stone, holding it to his face in horror as Kal's flippant description rang in his ears. 'Pink Kryptonite which makes Kryptonians amorous, crave the contact and affection of others, used as an aphrodisiac by some.' Same would go for a Daxamite, same would go for Clark. When Clark was lucid, no longer under the influence? He feared his secret would be exposed. If he left Bruce, who he figured was willing to snare him with stones, who knew what the billionaire would do? 'Please don't drag my parents into this. It's not their fault.' Bruce could do terrible things to Clark with his vast array and knowledge of kryptonite. He could threaten and destroy Clark's only family with his untold other resources. "I'm overreacting. He's just— not a morning person." Bruce stared at himself in the mirror. The face he was looking at was not a man convinced.
☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。Bruce didn't put the pendant on after that. Clark's demeanor didn't seem to improve or decline, leaving Bruce conflicted. To be fair, they both were busy men. Bruce had hardly seen Clark with his eyes open outside of breakfast in the three days since he hatched his theory. Now was a time to put his mind at ease. They were both in for an early night. Bruce had done his good deeds during the daylight, helping Kal and Diana fight the sorceress Circe. It had been a three-ring circus, just greek comedy, and tragedy wrapped into one. At one point Kal had been turned into a lion by the sorceress, one that Bruce had to keep semi-tame, that had earned him a night in. "Clark, the game can wait." Clark had been half-watching baseball on the TV. "I, on the other hand, always have such a hard time doing so." Bruce rolled over in the sheets until he was straddling Clark. "Not tonight, Bruce, OK?" Clark smiled fondly enough, his thumbs rolled over Bruce's hips affectionately, but his reply to Bruce's attempt at seduction didn't make sense. "I thought tonight, we could just sleep?" Clark never turned down sex before. He hated just lounging around. Why now? Bruce had an answer. He just didn't like it. "Is that— Ok?" Clark's voice had a hint of concern in it. "It's not that I don't—“ "You're fine, Clark." If he was to be truly scientific about it, he should have popped on the pendant and seen if Clark's interest swayed. Though Bruce couldn't, he simply couldn't stomach it. In fact, while he wanted to lean in to reassure Clark that wanting a cozy night was fine with a kiss, even that felt dirty, wrong, undeserved. Instead, he rolled over on his side and tried to go to sleep.
☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。Bruce stopped seeking out affection after that night. Clark didn't initiate anything from his end either. It went on for another three days. Bruce busied his time bunkered in the cave out of reach of temptation, running tests on this cursed stone. Its structure was not a carbon copy of any of the kryptonite he'd seen, but that made sense; for different hues and status effects It's makeup would have to be different. What was on the nose was its radiation levels. It was a few degrees higher than Green Kryptonite but lower than red. What was the nail in the coffin wasn't a lab report but an image search. He'd put a photo through every database he had. It returned a few hits, mostly from rarity shops or museums across the galaxy. "It's for lovers." Bruce's heart might have broken somewhat. The design, the stone, all of it was exactly the same as what was laid out on his workbench, a Kryptonian love offering between committed couples. 'Khuhp sem rraop bem skulir gem khuhp vahdhah regrhahs ju zehts, rruhsh voiehd shahkh nahzhgehns khir.' Those were rumored to be the words spoken when partners exchanged the tokens. Bruce's Kryptonian wasn't Kal-level fluent. Something about ‘you’, ‘me’, ‘this stone’, it sounded very proposalish. Bruce's phone rang, somewhat snapping him from a moral and emotional crisis. 'It's Clark.' He answered. "Bruce?" Clark sounded happy, hopeful even, but Bruce didn't know if that was an act, the tone of a man trying to appease his captor. "Yes." Bruce hadn't decided what he was going to do, what he was going to say. He didn't have a plan that— fixed this. "I was thinking about going to the Lounge after work." "The Iceberg?" "Yeah." Clark hated that place. Found it too flirty, too flashy, too loud. For as much of a Hotspot as the Iceberg was, they'd never gone there together. Clark always preferred to take Bruce somewhere unexpected and, more often than not, private, away from the paparazzi. Maybe Clark had noticed Bruce had taken off the pendant. Perhaps this was him trying to move on, spread his wings, test his freedom, choosing a place Bruce was known to visit in case it was a trap so he could claim it was a couples idea. "Have fun." "Have fun?" Clark sounded skeptical, worried. Perhaps he thought this too good to be true, too easy, or perhaps some level of Stockholm syndrome had taken root. 'He loves me— Because he can't not, I've trapped him. I love him, but— Everything we've said, done, been, it's all because of this rock.' Bruce solemnly swallowed the bitter conclusion to his theory. "I wish I could go, but I can't. " If only Clark knew it wasn't easy; it was painfully difficult. Bruce visibly winced. 'I love him, I still love him, but I have to— let him go.' "Is everything OK, Bruce? You sound stressed. Why don't we do drinks at home instead? I'll—“ "No. Go. Have fun. That's what I want." Bruce wanted Clark to be happy, even if it wasn't with him. That was what love meant when it was true, not forced by some outside influence. "I'll be at the office all night." Bruce couldn't lay in bed with Clark. He wasn't strong enough for that. "Can we do lunch tomorrow?" "Do lunch." Clark parroted because he still didn't understand or trust Bruce’s motives. "Sure, Bruce, yeah." Clark didn't say I love you, not even goodbye. He just hung up.
☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。"Two Einspänners, please." Bruce's face twitched from a smile to a frown at Clark's order. He'd introduced Clark to that drink, strong coffee with two shots of espresso, topped with a gratuitous amount of sweet cream; it had been quite the hit. Bruce had been so charmed when Clark went through the effort of making it with breakfast one day they'd decided to sleep in. The frown came when the sweet memory crumbled under the sour reality. Clark had handed both his and Bruce's menus back to the waitress. They weren't staying for lunch. Clark was making this clear. This exchange would be short and to the point. "Just say it, Bruce." Clark's belongings were already gone from the manor. He knew what this meeting was about. He just needed the confirmation. "I think it would be best if we stopped seeing each other for a while, Clark." Bruce couldn't help but leave it just a bit open-ended. Even if he knew Clark wouldn't want to willfully return to him, it stung less to imagine it as an option. "Why?" "What?" Clark's question surprised Bruce. What did he care why he was being freed? Shouldn't he just count his blessings and bolt? "Did I do— or not do something? Why don't you want to be with me anymore?" Perhaps he still feared a vengeful socialite and was worried this was the formality before the fury. "You did nothing wrong, Clark, I swear. This— Us, I love you." "You just can't be with me," Clark stated after a few moments of contemplation. "Yes. Clark, I'm sorry. I truly am sorry. More than you'll ever know." Because Bruce was making the active choice not to tell Clark that he didn't mean for any of this, that he hadn't known he'd manipulated the man's emotions and instincts. Would it have made things clearer? Eased Bruce's consciousness? Perhaps, but for Clark, that would muddy the waters, taint an already gray pool of mistrust. Bruce wanted Clark to love again, to trust again, to someday feel he could share all his secrets with someone, smile as he explained what it was like to fly. It would be easier for Clark to move on if things were black and white, Bruce had done wrong, and Clark had somehow escaped his dark clutches. "Please understand you won't have to worry about me— " ‘Fear me’ is what Bruce meant. "I meant what I said. I won't tell a soul." "I'm sure you won't. Goodbye, Mr. Wayne. I hope you find someone that fits." Clark got up from the table and left just as their drinks were placed down.
'I had. You were him, Clark. The moment I met you, Clark, we just fit too well. I should have known. I'm sorry.'
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The Green Lantern Corps had given the league a heads up. A frequent flier was headed their way and was not likely to be a welcomed guest. When Clark and Hal arrived, Lobo had already wrapped a chain around the Eiffel Tower, the other end attached to his bike. 'Really? He plans to lug that through space?' Clark chuckled at the audacity of the act, then noticed something strange. "Does Lobo look— I don't know, weirdly attractive to you?" He blushed a bit as the words left his mouth, but he did glance at Hal to see if his eyes were playing tricks on him. "Yeah, sure, something about a man using a cigar as a Q-tip really does something for me." Hal squinted at him scrupulously. "You feeling OK? Been spending a lot of time up north. Maybe all that solitude you've been up to lately is getting to you." "I'm not OK." After being broken up with Clark had been less Kent, more Kryptonian. It just hurt less to be surrounded by what should have been home after being rejected by what felt like it. "But I will be." He shot up into the sky. Something down in Clark's very bones knew he'd feel better once he got his hands on Lobo. With a quick shot of heat vision, he severed the chain tethering the tower to Lobo's bike, getting the attention of the 'main man.' "Lobo, I thought you were a bounty hunter, not an art thief." Clark had his arms folded over his chest like a disappointed father. 'It's guys like him that give extraterrestrials a bad rap.' "I'm full of fraging surprises, buttercup." Lobo turned and flashed a big, excited to see you sort of smile. Lobo enjoyed their tussles; he probably felt a similar itch in his skin. "Got some big-eyed Criq willing to pay top dollar for this— antenna?" "I'm giving you one chance to turn around, Lobo. If you know what's good for you, you'll take it." Clark was stalling more than anything. Giving Hal time to clear the streets. He had no delusional idea that Lobo would see the error of his ways and turn tail. "What's good for me, huh?" Lobo revved the engine to his bike and rutted forward onto the seat. "Let me let you in on a little secret Supes. What's bad for ya? Always feels better." "Have it your way." Clark needed to punch Lobo. He needed to get his knuckles into that wide Czarnian grin. It felt good not to hold back the collision of flesh on flesh. This punch felt more satisfying than any Clark could recall. "That's it, C'mere, for your thrashing." Lobo grabbed his own bike and slammed it broad side across Clark's face. Some compartment busted across the bridge of Clark's nose, and its contents spilled out, a stupid amount of guns, a set of brass knuckles, some stow-away space butterfly, a half-eaten breakfast burrito from Al's dinner. What was most bothersome, though, was the fuchsia-colored moon dust that got in Clark's eyes, ears, mouth, in his hair. It would take forever to get out. The collision felt— Well, it shook Clark, rattled him, but any pain was secondary to the fever Clark felt, the craving. "Can I touch your hair?" His hands could not be empty. It was the only thought on his mind. He wanted to touch something, someone. "How hard I hit ya?" Lobo knew how to take a punch. He did not know what to do when Clark reached out and carded both hands through his bangs. "You have nice eyes, shouldn't hide them." This was wrong, something was wrong, but it felt nice to touch someone. Everyone wants that, needs it. Perhaps Clark's body was telling him he'd been looking at the wrong species, that some hulking space brute would be more accepting of him than any human would. 'If I can't have a fox, maybe I can settle for a felon.' It was wrong but everything about Clark was technically wrong for the space he occupied. He'd let this feel right a little longer. "Playin' some mind game on the main man, are ya? Won't work. I'll mangle that look off your face." Lobo kicked Clark in the chest, and he went flying into a storefront. "Superman, are you alright? Like, are you— all there?" Hal had flown over and extended his hand out to Clark. "Lantern! Thanks for the assist!" Clark took Hal's hand and then pulled him into a hug. "Knew I could count on you." "Kal— Your hand is— There's not much more lower back to go, champ." "Sorry." Clark had reached behind Hal, let his palm circle, and caress that space. He didn't even remember doing it. It no longer mattered to Clark that his touch wasn't being reciprocated. He couldn't stop wanting, needing it. "I think something might be wrong." He couldn't contain this craving. It had grown a mind of its own. "You think?" Hal patted Clark on the back. "I'm going to call— backup. Think you can distract Lobo and keep your clothes on?" "I can touch him?" Clark wasn't looking to blindly breed. He just wanted to feel— Just wanted, desperately needed, not to be alone. "I mean, with your fists would be ideal, but—“ Clark heard permission, and he pounced.
☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。Bruce left one meeting and headed for another when an alert went off on his com. Before he could research the matter, his phone was ringing. Still mid-stride along coworkers, he picked up his Bluetooth. "What's going on? What happened?" "Flash got supes into containment at the hall, but—“ Bruce sharply broke off from the group. "Are you insane?!" He entered a corner office, shooing the man occupying it out with a wrathful time is money glare. "The room isn't meant to contain him! You're putting the whole East Coast possibly—“ "You haven't been watching the news, have you? He isn't a threat in the conventional sense. I don't think he needs your off-grid red radiation dungeon." "And what does he need? What has him contained? Scout's honor? He will never forgive us if we let him harm someone!" Bruce was insulted by the implication that he was itching to lock up the Kryptonian. That was far from true, but Kal trusted Batman implicitly, and part of that trust was an unspoken agreement to keep each other in check. "I think Lobo drugged him with sex pollen?" Bruce waited for the Lantern to break off in a laugh, assuming that statement to be a poorly executed prank. "Lob— You need to spend less time on the internet. I'll be there briefly."
☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。"Where is he?" Batman was greeted by Hal at the door. "Well, Flash finally pried himself free from the most aggressive shoulder massage in history, so—“ "Not Kal, Lobo." "Diana let him off with a warning? He said he'll be back to take the 'blue buttercup' off our hands if the Kryptonian's scheme doesn't work." "And what scheme was—“ In the center of the containment room was Kal. He was a miserable sight. Diana had bound his arms to his sides, hands absolutely twitching, the laso that bound him crackling against his biceps. "Batman?!" Kal stood, ran, and in a move not all too dissimilar to a starfish on the side of a tank, plastered himself against the glass. "Batman, please, I neeeed— It's been too long, Batman. I haven't seen you in ages! Just let me— I'm alone, Batman. I can't stand being alone." Kal looked fearful, looked lost to space and time. He looked high as a fucking kite. "Kal was in a giving mood and dug out a replica from the gift shop he was thrown through. Supes grand plan was for Lobo to take the souvenir to the buyer and shill it as the real thing, say it looks more impressive in photos or blow it up with some alien tech." "That's not a bad plan, Kal." The buyer would likely notice it wasn't the genuine article, but it was just as likely Lobo could convince them to notice a little less. "Thanks! Can I be let out— or can you come in? I won't hurt anyone, I swear." "I believe you." Bruce was starting to enter the code to open the door. "Are you mad? He is clearly unwell." Diana had grabbed his wrist. "Yes, and I need a closer look at him to see what's wrong." Kal did look off, his pupils wide, a slight sheen to his skin. He appeared to be working through a fever. 'I've seen these symptoms in Kal before.' Bruce was building a theory.
"He'll dry hump you into the Mariana trench." Flash gave his two cents. "What if it is contiguous?" Diana added. "It's not sex pollen." Bruce sighed, exasperated. He had figured as much upon its proposal and, seeing Kal now, confirmed it. "Right, right, it's not— I just— It hurts Batman, just— I'll be gentle." Superman concurred, still huffing hot air at the glass. "What makes you so sure?" Diana let go of Bruce's wrist. "For one, Champ de Mars hasn't turned into a public bathhouse." Kal was the only one affected. Bruce had seen the brawl. The contents of Lobo's pack had gone everywhere, yet no one showed any side effects except for Kal. "Plus, he's clothed. Even with his restrictive motion, he would have found means to take matters into his own hands." Bruce frowned at the sight in front of him. "I don't know much, but I know he's in pain. If contact helps with his symptoms till we figure out what's wrong, so be it. I'll go in lock the door behind me if you need to." "Batman." Kal gave an overjoyed sort of sigh. He tried to embrace the Bat, but the best he could do was clunk their torsos together. "Kal, do you know what's happening to you?" Bruce didn't want to keep the lasso on, but he did figure one or two answers would speed this process along. "I'm alone, B, I'm alone, and I can't stand it anymore." "I understand that, but—“ "No! You don't. You're human!" "Kal, just because you're not of this earth, that doesn't mean—“ "You have no idea what it's like to be as alone as I am. Having to live your whole life knowing you don't fit, anywhere, some— freakshow people love to see perform tricks but can't stomach to see day to day!" Kal boomed, and everyone tensed. "Volatile," Kal muttered in a self-scolding sort of way, nuzzling his cheek against Bruce's neck. "I'm Volatile." "Kal." Bruce had said that half a year ago, and Kal had carried it, let it fester within him for that same amount of time. "I'm not afraid of you, Kal, of what you are." "You won't even let me touch you." It came out more of a whine than a debated point. "He probably saw it, probably scared him away, worried I'll break him on a bad day." "Who?" "My boyfriend broke up with me, and I am not handling it well!" "Alright, Alright, his loss, let us regroup." Bruce knew Kal wouldn't have divulged that to the group without the lariat squeezing the truth from him and found it a bit amoral to hear more without removing it. "Diana is going to untie you, alright? But you can only touch me. No one else, is that fair?" "Yes." Wonder Woman shot Bruce one last are you sure glance as she approached. Bruce braced himself. True to Kal's word, he didn't look twice at Diana, tackling Bruce to the ground with force. "B!“ there was a collective concerned gasp. "I'm alright, we're alright. Kal and I are going to ride this out, aren't we, Kal?" "You know I never noticed from far away, B." Kal was straddled over top of Bruce. In a brief second of doubt, the Bat gulped hard, waiting for Kal to strip him down with one large paw, but that didn't happen. "How pointy your ears are." Instead, he bunched that big paw into a fist and stroked the ear to Bruce's cowl. "Is it weird that I kind of want to lick them?" "I refuse to dignify that with—“ Kal was licking Bruce's bat ears. "See? Entirely under control. Kal's not volatile—“ It hurt a bit to hear Kal coo so punch drunk and elated at that statement. "Just has no filters to his desires. Now, this isn't a pay-per-view. Don't you all have somewhere to be?" He knew he and Kal looked ridiculous and gawk-worthy, but Kal would come back to his senses eventually, and Bruce didn't want shame to be the first lucid sensation that ran through him.
Kal remained over top of Bruce for about ten minutes, losing interest in his ears; Superman's eyes ventured lower. "You have soooo many ribs, Batman." "I have the same numbers as you." "Yours are better. One, two, three—“ As Kal continued to count, something fell loose from his hair. Bruce picked it up and squinted for a moment before going wide-eyed. "Kal?" "Hmmm?" Kal finally sat up, quickly dragging Bruce into his lap, one hand strumming at a thigh, the other groping thoughtlessly at his pectoral. With each movement, a little more of that glitter fell from Kal's hair. "What color is Pink Kryptonite?" Bruce's theory was coming together, and his world was coming apart all at the same time. "Pink, dummy." "No, but what shade?" This loose falling shimmer was a deeper hue than what he had perceived to be pink Krpyonite in the pendant he wore. 'Makes Kryptonians amorous, crave the contact and affection of others, used as an aphrodisiac by some.' Kal was also acting less love sick and more touch starved than Clark had. Had Bruce been wrong? Had he romanticized the stone and thus wrecked his genuine romance? "Does it look like—“ Bruce held some of the dust to Kal's face, and he felt Kal rock his hips up at the sight. "OK, let's— get this off of you." Bruce had to focus on the task, had to fix Kal. It kept him from thinking about what he had broken. "Mmmm, that feels so nice." Kal practically purred as Bruce tussled his hair, more fuchsia flecks tumbling loose. "My turn for a question. B, do my hands feel— as good as human hands?" Kal's fingers started griping and gliding around Bruce's abdomen. This constant heavy petting was trying Bruce's concentration. Blood was pooling to meet Kal's fingertips. Unconsciously, Bruce had gotten half hard. It wasn't attraction, just response to stimulation. "Good? Might be—“ Bruce felt Kal hold his breath. Looking over, Kal's eyes were big blue snow globes just waiting to shatter at the wrong words. "Yes." There was nothing wrong with Kal's touch. If Bruce broke it down, Superman's strokes and grabs didn't feel all that different than those he missed, those he had given up. Clark's hands were wide, powerful, purposeful. Though how Clark looked at Bruce was different. Kal was staring at him like he wanted to swallow Bruce whole. Clark had always looked at Bruce like he wanted to savor him for eons. "Khuhp sem rraop bem skulir gem khuhp vahdhah, regrhahs ju zehts, rruhsh voiehd shahkh nahzhgehns khir." Bruce had thrown away the love of a lifetime over what was likely, in fact, a token cementing such a relationship. Bruce had been too lost in thought to hear Kal gasp. He only noticed how those words had affected the Kryptonian when he felt himself spun in Kal's lap. They were uncomfortably face to face. Kal wanted to kiss him, that was clear, but he fought it, fought everything in him, and let out a sad sigh. "That's— beautiful, Batman." "I read it somewhere." "Yeah— Yeah. You must've." Kal was gripping Bruce's sides to the point it was almost painful. "No one would— Have a need to say that anymore." "What— What does it mean?" "I want you to look at me the same way, all days, till this stone becomes dust." It was beautiful. It was— Clark would have, he would have loved Bruce till all the world's stone turned to sand, but Bruce had thought it too good to be true. Made something nefarious out of something pure. Bruce heard an odd sound from Kal after a few minutes of silence. It was hard, harsh gulping. It was the sort of swallowing that you did when trying to keep from sobbing. "Kal, what is it? Are you in pain?" Bruce had locked away the kryptonite. Kal's fever had stopped. It should have just been residual effects afflicting him at this point. 'It was a concentrated dose. Perhaps it's withdrawal or toxicity.' Bruce shoved down his own problems and focused fully on his friend, who was clearly in physical distress. "Talk to me, Kal. What are you feeling?" "It's not the kryptonite," Kal answered quietly. "I mean, that's why I'm—“ He ran a palm along the inside of Bruce's neck. "I'm still feeling that, but — It'll go away soon." "Then what is it? What's going on?" Bruce saw Kal's face twitch like he wasn't sure he was willing to share. "If you're upset or feel I'm going to hold this against you I—“ "Not that," Bruce recalled the start of their conversation, and he had a feeling he knew what it was. "It compounded the issue, you were also craving touch because— of your break up." Kal nodded. "You never told me about him." "He was perfect." Kal sighed sad again. "Clearly not, must have some God complex if he thought he could do better than Superman." "He broke up with me because I'm an alien." "Worse than a God complex, he's a bigot." Bruce was offended on Kal's behalf. "Maybe humans just feel better. I know I prefer humans." Kal got closer and ran his own jaw along Bruce's. "Your options are limited, Kal." "He left me for a human. I mean, I think that's what all the gossip is about." "What middle school gymnasiums have you been hanging around in that people are gossiping about your love life?" "Well, he's the type of guy people talk about, you know? He's— I can't blame the world for staring. It was one of my favorite things to do." "I'm sorry, Kal, you must have really trusted him to tell him, and to get the response you did must've—“ Bruce stopped when Kal gave a dry chuckle. "What?" "I didn't tell him. You know how you don't notice something till it's pointed out to you, and then it's all you see?" "I'm not following." "Kryptonite. Nothing but green for years. I run the list with you, now I can't cross my kitchen without stubbing my toe on the stuff. We were on vacation and—“ Kal continued to talk, but Bruce couldn't hear him, nothing but white noise. His eardrums might have been blown out by the explosion going off in his brain. 'It can't be.' Kal's face didn't morph. It didn't all become clear instantaneously, things still didn't add up entirely, but there were far too many coincidences to ignore at this point. 'Kal— Superman— Clark is Superman?' "I moved in. We didn't talk about it a lot. I thought things were good. I'd never been happier." Kal was still talking. Bruce tried to listen.
'We were happy, Clark, but then you were cold, angry. I thought it had to do with that necklace, but it didn't. What was it? You thought I was seeing someone else?'
"I'd wake up, and he wouldn't be in bed. That hadn't happened before." Because Bruce and Clark scheduled their nights together before Clark had moved in, Gotham was being watched. Bruce didn't have to dip off into the night. "I think he let me move in because he was afraid of telling me no, afraid I'd be—“ "You're not a volatile person Kal. If he knew you at all, he'd know that. Maybe it was— shock?" Just like the full-body shock Bruce was feeling in the moment. "Maybe he just needs time?" Kal was still a little lost in the eyes. Making amends now would mean nothing. Batman and Superman didn't need to have a sit-down talk. Bruce and Clark did. Bruce would fix this; he just needed time. "I told you, he found someone else. He just didn't have the heart to tell me. Kept telling me he was at the office— One night, I thought I'd surprise him. He'd seemed down." When Bruce was investigating the pendant. "He wasn't at the office, Batman. Doesn't take a detective to figure out when you're being taken for a ride." 'That someone else isn't a person Kal, it's a city, it's a cowl, it's me. I— can explain myself, and we can make this work, I promise. God, I'm so sorry, Clark.' It still felt so bizarre looking and Kal and forcing his brain to correlate his features with Clark's. Why was that? It wasn't as if Superman wore a mask. "Kal? Wouldn't he have known before? Just by looking at you? As close as you two were?" Bruce had spent hours lost in Clark's eyes. How could he have missed it? Why wasn't he seeing it? "Did he say he was leaving you for someone else?" No, Bruce had said no such thing. There was no one else for him. "Did he really make you feel like being alien was repugnant?" Bruce had thought he'd been overly supportive. "Prosopagnosia." Kal apparently was going to answer the Bat's questions one by one. "Facial blindness?" "You don't notice it, but as Superman, my face is going through millions of micro motions— It's like my face is always a little out of focus to the human eye. You recognize me by my voice—“ Which was louder, more pointed than Clark's slower, docile tone. "My hair." Which was parted and styled fully different than Clark. "My posture." Clark was a large man. Sometimes, he hunched in, even had a slouch to him to not take up too much space. Superman's spine was straight as steel. His aura commanded a room. People made space. "My clothing." The cape boots and trunks did distract the eye. "My face blurs to the back of your head as something you've seen but can't fully remember. I am a mask, Batman." Which explained why Kal was a friend and Clark was the love of Bruce's life. Superman was what Clark wore, not a person you could love, just a layer to a man with many. "Said he wouldn't tell a soul. I think— Having a partner he couldn't be proud of got to him." Clark had been private, shied away from the camera and big events. Bruce thought it was because he worked for the news and didn't want to be in it. In reality he was keeping a low profile. "Kal—“ "He said he loved me; he just couldn't be with me. What we had— was it— unnatural? Should I— look elsewhere?" Kal glanced upwards, perhaps peering straight through the ceiling into the stars. "You said you preferred humans. Stick to what you like, Kal, don't let one bad apple ruin the bunch. You're going to find someone who loves every part of you." Bruce hadn't been that person for Clark because he hadn't known every part of him. He'd been in the dark about a huge part of Clark's life. Bruce keeping the Bat a secret was a similar error. Bruce thought back to Clark's mid-shower revelation in Nambia. 'What does that say about us, Bruce? That we're keeping secrets? Does it mean we don't trust each other? That this isn't real?' Bruce had denied Clark's sentiment at the time, and he still partially did. What they had was— as real as they were comfortable with at the time, but they couldn't maintain it, not while juggling other large self-truths. Their love had crumbled under not mistrust but self-doubt. They needed to be more honest with each other so they could love each other fully. 'You've already found the person who will love all of you. I just need you to come back to me. I can't count on luck this time. I promise Clark, you fit, you fit with me. Let me prove it to you.'Bruce went from a passive passenger in Clark's lap to an active participant. He let his arm wrap around Clark's back, he ran patterns along its expanse. At one point he gripped into the base of Clark's neck. "B can you keep-""Does this help?" Bruce messed with the edges of Clark's hair, let his fingers graze an earlobe to the point Clark gave a ticklish shiver. "Yes." "Then let it help." Bruce gripped Clark a bit tighter. He didn't let go for hours neither of them counted, just drank in like water during a drought. "I'm here for you Kal."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Bruce didn't tell Clark the truth in containment. He said nothing about his revelations once the effects of the Pink Kryptonite wore off. He didn't call Clark when he got home. He'd pick up his phone, but something stopped him; something was holding him back. Bruce's routine had already resumed to what it was before Clark had been a part of it. It hadn't been too harsh a transition. Work was the same, social obligations came and went, and night patrols didn't grow easier or harder. He did feel colder. At first, he thought he'd caught some summer flu, aches with no cause, chills out of nowhere, but he wasn't sick, just— missing the warmth he'd gotten used to embracing. Days passed, and Bruce knew he should call Clark. He wanted to, needed to. Every once in a while, he'd be at his desk mid day or scoping monitors mid night, pull out his phone, dial, and then stop. "Why? What am I afraid of? What's holding me back? Am I missing something?" It would typically end with him scrolling through his photos of Clark and himself, scouring for some clue that wasn't there. Days passed. "Did I do it on purpose, Alfred?" He asked as he heard familiar footsteps descending into the cave. "Nick and polish off another jar of cookies from the kitchen?" Alfred picked up the glass container of crumbs. "No, I believe it is stress eating, sir. Which is a subconscious yet acceptable coping mechanism you've been known to employ now and again." He swapped it out with a fresh jar. "Did I want to push him away? Why I would leap to such a wild conclusion? Why didn't I verify? That's not like me." Bruce dug out two cookies and munched as he mulled over the question that had been eating at him in turn. "Was it wild? Or was it the tamer of two conclusions?" "Hmm?" "You had noticed tension in your relationship that you hadn't before. You were unaware of master Kent's concerns, so with the knowledge you had, it was either mineral coercion that made him love you, or— You were falling out of his favor despite your best efforts. Both possible, even plausible, perhaps you did jump to the conclusion that was a bit more bearable, one that you could resolve." "I should have told him about— this." Bruce's eyes drifted from one bat insignia to the next. "It likely wouldn't have gotten so dire." "As he should have told you, he is a headline, doesn't just write them. You were reaching that point, the both of you. It put you both in a vulnerable position. Men as strong and self reliant as you two are, do not generally find love easily. Fight or flight, heroes are not as immune as you may believe. Are you prepared to tell him now?" "He'll know once he has all the informat—“ "I did not ask if you were ready to be found out. I asked if you were ready to tell him. That makes all the difference. You can not be embraced while still holding him at arm's length, Bruce." "With others before him, it was always I couldn't tell them. I wouldn't drag them into a life they hadn't signed up for." Once someone knew Bruce was the Bat, it was like ink into silk; it seeped into their lives, a stain that couldn't be removed. "I wouldn't put them in harm's way." Which could have applied to Clark Kent, the reporter. It was not a valid excuse to not tell Superman, who had accepted risks and oaths all his own. "And now?" Bruce thought on that question. What reason did he have to not tell Clark he was Batman. He plucked the pendant off a lamp it had been hanging off, spending its days mocking him. "What if he looks at me differently?" Batman and Superman had been friends for years, not lovers. What if the meshing of their identities didn't bring them together but caused them to drift apart? "Were you less smitten with him when we swapped out a mask and leather skirt for glasses and a press badge?" "I mean, if I had a choice between the two—" Bruce smirked slightly. "No, I was still smitten." "Did you love him less when you discovered he was not human?" "No, I don't care about that, Alfred. But—“ "And when it dawned on you, the man you had loved was, in fact, Superman. Did your love for Master Kent disappear into vapor?" "I— loved him more." It made Kal seem tangible; it made a life with Clark seem attainable. The cumulative form was the person he wanted to be with, through it all, night and day, capes to comforters. "And those were chance revelations. You, sir, can make this moment not a blitz but a true beginning but none of that will happen stress eating and staring at your phone with a pout."☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。"Daily Planet, this is Lois Lane." Bruce had tried calling Clark's cellphone, but any more than five voice mails asking for the time of day would look desperate at best and deranged at worst. "I asked to speak to Mr. Kent. Is he in the office?" "I knew you would, knew you'd realize you threw away a good thing and try to get him back. If you're calling for an interview, Mr. Wayne, I'll be glad to do one. You're not talking to Clark for sport. He's not a game." "I know that." "You broke his heart." "I know that too." "I just got him to stop humming Adele at his desk. I'm not going through another two weeks of that." "I didn't mean to hurt him. I care about him very deeply, and if I could just speak—“ "Do you have annnny idea what it's like to write a story about the man who 'cares very deeply' about you, hanging off the arm of another man?" "Who?!" "Who he asks?" Lois clearly had been itching for a chance to speak her mind on the topic. "You and Dent have been fodder for months. Clark had to write about you being one-half of Gotham's greatest power couples since your parents." That's why Clark was most miserable during the mornings. He didn't just hear whispers; he was reading in black and white, sometimes words from his own brain, speculating that Bruce had sought comfort in his inner circle. "I had no idea." Harvey was not an ignorable presence by any means, but just one Bruce was accustomed to. If Clark had simply asked, Bruce could have quickly put those fears to rest. It was reelection season, Harvey spent less time in the office and more time schmoozing, and no one schmoozed better than Bruce Wayne. "Why didn't he just say something?" "Probably because he was afraid of the answer he'd get?" "I'm not a mind reader. I can't fix miscommunications that I don't know about." Bruce hadn't been the only one to jump to conclusions, to read signals wrongs, to bite his tongue over concerns just wishing they'd stop haunting him. 'The Iceberg!' Clark hadn't been trying to spread his wings, to get away he was trying to stay close, to dip his toes into Bruce's world. He wanted to be seen with Bruce, to be public, in part to quell the rumors that were upsetting him and in part to schmooze if that was going to be a constant hobby in their lives. Clark had been trying and Bruce had told him to 'have fun,' alone. "So this is Clark's fault?" "I'm not saying that at all. I'm saying we both—“ "If everything was peaches and cream, why'd you break up with him?" Lois Lane, an investigative reporter, and Clark Kent's emotional bodyguard, Bruce wasn't terribly blindsided by her question. "I'd prefer to explain that to Clark if you'd just allow me to speak with him." "No." "I thought he— wanted me for the wrong reasons, but I misjudged." "You thought he wanted you for your money?" Lois didn't get an answer to that question, their conversation interrupted by a crash in the background. "Kent, did you break another copier?" Someone shouted from a far office. "No! Well— a little? Just don't make ‘em like they used to, huh?" Clark had heard Bruce. He was an alien, there was no getting around that, but he wasn't a gold digger. Which hurt worse, Bruce wondered, thinking you were dumped for what you were or what you weren't? "Don't worry. Nothing a little elbow grease and a— new glass platen won't fix." Bruce chuckled without thinking. Clark knew the machine's components. This wasn't the first copier he'd broken. "You think this is funny?" Lois snapped. "You don't know Clark at all if you think—“ "Enough." "No, not enough. This might have been a fair-weather fling to you, but to him, this was real. He couldn't shut up about you! He thought you were—“ "I know Clark better than you think, but not enough. I need to know him better. I want to— But I need to be able to talk to him to do that. Ms. Lane, Clark is lucky to have a friend like you, someone to lean on, someone who looks out for him—" "If you're trying to charm your way—“ "—but he is an adult. Be a friend, not his gatekeeper. He deserves the truth. I won't pretend I don't want him back, I do, and if given the chance, I will make a case for that, but even if all I get to do is explain why I broke his heart, that will be worth it. What he thinks of me— of us— is misinformed. He'll survive. He'll heal, and Clark bounces back faster than anyone I know, but fast isn't always best. Let me try to make this right. Whatever the outcome?" "He does like getting to the bottom of things." Bruce heard Lois hum in contemplation, in no way charmed but maybe leaning towards convinced. "Maybe hearing you out will help." Then there was a frustrated sigh. "If you hurt him again, you'll drown in the mud I drag you through, do you hear me?" "I am a reverent fan of your work Ms. Lane; trust that even if I was in need of new enemies, I would not wish for you to be one of them." "He did say you were smarter than you looked." The line clicked dead, and Bruce felt that had gone much better than expected. Bruce's phone buzzed before he could put it in his pocket. It was from Clark. 'I want to know why.' ☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。'Fly with me?' was the first response Clark got to his text. 'Amusement Alley 10pm?' It's where they had their first date. All signs pointed to Bruce wanting him back, and while Clark should have been cautious, careful with his heart, it wasn't listening, too busy thumping in anticipation. He'd already replied ‘yes’.
When Clark pulled up to the amusement park, it did have a somewhat eerie quality in the dark. What added to both the charm and somewhat spook factor was the sounds emanating from the speakers as he drew closer. "Sinatra?" It wasn't carnival music. It was old Blue-eyes pumping out into the night.
Fly me to the moon
Let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like on
Jupiter and Mars
Bruce was leaning against the gates waiting for him, singing lazily along with the song.“In other words, hold my hand—“ On cue, Bruce held out his hand. "Come on, dance with me a little, Clark." "Why stop now?" Clark shrugged, his smirk held between bothered and amused. Getting up close again, lacing his fingers with Bruce's, it almost hurt, but in a pleasant way, like having your back cracked, a release of pressure but a strain on blood-starved, underused muscles. Clark's heart felt cracked open as Bruce got closer, resting his chest against Clark's, rocking slowly to the song, half-singing, mostly mumbling out the words. "Fill my heart with song. And let me sing forever more. You are all I long for. All I worship and I adore." "Bruce—" Clark pulled away slightly. "— then why did you leave me?" "I'm more than a socialite, more than a businessman, more than a father, I—“ "I don't need fancy dates or big trips across the globe Bruce. I wasn't mad because we were staying in. I'd be happy keeping you all to myself. I didn't move in because I wanted some free ride. I—“ "You can't keep me all to yourself, Clark." Bruce didn't look apologetic. He looked determined, confident, and as dashing as always. "So I was right, there is someone else?" Clark's stomach dropped. "Clark, I'm Batman." It made sense. The business trips that weren't business trips provided cover for injuries or espionage. The bruises that appeared and vanished without remark or remorse. Bruce hadn't lied. He was a benefactor to the League; he just left out that he was also its backbone. Clark moved his hands from Bruce's hips and put them to Bruce's features, mapping them out, so this is what Batman looked like under that cowl? "You broke up with me because you're Batman?" "Not exactly—" Bruce was looking for Clark to say something, but as fast as Clark's brain worked, it had somewhat ground to a stop at the whole 'I'm Batman' revelation. "My lucky charm, I— I was under the impression it was Pink Kryptonite and—" "Ohhhhh no!" Clark turned pink himself as he remembered that fiasco, the absolute fool he'd acted under the stone's influence. "So, you— know?" "My mistake? Yes. I've seen what true Pink Kryptonite does, and the Kryptonian definition of amorous is a bit more— handsy than my own. This stone is actually—“ "No, I mean, you know who I am? You've known." "Who are you, Clark? Tell me who you are." Bruce wanted Clark to say it, to have control of his secret. "Bruce, I'm Superman." "Are you now?" Bruce smiled wide and coy. There was no cringe, no paling of his skin, no feeling overwhelmed by the concept. Bruce just smiled. "Does that mean you can fly, Clark?" "You know I can—“ Clark stopped, chuckling as he scratched his head. This was a special heartfelt moment Bruce had set up. Clark was going to show his appreciation. "Yes. Why? Do you want to be a flying fox? I can make that— Bruce?" He watched surprise creep into Bruce's face out of nowhere. "I thought you'd stop calling me that." "Do you not like it?" Clark pulled Bruce by the jaw so their lips were nearly touching. "I'll call you whatever you want." "I like it, I'm— Not always the Bat." "But always, my fox." Clark leaned in for the kiss that had been longed delayed. "My fox." Once. "My vuples." Twice. "My lišiak, Fuchs, kitsune, zorro." The barrage of deep kisses stopped there. "Ah." "Ah?" Bruce hadn't wanted them to stop. "Been bugging me for ages why you chose that mask way back when. Now I know, cheeky wink to another masked man in black?" "I'm glad my wink worked." Bruce smiled at the fond, loving look in Clark's eyes. "Bruce I might always be an alien, but I'm not always the alien." "No, just my run-of-the-mill sun god." Bruce kissed him again. They were complex creatures, with different names, different identities, different codes, and different DNA, but so long as their cores called out to one another, none of that mattered. "There is one thing I hope that doesn't change." Bruce panted during a brief break. "Oh yeah? And what is that?" Clark gave a puzzled cock to his head as Bruce took off his pendant and then rooted around in his pocket. Eventually, in Bruce's palms were two matching necklaces. "That phrase I read? It's what you're supposed to say as you give this to your partner. I doubt Richard knew that when he got it for me. I do agree with the sentiment, though. I hope you never tire of staring at me." "Guess that's why I never really gave it a good look, what with your face and neck nearby more often than not." Clark picked up one pendant and studied it. The golden filigree at the top of the clearly celestial stone almost wistfully reminded him of the jewelry worn by both men and women of Krypton. "So are you going to say it or let my heart bleed all over this parking lot Clark?" "'Khuhp sem rraop bem skulir gem khuhp vahdhah regrhahs ju zehts, rruhsh voiehd shahkh nahzhgehns khir." Clark put the pendant back where it belonged, smiling fondly as its match was draped over his own neck. "Kryptonian always does sound better when you speak it." Red had crept into Bruce's cheek. His eyes were full of love, acceptance, and a healthy sprinkling of lust. "What can I say? I'm a natural." Clark smiled before stealing another kiss. "I love you, Bruce." "I love you too." "So do you?" Clark was scooping Bruce up; bridal style seemed appropriate enough. "Do I what, Clark?" "Want to fly? I know you likely paid off the park owner so we could ride the coasters, have a magical fun night under the stars, maybe have some of the best ice cream in Gotham, but—“ "You have a different sort of ride in mind?" "I've missed you, Bruce." "Let's go home, Clark." Bruce had flown with Clark before but as Superman. Rarely did they take a minute to just hover, as Clark put it, feel the wind in their hair, to appreciate the space above the clouds, the vantage point of the small landscape below, or the expansive view of what still laid above them. It was beautiful, majestic, not quite magical, but close. Yet they didn't soar idle for long. All it had to be was a moment, then they agreed they'd have others like it; the remainder of the flight was for speed, not scenery. ☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。"Another secret side to you, Clark?" Within seconds of landing, Bruce was in his bed and at a loss of his clothes. "Mmm?" Clark would have to lose the latch at Bruce's throat to form words, and he clearly wasn't in the mood for that yet. He continued to kiss and suck right at Bruce's pulse. "This is new." Bruce groaned as the pressure increased, Clark's teeth grazing his skin slightly. "I didn't know love bites thrilled you." Clark already was working two fingers inside him; he hummed pleased when Bruce's heartbeat raced as he introduced a third. "Me?" There was a wet audible pop as Clark left Bruce's neck. His chin grazed across Bruce's collar bone, down his chest, and raked slowly over his abdomen, all the while still stretching and stirring his insides. "Clark, please, I'm ready, enough foreplay, enough games I—“ "This is for you, Bruce." Clark's mouth clamped down right over Bruce's pelvis, inches from the base of his erection. Clark was taking firm sucks, heavy roles of his tongue against Bruce's skin. "Clark!" All Bruce's blood was running south, and it was pleasurable with the tiniest bit of pain to have some of it pool and pulse right under Clark's mouth. "I love the sound of you impatient. You try to growl, but all you make are groans." Clark pressed into Bruce's prostate to amplify the sound. "This is so even if you're not wearing it, that lucky charm, that proof—“ Clark moved down to the inside of Bruce's thigh. This was a bite, full stop. There was love there, but mostly the heavy imprint of Clark's teeth. Bruce craned into the claiming embrace; it wasn't enough. "Clark, I love it, I do, but I need you— I need you to fuck me." Bruce didn't want to be nibbled on; he wanted to be devoured. "These little marks, little gifts, little tokens are so dressed up, down, or not at all, you know you're mine." Clark shucked Bruce's legs over his shoulders. "Know that I love you." He had removed his fingers. Bruce was empty, maddeningly empty. "Clark, please!" "Know that I want you." Clark ran his cock up and down Bruce's entrance but didn't trust in. "I want you, Clark, I want you closer, deeper, I want—“ "Know that that I'm all yours." Clark swept in with force. "Always." Bruce didn't catch Clark's grin, his head tossing back as he had the chill that had been plaguing him for weeks fucked right out of him.
"Yes! More Clark! I— I want this, you, I want more. I want—“ Bruce bucked up to meet Clark, no clue what he truly was trying to say or what he was begging for. "I need all of it, Clark, all of you." "That's one of the things I love most about you, Bruce." Of all the reasons to be limber, all the ways Bruce had trained his body to contort and adapt to any situation, being able to be nearly folded in half by Clark, so he was closer, so his cock rammed deep and near unrelenting, was likely Bruce's favorite. "I love how you have enough— More than one man should be able to handle." Clark took one of Bruce's nipples into his mouth, sucked, and teased at it for what seemed like an eternity. "Clark, I'm close— I'm going to cum, Clark!" Bruce's fingernails raked and grabbed at Clark's back, knowing he couldn't leave matching marks content when he found a sweet enough spot to dig in and cause Clark to shudder. "—you've got plenty, Bruce, and you're still impatient for more. Always knowing there's more out there, more in you, but that is not enough; you always push for more." Clark grunted, his own release circling him. "Go on, Bruce, cum for me." Bruce let out a shout when Clark's hand encased his cock; a few knowing churns of sun and strength had Bruce gone, moaning as Clark followed suit. "Clark." Bruce's body was twitching, his voice crackling and popping out little groans and whines. "It's alright. Breathe a bit, Bruce." Clark gently let Bruce's legs fall from his shoulders, leaning in for a soft kiss, allowing that necessary breathing to happen between pecks. "No, Clark, I—“ Bruce's hips cantered with no rhythm as Clark pulled out, trying to snare him back in. "There will be more, Bruce." Clark thumbed at some hazy tears that had fallen from Bruce's face. "I vow to you, my fox, as long as you want more of me, I'll be glad to give it to you. I'm going to love you more than you can bear. That's a promise." Clark swore into a deeper kiss. "I love it, Clark." Bruce finally relaxed once his body had given and taken all it could. "What? Sex?" Clark pulled him over his chest, peppering some kisses into Bruce's sweat-dampened hair. "You did all the hard work, so I'm glad you're pleased with—“ "Loving you." He loved loving Clark. It was a dim statement; a post-sex statement that was all feeling no focus. "Feels like flying," he sighed against Clark's chest, a small shiver running through him as Clark traced his spine. "I love you too, Bruce." Clark pulled the covers over them. "Feels like I'm not al— Feels like I'm home." ☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。(Epilogue) While it would never be Clark's comfort zone, he did attend the next black-tie affair with Bruce. The reporter in Clark couldn't be mad when Vicki Vale called them out. He knew they reeked of a good story. "Mr. Wayne, I cannot help but notice you and your partner wearing matching jewelry. Some might start to wonder if you're finally settling down?" "Keen eye, Ms. Vale." Bruce smiled as Clark nestled in a bit closer, the arm around his waist tightening in clear anticipation for his answer. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Bruce stretched his collar slightly, showing off not just the pendant but a few high-laying hickies of different shades. The cameras ate it up. "Settling down? I hope not!" Bruce chucked as Clark's grip tightened even more, a kiss planted on his head. "I feel we are just taking off."