Work Text
After every mission, no matter how long or how dangerous, Clark would wrap Bruce in a tight, warm hug before flying off to Metropolis. Bruce would grumble and protest, trying to maintain his grumpy demeanor, but never put up a real fight. He knew Clark was used to it, raised with the kind of love that came with frequent affection. So, despite all his gruffness, Bruce relented, allowing himself to be hugged by the Man of Steel. Every. Single. Time.
Until tonight.
They’d just returned from an exhausting takedown of intergalactic smugglers. Both heroes were worn out, but Clark, always with that annoying burst of energy, was in a rush to get home to finish some work. “Last-minute deadline at the
Planet
,” he had said quickly, before zooming off, leaving Bruce standing there on the rooftop.
No hug.
Bruce raised an eyebrow, waiting for the familiar whoosh of wind that usually accompanied Clark’s hasty return when he’d forgotten something. But it never came. Instead, Gotham’s cold air bit into his skin, and a strange, unfamiliar weight settled in his chest. He frowned.
“Tch. Ridiculous,” he muttered to himself. It wasn’t like he
needed
the hug. It was just a stupid routine. An unnecessary act. He didn’t care.
Except…he
did
care, apparently.
Back at the Batcave, Alfred greeted him with his usual calm demeanor. “Master Wayne, your midnight snack is ready.”
Bruce only grunted in response, walking past him, his jaw set tighter than usual. Alfred raised an eyebrow but said nothing. As the one who raised Bruce since his parents passed away, Alfred could sense Bruce's moods, even if he didn't say it, they were always clearly shown on his face, and the tension was clear.
When Bruce went to bed earlier than usual that night, he found himself staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Every toss and turn only made the frustration worse. His mind kept circling back to one thought:
Clark didn’t hug me.
He tried to brush it off as nothing. It’s just routine. A minor disruption. But the restless knot in his chest disagreed, and by 3 AM, Bruce had had enough. He threw the covers off with a huff.
An hour later, Bruce found himself in Metropolis, standing at Clark’s apartment window like a giant bat-shaped gargoyle. Inside, Clark was slumped over his desk, having clearly fallen asleep mid-article, glasses askew and his head resting on folded arms.
Bruce slipped into the room without a sound, crossing the space until he loomed over the sleeping Kryptonian. “Idiot,” he muttered under his breath.
He should be sleeping in bed, not at his desk.
Clark stirred, groggily blinking up at Bruce’s shadowy figure. “B-Bruce?” His voice was thick with sleep, confusion lacing every word. “What’re you…?”
“You left,” Bruce said, arms crossed and voice gruff, “without giving me a hug.”
There was a beat of silence, broken only by Clark’s sleepy chuckle. “You came all the way to Metropolis…for a hug?”
Bruce glared, his jaw clenching. “It’s part of the routine,” he growled, clearly flustered. “You started it.”
Clark sat up, rubbing his eyes. His face softened, a small, fond smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry about that, Bruce. I was just in a hurry. I didn’t think…”
“You didn’t think,” Bruce repeated, still looming over him, clearly sulking. “You didn’t hug.”
Clark stifled a laugh, reaching up to pull Bruce into a hug, despite Bruce’s stiff posture. “Come here. Goodnight, Bruce,” he murmured, pulling him close, arms wrapping around him with the warmth and comfort that Bruce had unconsciously missed all night.
And… it worked. The weight that had settled in Bruce’s chest lifted, replaced by a quiet, unfamiliar peace. He rested his chin on Clark’s shoulder, no longer fighting the embrace.
Clark, always quick to pick up on the things Bruce wouldn’t say aloud, pressed a soft kiss to Bruce’s cheek. “Goodnight kiss, too?”
Bruce huffed but didn’t pull away. “Fine,” he muttered, his eyelids feeling heavier by the second. Something about Clark’s warmth, the steadiness of his heartbeat, made Bruce’s usual vigilance falter.
“Are you sleepy?” Clark asked while gently rubbing the back of Bruce's neck.
“I’m not sleepy,” Bruce mumbled into Clark’s neck, even as his eyes fluttered shut. Clark only chuckled softly.
“You’re literally falling asleep right now,” Clark whispered, carefully guiding Bruce towards his bed. To his surprise, Bruce didn’t resist, allowing Clark to nudge him under the covers. In a rare display of vulnerability, Bruce snuggled into the pillow, his usual scowl softening into something more peaceful.
Clark slipped into bed beside him, throwing an arm around Bruce’s waist. “You really can’t sleep without a hug, huh?”
Bruce grunted but didn’t bother arguing. “Don’t read into it, Kent,” he muttered, already halfway to sleep.
The next morning, when Bruce stirred, he found himself in an empty bed. His first instinct was to panic.
Clark?
But then, he smelled coffee and something freshly baked. He blinked and found a neatly folded note on the pillow beside him.
Morning, Bruce. Breakfast’s on the table. I left for work but made sure to give you a morning kiss before I left. And yes, I’ll remember the hug next time.
A soft smile crept onto Bruce’s face despite himself. As much as he hated to admit it, Clark was right. That hug was more important to him than he realized.
Sitting up, he found a plate of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and a mug of coffee waiting on the bedside table, along with a small sticky note:
You looked peaceful sleeping. Try not to growl at me when I get back. Love, Clark.
Bruce shook his head, but he couldn’t hide the small, rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Idiot.”
Bruce thought, maybe having Clark around wouldn't be so bad. Of course he wouldn't think anything far-fetched after just one night of sleeping peacefully in Clark’s arms, but if it did happen, Bruce probably wouldn't try to brush it off. At least for now, he’d make sure Clark wouldn’t leave without that hug again. Maybe a few more kisses, too.