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murmeloni · 3 months

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This is for the DCU Valentine's Day 2024!

Big thanks to @wait-whos-batman for organizing it!

Clark receives a card from a secret admirer on Valentine's Day. There's no signature and no way to see who it's from. It just says to come to the football game that afternoon. Clark is flattered, Bruce is concerned. But really… What could possibly go wrong?

“I'll have the story done by tomorrow, Perry, cross my heart”, said Clark, sandwiching his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he fumbled for his keys, simultaneously trying to shift his grocery bags into one hand without dropping them.

Clark's only answer was an aggravated sigh and a curt “You better”, before the line went dead.

“Good work, Kent. Make sure you get a little rest, Kent. Have a nice evening, Kent”, grumbled Clark sarcastically as he finally got the door open. Thankfully without dropping his shopping.

“Meow.”

Startled, Clark looked at the fluffy white and brown birman cat belonging to his downstairs neighbor Mrs. Hall. Sliding his phone back into his pocket, he bent down and scratched the cat's head. “At least you're happy to see me, Lady Pawlington. And happy Valentine's Day to you too.”

The cat pressed her fluffy head against Clark's fingers for a moment, meowing again, before slinking forward to inspect the grocery bags. Laughing, Clark straightened up and lifted the plastic bags out of the cat's reach. “Unfortunately, none of the stuff in there is meant for cats. If a certain friend of mine is to be believed they're not even for humans but I know you can keep a secret.”

Still smiling to himself, Clark moved up the stairs, mind now occupied with thoughts of Bruce as it so often was. Bruce would have a lot to say about Clark's shopping, that was for sure. He was almost tempted to let slip what he'd bought at the Justice League meeting tomorrow, just to hear the lecture again, but he thought that was maybe a bit too pathetic, even for him. Although… It was Valentine's Day and Clark was spending it alone with chocolates he'd bought for himself - again - so he felt he was allowed to make himself feel better any way he could.

As he stood in front of his door, once again fumbling with his keys, he suddenly became aware of the heartbeat coming from inside his apartment. A very familiar heartbeat. Clark's stomach fluttered and maybe he moved a little faster than a normal human could to shove his key into the lock. The door clicked open and a bump sounded from his kitchen, as if something had been knocked over.

Clark quickly closed the door again before he used a burst of speed to join Bruce, who was standing beside the kitchen table. He didn’t even look up when Clark came to a halt next to him, the displaced air ruffling his artfully styled hair. Clark wanted to run his hands through it, but he hastily squashed the urge before he could do something stupid.

“Hey, B. What are you doing here?” Not that Clark cared. He was always happy to see Bruce. But he was also worried that there might be something wrong. It wasn't often that Bruce dropped by his apartment, never mind in the middle of the day and without announcing himself… Clark bit his lip. “Is there something wrong?”

For an endless second Bruce didn't react, just stared down at Clark's kitchen table, his fingers fiddling with a pink envelope. “No, nothing's wrong.” He cleared his throat. ”I was just in the area and wanted to see if you'd like to be Bruce Wayne's interviewer for the night.” A small smile curved his perfect lips and a part of Clark was going feral at the sight of it. So much so that he almost didn't understand Bruce's next words. ”But I guess you already have plans…”

Bruce's smile disappeared as he tapped the pink envelope on the table and finally Clark's brain switched online again. He stepped closer, frowning a little as he studied the envelope.

“Why would I have plans?”, he asked and paused. “Is that a Valentine's Day card?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, perfectly conveying his judgment. “What gave it away? The pale pink paper? Or the fact that it is covered in gaudy hearts and glitter?”

Clark ignored the snarky tone and carefully picked the thick envelope up. It was heavier than it looked and upon closer inspection it seemed homemade. Warmth flooded his chest, despite not knowing who this card was from. He'd hoped, for maybe a tenth of a second, that it might be from Bruce but the snark pretty much nipped that delusion in the bud. The disappointment of which Clark was studiously ignoring right now, thank you very much.

“I've never gotten a Valentine's Day card before.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Never? I find that hard to believe.”

Clark shook his head. “I was the opposite of popular in school and college.”

Crossing his arms, Bruce leaned his hip against the kitchen counter. “But you've been in relationships before.”

Clark shrugged helplessly, still not taking his eyes from the envelope. “Most of them weren't serious enough and the one that was… Well, Lois doesn't believe in Valentine's Day.”

“Hn”, made Bruce and that was apparently it for this topic because he began to busy himself with making coffee. He pulled out sugar, milk and two mugs, choosing Clark's favorite Batman mug, which was odd because he complained about the thing every chance he got. Only once the machine was happily gurgling along and there was nothing left to prepare did he turn around again to impatiently wave his hand at Clark. “Open it already.”

If Clark hadn't been so preoccupied with his very first Valentine's card ever he'd have started to wonder at Bruce's odd behavior. As it was, he swallowed thickly and gently wiggled his finger underneath the flap of the envelope, carefully prying it open without damaging it, which made Bruce huff in annoyance.

Despite the slightly gaudy envelope, as Bruce had so rudely put it, the card was really sweet. It was made from rustic looking carton and on its front were two hot air balloons, their domes made of flimsy pink paper, folded to look like hearts. A ladder was reaching from one balloon's wicker basket to the other. Opening the card, the first thing Clark saw was the ticket to the Metropolis Giants vs. Gotham Rogues football match this evening. A VIP ticket. Clark felt his mouth drop open in shock. That must've cost a fortune!

And then he noticed the poem. Written in a beautiful, looping script, it took up most of the space on the card. Heart beating a little faster, Clark ran a shaky finger along the lines as he read:

There is a silk ladder unrolled across the ivy

There is

That leaning over the precipice

Of the hopeless fusion of your presence and absence

I have found the secret

Of loving you

Always for the first time

"Always For The First Time" by André Breton

Meet me at the game tonight.

Love,

Your secret admirer

The sound of a mug being practically slammed onto the table in front of him startled Clark out of his reverie. Looking up, he found Bruce studying him with a carefully blank expression, knuckles white as he gripped his own mug a little too tight.

“Who is it from?”

Clark felt his heart clench in disappointment and realized he'd still held out hope the card might be from Bruce. He didn’t quite understand Bruce's annoyance but he chalked it up to him being like Lois in this regard. After all, why else would he be in Clark's apartment, looking to arrange an interview instead of going out on a date? He probably thought Valentine's Day was a capitalistic hoax or something unromantic like that.

Wordlessly, Clark handed over the card and while B analyzed it like it was a piece of evidence in one of his cases, Clark picked up his coffee. He realized before he'd even taken the first sip that Bruce had made it just the way he liked it: with a lot of milk and way too much sugar. For some reason that made him feel even worse.

“So what's the verdict?”, he joked weakly after the silence began to stretch, but Bruce ignored the comment. Instead, he fixed Clark with that intense, icy blue stare of his that never failed to make Clark feel weak in the knees.

“You're not seriously considering this.”

Frowning, Clark lowered his coffee. “Why not?”

The look Bruce gave him was the one he usually reserved for Hal whenever he suggested something ridiculous, like figure skating, under the guise of team building exercises.

“Clark… This envelope was already here when I let myself in. You're not currently dating anyone and you said yourself you don't know who this might be from. It sounds dangerous. Too dangerous. You're not going.”

Bruce's patronizing tone had Clark's hackles rising. Defensive, he snatched the card back and held it to his chest. “That's not your decision to make, Bruce.”

Truth be told, Clark didn't even know if he wanted to go to the game tonight. Because Bruce was right, it was weird that the envelope just appeared in his kitchen like this. But that didn't have to automatically be a bad thing. Any member of the League could have left the card there. It rankled, the thought that Bruce found him so undesirable that the only reason he'd get a card and a gift on Valentine's was to lure him into some kind of trap. Plus, Clark could be stubborn and petty, too. And right now he was sorely tempted to let that side of himself take the reins.

In the end it was Bruce's scoff and the curt “Don't be ridiculous” that made the decision for Clark. Crossing his arms, he raised his chin and glared at Bruce.

“Are you done? Because I have a date tonight I need to get ready for.”

Bruce's brows drew together, his jaw working. “You can't be serious. Be reasonable.”

But Clark only held Bruce's stare, not budging, until Bruce's eyes hardened. “Fine”, he snapped, whirling around and dumping his coffee in the sink before setting the mug down a bit harder than necessary. “Go. But don't come crying to me if you end up kidnapped!”

It was Clark's turn to scoff, but in his case it was more to cover up the hurt blooming in his chest. Unfortunately, his mouth opened before he could fully swallow back the words. “Because that's the only reason anyone would go out with me, right? Just because the high and mighty Bruce Wayne thinks I'm that unattractive doesn't mean everybody else does.”

Bruce's posture abruptly loosened, as if Clark's response had startled him. “Clark…”, he tried, but humiliation was entering the mix of emotions swirling in Clark's gut, made all the worse by the fact that, despite everything, all he wanted to do right now was cuddle Bruce. Or maybe bend him over the table and gently eat him out until he cried.

“You should go, Bruce.”

For a long moment Bruce hovered, looking like he wanted to say something else, but in the end he just… left. Clark stood in his kitchen and stared after him, stomach roiling. Maybe he really should go on that date. It seemed obvious now that Bruce would never return his feelings and maybe it was time Clark made an effort to move on. Taking a deep breath, he went into the bathroom. The game was starting in two hours and apparently he was going. The least he could do was look nice.

By now Bruce was already walking down the street outside but Clark still heard him when he whispered: “At least text me later to let me know you got home safe, Clark. And for the record? I don't want to be right about this. You deserve to enjoy a nice date.”

Clark swallowed, heart aching as he stared at himself in the mirror. “Maybe Lois is onto something with her dislike of Valentine's Day.”

<3 <3 <3

Bruce decided to walk back to his hotel instead of taking a cab. He needed to clear his head. Snapping at Clark like that… It was unforgivable. But just remembering the awed expression on his face as he’d traced the writing on that card was setting Bruce's teeth on edge. He'd come here to spend the day with Clark, following his heart's foolish impulse instead of doing what he should have done and gone on one of Brucie Wayne's famous ‘outings’. He should have planned something ridiculous to feed the gossip rags for a few weeks. Instead he'd come here and made Clark feel bad for something that was entirely Bruce's problem.

Striding into the hotel lobby, Bruce arranged his face into a lazy smile, despite the unease and jealousy still churning in his gut. He breezed past the reception and made it into his suite without anyone trying to talk to him. He'd barely taken two steps inside before he froze. There was a pink envelope sitting on the coffee table. It looked exactly like the one Clark had gotten and suddenly Bruce had a suspicion what was going on.

Setting his jaw, he stomped over and picked the envelope up, opening it with much less care than Clark had done. Just like he expected, it was the same card and there was a second ticket to the football game this afternoon tucked inside. There was also another poem:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

"How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Meet me at the game tonight.

Love,

Your secret admirer

Bruce felt the sudden urge to bang his head against the nearest wall. The poem was beautiful. It encompassed his feelings for Clark perfectly and made his chest feel tight with emotion. It had also most definitely been picked by Jason. Bruce had heard him gush about it to Waylon multiple times. Which was the reason for the headache suddenly brewing behind Bruce's eyes.

Rubbing at his temples he pulled out his phone and dialed Jason's number. He paced the length of his room as he waited for his son to pick up and when he finally did, Bruce didn't wait for him to say something.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“Hello to you too, B. Nice of you to call”, came Jason's sarcastic reply and Bruce ground his teeth.

“Don't pretend like you don't know what you did. I told you not to interfere!”

Jason scoffed. “It's not like you'll ever get your head out of your ass and do anything yourself! The pining was getting painful to witness. Besides, this wasn't even my idea. The demon brat and I only made the cards. Dickie and Tim were the ones who delivered them.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “What are you talking about.”

“Oh come on, B! You're supposed to be the world's greatest detective! Figure it out! I mean, have you even looked at the fucking tickets?”

“Language–”, Bruce started to admonish, brows furrowing unhappily, but Jason had already ended the call. Cursing, Bruce put away his phone and opened the card once again. He looked at the ticket still tucked safely inside and immediately felt his insides freeze in humiliation. That was Alfred's Wayne Enterprises ID at the bottom.

Bruce closed his eyes. It was just like Alfred to enact such a dramatic and intentionally obvious plan to finally get Bruce to do something about his feelings for Clark, despite Bruce telling him repeatedly why that was a horrible idea. The question now was, what was Bruce going to do about this? He couldn't very well go to the game. After their fight earlier Clark would think he was trying to sabotage him. But if Bruce didn't go… That would mean Clark would be stood up. And on his very first Valentine's Day date at that. Bruce remembered the reverent way Clark had looked at the card, how he'd so carefully traced the words of the poem. He debated calling Clark now, telling him what Alfred and the kids had done, but…

But that would mean disappointing - and quite possibly humiliating - him. It would mean the first date Clark had ever had on Valentine's Day would have been nothing more than a poor attempt at meddling from Bruce's family. Just imagining the look on Clark's face made Bruce feel a little sick.

Which meant he had to go to the game and he had to do it right.

He swallowed, heart racing and palms clammy. This could potentially ruin everything. But the thought of disappointing Clark was simply unbearable.

Pulling out his phone once more, Bruce dialed Alfred's number. He got them into this mess so it was only fair he should get them out of it too.

“Master Bruce”, greeted Alfred in a voice that was the perfect blend of polite and smug. “What can I do for you?”

Bruce ground his teeth. “You know perfectly well why I'm calling, Alfred.”

“I believe I do, Sir. Should I make the usual arrangements?” Bruce had to take a deep breath. He could practically hear the self-satisfied smirk in Alfred's voice and it was driving him up the wall.

“It's his first date on Valentine's Day. Ever. He deserves a lot more than the usual”, snapped Bruce, irritated by Alfred's cavalier attitude. This little scheme could spell the end of Bruce's and Clark's friendship. “And just so you know: if this backfires I'm holding you responsible.”

“Very well, Sir. I'll have everything delivered to you within the hour.”

Bruce hung up the phone before he could say anything he might regret and instead began to loosen his tie with a little more force than necessary. He'd have to make this the best first Valentine's Day ever to make up for the argument and his children's schemes and that meant looking his best. He glanced at his watch. One and a half hours left. Bruce went into the bathroom and got ready for his date. Probably the most important date of his life.

<3 <3 <3

Clark was late.

He couldn't help it. He'd been on his way over when he heard a mine cave in in Africa and once he'd saved the workers he'd had to deal with the ‘representatives’ of the company that owned the mine trying to cover the incident up. He'd held them off, contacted the local authorities and Lois, and surreptitiously gathered what evidence he could while protecting the miners. When help had finally arrived, Clark quickly flew back to Metropolis, picked Lois up and brought her to the scene. The journalistic equivalent of setting the bloodhounds loose. The owners of that company won't know what hit them. Which was cause for celebration, really. Except that now he was late for his date. And he felt bad for even thinking that because obviously saving people was and would always be his top priority. But it sucked that his already pretty abysmal love life had to suffer further blows for it.

Of course the whole ‘being desperately in love with your best friend’-thing didn't exactly help matters any.

All of that to say, Clark wasn't just late he was also distracted when he climbed the steps to take his seat and meet his secret admirer. Doubts had started to creep in during the past two and a half hours. Because… Because Clark didn't want it to be just anyone waiting here for him. He wanted it to be Bruce. And he felt it wasn't fair to put that on whoever it was that had gone to all this trouble for him. But he'd come this far and if his conversation with Bruce earlier had shown him anything it was that he should really start to make an effort to move on. Going on this date seemed to be a good first step in that direction.

So Clark hurried to his seat, an apology on his lips. The game had started some time ago and he felt bad for whoever was waiting for him. They had to think they were being stood up. But then he reached his seat and the words died in his throat.

“Bruce?”, he whispered, and it shouldn't have been loud enough in this stadium full of people, talking and yelling and cheering on their team but Bruce turned his head anyway. Their eyes locked and Bruce slowly got up from his seat. And it was unfair, really, thought Clark despairingly, how utterly gorgeous Bruce looked. His hair was styled to perfection, his face was freshly shaved, and a light layer of makeup covered his skin, emphasizing his already sharp cheekbones and lush lips. He wasn't wearing one of his customary suits or his trusty turtleneck-sweaters-and-dress-pants-combo. Instead he was wearing a white linen shirt, the first few buttons of which were undone, revealing a tantalizing view of his collarbones. The shirt was tucked into dark blue slacks that showed off Bruce's impressive thighs and small waist in a way that made Clark's mouth run dry and his knees feel weak. And other people might think this was Bruce dressing down but Clark knew better. He knew that Bruce never allowed himself to be this comfortable outside of his own home and even then he often stuck to his armor of formal attire. Clark was a little speechless to be honest. Especially once his eyes landed on the flowers and chocolate lying on the seat next to Bruce's.

“Clark…” said Bruce quietly, a nervous tension around his eyes. “I… I didn't think you were coming.”

Clark blinked. The sole fact that Bruce was stating the obvious like this betrayed just how nervous he really was and that settled the worst of Clark's fears, the irrational part of him that thought this might be a cruel joke of some kind. Enough so that he finally found his voice.

“There was an emergency at work…”, he explained and abruptly realized that people were beginning to pay more attention to them than the game. Cheeks hot, he gestured at the seats. “Mind if we sit down?”

Bruce's gaze flittered over the people around him and Clark swore a light dusting of pink colored his face as well. “Of course.”

A little stiffly, Bruce gathered up the flowers and chocolates and handed them to Clark. Who, as he accepted them, noticed with a dip of his stomach that the bouquet was an assortment of his favorite flowers. Chrysanthemum daisies, cornflowers and blue hyacinths. It was carefully wrapped, looked stunning and had probably cost a fortune. Much like the chocolates. They were pralinés from that really expensive chocolatier downtown that Clark absolutely adored but never allowed himself to splurge on. Or rather that he never could splurge on because he'd not have enough money to pay his rent if he did.

Clark swallowed. “Are those… are they really for me?”

Bruce averted his eyes but nodded imperceptibly and Clark's stomach did another violent flip. “Thank you. They are my favorite. And they're really beautiful.”

They lapsed into silence as they sat down. It was awkward as heck. Possibly because Clark was stuck racking his brain not only for things to say but for any kind of explanation. Bruce's words from earlier, his expression as he'd looked at the card, they were all still fresh on Clark's mind. His surprise and his concern, even his (likely involuntary) condescension had seemed genuine. It just seemed impossible that this had been his plan all along. Why not ask Clark out? Or admit to leaving the card when Clark surprised him in his kitchen? There had to be another explanation.

Finally, Clark couldn't take it anymore. He turned to Bruce, leaning closer to speak directly into his ear, not wanting to be overheard. Just as he did, however, a loud cheer suddenly rose through the crowd and the people around them started to wave excitedly. As Clark turned to look, he felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. The kiss cam. He and Bruce had been caught by the kiss cam and their faces were currently plastered all over the huge monitors around the stadium.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”, shouted the masses and the chant was interspersed by whistles and catcalls. Clark turned to look at Bruce once more, who was staring back at him with wide eyes. The stadium announcer was goading them on, the screams of the crowd got louder and Clark… Clark snapped. Without thinking, he darted forward and pressed his lips to Bruce's in a brief, but undeniably electric kiss. Not wanting to push his luck, he pulled back just as quickly, lips tingling and the need to go in for a second, more thorough taste of Bruce's pink lips burning in his veins. He couldn't help but stare. He knew he should turn away, avert his eyes and pretend he only did it to appease the crowd, but…

Bruce wet his lips, leaving them all pink and shiny, slightly parted and the embodiment of temptation. Their eyes met. And then Bruce's fingers were suddenly curled into the front of Clark's shirt, pulling him in and in and… and they were kissing again. Desperately, wantonly. Bruce's tongue darted out to tease the seam of Clark's lips and Clark was only too happy to open his mouth for him, a low moan escaping without permission as he did so.

They got lost in each other. Distantly, Clark was aware of the cheers and wolf whistles, of the stadium announcer making some lewd comments and the camera flashes going off all around them but none of it mattered. He was solely focused on Bruce. His taste, his smell, the rapid beating of his heart and the breathless, bitten-off noises he made that no one but Clark would be able to hear.

It wasn't until Bruce had to pull back for air, his eyes wide and his pupils dilated to the point that only a thin ring of blue was still visible, that reality finally came crashing in again. Clark froze, his mind instantly careening towards a full-blown panic attack.

What the hell was he doing, kissing his best friend like that? And was this even really Bruce? Or was this a trap after all, some kind of magical doppelgänger trying to trick Clark? It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen to him. It wouldn’t even be the weirdest thing this week and that thought was petrifying. Except…

…Except that was definitely Bruce's heart, pounding away in his chest not two feet away from Clark. Clark would know that sound anywhere. But if this wasn’t a trap, then what was it? None of the possible answers flitting through his mind seemed to make any kind of sense and his thoughts began to spiral.

Something of what was going on in Clark's head must have shown on his face because Bruce's expression abruptly cleared and he looked away, shoulders drawing up defensively.

“I believe I owe you an explanation”, he said, quiet in a way Clark didn’t know what to do with. Bruce, the real Bruce, was always quiet, but he was never subdued like this. It twisted something in Clark’s chest.

“I believe you do”, he answered after a moment longer of studying Bruce, but when Bruce made to stand, still not quite looking at Clark, a fresh, unexpected wave of panic rose within him and before he even knew what he was doing he quickly grabbed Bruce's wrist.

“Can we… Could we stay until the end of the game?”, he blurted and felt heat crawl up his neck. Because the pathetic truth of the matter was: Clark didn't want this, whatever this was, to end yet. Or ever really, but that wasn’t an option. And not just because it was his very first real date on Valentine's Day but because it was a date on Valentine's Day with Bruce. Clark had dreamed of something like this happening for so long he didn’t even know what it was like to look at Bruce and not want. And this right here was probably his only chance to get it. Well, a glimpse of it but it was better than nothing.

Clark took a deep breath. “I get that this date is probably just part of some plan of yours and that you actually have something better to do and this is not–”

“Yes”, said Bruce, cutting Clark's pathetic rambling short. He cleared his throat, long elegant fingers splayed on his thighs and Clark had to try very hard not to stare too much. Those thighs regularly starred in his fantasies. “I never meant to ruin your date, Clark”, Bruce continued softly, still not quite meeting his eyes. “So yes, we can see this date through and watch the game if that's what you want. I promise I'll explain everything after.”

Clark’s shoulders sagged. “Okay, yes… Thank you.”

He even smiled a little, despite being more than a bit apprehensive. The explanation Bruce owed him hung over them like a dark cloud. But he pushed all of that aside and made himself focus on the here and now instead. On his date with Bruce, the game they both loved and the fact that they were spending Valentine's together. It would later all turn out to be a scheme or a publicity stunt or something of the sort but for now Clark would pretend it was real. He only had to figure out how to go about that. After several more minutes of tense silence, awkward shuffling and even more awkward glances, Clark cleared his throat. Now that the decision was made he was determined to enjoy himself.

“If this were a real date what would you do?”

Bruce's gaze snapped to him. “What?”

“If this was actually a date”, repeated Clark, feeling utterly stupid but forging on anyway. “What would we be doing now? What uh…” he waved his hand, his neck feeling increasingly hot. “What moves would you pull?”

Bruce cracked a smile at that and for the first time since Clark arrived his shoulders relaxed. “Well, if this was a date…” Dimples showing, Bruce stretched, lifting his arms over his head. Clark stared, mouth running dry, as the move accentuated Bruce's broad chest and strong biceps and he was distracted enough that the arm coming to rest on the back of his chair was a surprise. Once Clark realized what Bruce had done, he burst out laughing.

“Very smooth, Mr. Wayne. Did you steal this move from one of your kids?”

Bruce chuckled. “If anything they're the ones who stole it from me. Besides, you can't tell me it's not working. I've got my arm around you and made you laugh.”

“Touché”, said Clark and allowed himself to lean closer to Bruce. The alluring scent of Bruce's aftershave rose around him and Clark inhaled sharply, heart pounding. He licked his lips.

“What else would you do?”

Bruce hummed, arm tightening around Clark's shoulders. “I would ask you about yourself”, he said in a low voice. “Get to know you and tell you a few anecdotes of my own. I'd try to make sure you're comfortable with me.”

Clark's heart skipped a beat, butterflies dancing in his stomach. “What would you like to know?”

Bruce met Clark's eyes, his icy blue gaze intense in a way that made Clark feel slightly breathless and said: “Everything.”

<3 <3 <3

Bruce forgot they were playing pretend. He didn’t mean to. And a part of him still was extremely aware of the fact that he owed Clark a damned good explanation once this was over. But the bigger part of him was all too happy to just let himself drown in it. To tease and flirt and soak up every blush and shy glance he could get from Clark. Every laugh and smile, every time Clark leaned into him or gave him that fond look he sometimes got… Bruce took it all and locked it away in his heart.

But then the game was over - the Metropolis Giants had trounced the Gotham Rogues and somehow that didn't feel like a very good omen - and suddenly Bruce's time was up. Abruptly, he realized that he wasn't prepared to let it go, that he wasn't prepared to go back to just being friends, but at the same time he didn't know what he could say or do to prevent the inevitable. To prevent Clark from leaving.

As if by silent agreement they stayed seated a little while longer until most of the people around them had left and the first members of the clean-up crew made their way through the rows of seats. Bruce wondered if Clark was as reluctant to put an end to this as he was. Still, things were different now that the game was over. The spell was broken, there was a distance between them again and it felt insurmountable all of a sudden. Bruce knew he should say something, start the explanation he owed Clark, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He was terrified.

Clark shifted in his seat and looked around, his eyes anywhere but on Bruce. “We should probably head out, too.”

Bruce nodded stiffly and stood. Clark silently followed suit and together they left the stadium.

“Did you drive here?”, asked Bruce once they were outside and Clark shook his head.

“Ride with me?” He didn't know where that question came from. Clark didn't need a ride home. All he had to do was walk to the nearest semi-secluded alley and then he could fly the rest of the way. It was a lot faster than navigating a bike through this kind of traffic.

And yet Clark didn't say no.

He turned to look at Bruce for the first time in what felt like hours (but was more like fifteen minutes tops) and a small smile pulled at his lips. It was a little tense and didn't fully reach his eyes but it was a smile nonetheless. And then he said: “That would be lovely, thank you Bruce.”

Tongue suddenly too thick to form words again, Bruce quickly turned and led the way to the parking lot where he'd left his bike. It was only once they were standing in front of it that he realized another mistake. “I don't actually have a spare helmet with me.”

The look Clark gave him was unbearably fond that it made Bruce's knees go a little weak. Bruce didn't deserve that look. He'd been so selfish today. Clark should've hated him. And he probably would, once he knew the truth. “I don't need a helmet. Don't get me wrong, helmets are important and I don't like being a bad role model, but this once it's okay.”

Bruce didn't know what to make of that. Clark usually insisted on doing things properly, not just to blend in but to be a good example, like he'd said. Studying him a little closer, Bruce watched as two spots of color rose in Clark's cheeks, but he had no idea what that meant. So after another moment, he simply took the flowers and chocolates from Clark and placed them securely in the tankbag where they'd been stored before. Then he put on his helmet and swung his leg over.

“Hop on”, he said, patting the seat behind him. Clark hesitated, but then he climbed on behind Bruce, tentatively wrapping his arms around Bruce's middle. It took every ounce of Bruce's self-control not to react to the contact or let himself sink into the touch like he so desperately wanted to. Still, as he revved the engine and pulled out of the lot, his mind was filled with images of Clark's hands sliding just a little lower, leaving his waist behind and dipping between his legs, cupping him while he drove.

It was a miracle they didn't crash.

The thirty minutes until Bruce parked the bike in front of Clark's apartment complex simultaneously were the longest and shortest of Bruce's life and he felt the loss of Clark's arms around him so acutely it was like he was losing a part of himself. Which was so pathetic Bruce wanted to bang his head against the wall. Since he couldn't do that without alerting Clark to what was really going on, he busied himself retrieving their things from the tankbag before climbing off and following Clark to his door. Thankfully, the awkward air between them prevented Bruce's mind from wandering again, which unfortunately also meant that his anxiety was building with every step they took towards Clark's apartment.

“Meow.”

Bruce's thoughts stuttered to a halt as his eyes found the fluffy white and brown cat sitting on Clark's doormat. “Since when do you own a cat?”

“I don't.” Clark smiled and bent down to scratch the little feline gently behind the ears. “Lady Pawlington belongs to my neighbor. She just likes to visit from time to time.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Lady Pawlington?”

Laughing, Clark picked the cat up. “What? Do you not think she deserves that title?”

Bruce snorted, a smile tugging at his lips as he shook his head. “Not at all. She looks very regal.”

Giving the cat one last gentle scratch, Clark set it down at the end of the corridor before he returned to Bruce and unlocked the door. They headed inside and with the sound of the door clicking shut behind them all of Bruce's anxiety suddenly returned with a vengeance. He didn’t want to lose this, but most importantly he didn't want to hurt Clark and he feared at least one of those things was inevitable.

To stall for time, Bruce headed into the kitchen and rummaged around for the vase he knew Clark kept there. He felt Clark's eyes on him the entire time but he didn't dare turn around and instead focused entirely on filling the vase with water once he'd found it and arranging the flowers just so. His hands were trembling, his pulse was elevated and he knew it would only get worse. And yet he couldn't make himself turn around and face this.

“Are we going to dance around this all day?”, asked Clark, taking the decision from Bruce, who reluctantly turned to face him. ”Or are we going to talk about what happened?”

Bruce told himself to just get this over with and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. “I'm sorry”, he began and stopped again because the rest of the words got stuck somewhere in his throat.

Clark sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Why were you at the game today?”

Instead of using his words like he should, Bruce pulled out his own Valentine's card and silently handed it to Clark. There was so much he wanted to say but he just couldn't get his tongue to move and he hated himself for it. Clark's brow furrowed in confusion as he accepted the card. “How did you…?”

“Open it.”

Wordlessly, Clark did and the furrow between his brows only grew as he stared at the card. “What is this, B?”

Bruce pressed his lips together tightly before he finally made himself explain: “It was Alfred's idea.”

Clark looked down at the card again, knuckles turning white with, Bruce guessed, the effort not to crinkle or rip the paper. He was always careful. It was one of the things Bruce loved about him. “What are you saying?”

Closing his eyes, Bruce braced himself. He tried to view this as a case report just so that he could talk but it was difficult. “The cards, the tickets… Alfred organized it all and he roped the boys in to help him.” He ran a hand down his face. “I knew as soon as I read the poem in my card. It's one of Jason's favorites. He confirmed it when I called him earlier.”

Clark was silent for a long time. “I still don't understand.”

Bruce didn't dare meet Clark's eyes. “Alfred and the kids made these cards and delivered one to you and one to my hotel room. They wanted to bring us together.”

“So what was this supposed to be? A prank? A set-up? Were all of you going to have a laugh about it later on?”

Bruce's hands curled into fists at the hurt in Clark's voice and he bit the inside of his cheek as his heart started to race in earnest. This was what he'd been terrified of. This was the part that could ruin everything. “A blind date.”

“What?”

Bruce cleared his throat. “It was supposed to be a blind date.” He turned away, feeling like he was going to throw up but he knew he couldn't leave it at that. He owed Clark more, so much more than this. And he didn't know what made him do it but a reckless part of him thought if he had to hurt Clark and ruin things between them… He might as well go all in. “Alfred knows how I feel about you, how I've felt about you for the past couple of years, really. He was always trying to make me tell you and I suppose he decided to take matters into his own hands.”

Clark fell silent once again and Bruce couldn't decipher the look on his face. Usually Clark wore his heart on his sleeve but right now he was surprisingly hard to read. Terrifyingly so. Finally, he asked, very quietly: “Your feelings for me?”

Bruce nodded, still not looking at Clark. He couldn't. He felt like an exposed nerve right now, like one wrong look or word could end him.

Clark made a soft sound. “You didn't want to ruin our friendship”, he whispered, and then he was suddenly right in front of Bruce.

“Look at me, B.”

Reluctantly, Bruce did as he was asked, because he couldn't not. He'd do anything for Clark but fear was tying his stomach into knots. Until Clark reached up and gently framed his face. “Why were you at the game today, B? Why did you go along with it? You could've just called me and told me what was going on. Why didn't you?”

Bruce swallowed hard, trembling all over now. “I didn't want to disappoint you”, he said quietly. “You should have seen the look on your face when you opened the card, Clark. You looked so happy. I didn't want to take that from you.”

A soft smile appeared on Clark's face and his thumbs began to softly caress Bruce's cheeks. “Bullshit, B. Tell me the real reason.”

A flush rose to Bruce's face and he looked at the floor. He couldn't stand to look into Clark's beautiful cornflower eyes right now. The last thing he wanted was to make himself even more vulnerable, to show his soft underbelly. But this was Clark. He wouldn't hurt Bruce, not on purpose. And he had yet to tell Bruce to fuck off. Hope swelling in his chest despite his better judgment, Bruce decided to tell the truth one more time.

“I finally wanted to know what going on a date with you would be like. I've wanted that for so long, Clark, wanted you for so long, you have no idea. When you opened that card earlier and said you'd go out with whoever sent it, I was so jealous I could hardly stand it. I wanted it to be me you were so excited about.”

Clark was so close now that Bruce could hear the way his breath hitched. “Oh Bruce”, he whispered, resting his forehead against Bruce's own. “The only reason I decided to go on that date was because I thought I couldn't have you. You're the only one I want. You always have been.”

“What?” Bruce desperately searched Clark's beautiful eyes for a hint that this was real.

“I love you, Bruce.”

An involuntary and undeniably needy sound slipped past Bruce's lips as he struggled to comprehend Clark's words and something flared up in Clark's eyes. Something hot and sharp that made Bruce's stomach flip with a mix of nerves and arousal.

“And you love me too, don't you, B?” Clark's voice was practically a purr as he leaned even closer, his grip on Bruce shifting. One hand slid to the back of Bruce's head, burying itself in Bruce's hair, while the other wrapped around his neck. The touch was so possessive that Bruce's brain immediately kissed its higher functions goodbye.

“I do”, croaked Bruce, already breathless as his body reacted to Clark's proximity, to the feel of his touch, his warmth and that intoxicating scent of his Bruce could never get enough of.

Clark's answering smile was nothing short of predatory. “Good.” And then he was kissing Bruce.

Bruce melted into the contact with a moan, instantly surrendering. Clark's hands tightened a little around Bruce's throat and in his hair and suddenly it felt like those hands were the only things keeping Bruce upright. Clark's tongue plundered his mouth and the kiss was hungry, domineering in a way Bruce didn't know Clark could be. He felt dizzy with it, overwhelmed by how utterly he was at Clark's mercy and loving every second of it.

After a moment, Clark broke the kiss and crowded Bruce against the kitchen counter. His hands drifted to Bruce's hips, grabbing them tight and in one fluid move that stole Bruce's breath, he lifted him onto the counter.

“God, B. You don't know how often I've dreamed about this, having you here at my mercy like this.” Clark nuzzled the side of Bruce's neck, sending shivers of want down Bruce's spine. Bruce tilted his head to give him better access and the approving sound that rumbled out of Clark's chest at that, instantly got him from half-mast to rock hard.

“I can hear your heart racing”, murmured Clark, leaving a trail of wet kisses along Bruce's throat as his big hands landed high on Bruce's thighs, kneading and massaging them and making Bruce feel lightheaded with lust. “I can hear your blood rushing to fill your cock.”

Clark splayed his big hands, the tips of his thumbs and pointer fingers pressing against Bruce's erection. Electricity raced through Bruce's veins and he abruptly felt like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. He couldn't quite believe what was happening, wasn't sure any of this was even real, but at the moment it didn't matter. As long as Clark kept touching and teasing him like this nothing else mattered.

“Clark”, he moaned, pleaded, really, and finally allowed himself to touch Clark as well, to wrap his arms around those broad shoulders and hold on tight.

“I've got you”, said Clark, low and intimate as he pushed Bruce's thighs apart to wedge his hips inbetween. Bruce's blood instantly caught fire and suddenly his clothes felt stifling, restricting. He needed them off. He wanted to feel Clark's skin, to finally touch every inch of it like he'd longed to do for years. Hands trembling with desperate need, he began to tug on Clark's stupid checkered button down shirt.

“Off”, he growled and the first button gave way under his fumbling fingers. “I swear those fucking shirts of yours.” He pressed a kiss to Clark's throat. “They shouldn't work on anyone but somehow, whenever I see you in one of these they drive me to the edge of reason. Every. Damned. Time.”

Clark chuckled breathlessly and squeezed Bruce's thighs, sending a jolt of lust through him. “You're one to talk. Jesus, Bruce, have you seen your legs? And you always wear these tight pants. It's been driving me crazy.”

“Then do something about it, boy scout.” Bruce continued to unbutton Clark's shirt and nearly salivated at every inch of golden skin revealed.

Clark smirked and the next thing Bruce knew a draft of cold air hit his suddenly very naked skin. “Fuck!” He gasped, arousal spiking. His clothes were folded neatly on top of the table and for some reason the sight of them, this blatant show of Clark's power, made his cock begin to leak against his naked stomach.

Grinning, Clark crowded between Bruce's legs again and the fabric of his jeans scratched along the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. Bruce's hands flew to Clark's shoulders, fisting the material. He intended to get back to working Clark's shirt open, even the score and get him naked, but then Clark's fingers were on him

On his chest, trailing over his pecs in featherlight touches, around his nipples and down his ribs, and Bruce lost the capacity for rational thought. He arched his back, pressing his skin against Clark's fingers.

“So responsive”, murmured Clark, kissing his way down the side of Bruce's neck, scraping his teeth over the delicate skin. “Makes me want to take you apart, B.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Bruce turned his head and captured Clark's lips in a kiss. Clark groaned and crowded even closer, his clothed cock rubbing against Bruce's exposed one, probably smearing precome all over his jeans as he licked into Bruce's mouth and the image of the two of them like this was so unbearably sexy to Bruce.

After a moment, Clark pulled back. His curls were sticking up every which way, his pupils were blown, his lips swollen and shiny with spit. He looked so beautiful, it made Bruce's heart ache. “Are you sure? We can take it slow, if you want, B. We have time.”

Frowning, Bruce grabbed the back of Clark's neck and drew him back in. “Don't you dare. I want you inside me, Clark. Now.”

Clark moaned and wrapped his arms around Bruce. “Hold on.”

Before Bruce could even fully process the words, everything around him became blurry. It stopped again just as fast and when he blinked his surroundings back into focus he found himself lying on Clark's bed, Clark hovering above him. Literally. But that wasn't what caught Bruce's attention. All of his focus was taken up by the fact that somewhere between one blink and the next Clark had gotten rid of his clothes and was now fully naked as well. All that golden, unblemished skin, the cut of his hips and those perfectly defined abs… Bruce swallowed thickly and lifted a shaky hand to follow the path of his eyes with his fingers.

Clark shuddered, lowering himself until his body was covering Bruce's, his weight settling on top of him. They both groaned.

“I can't believe we're actually doing this”, whispered Clark, framing Bruce's face with his hands. “I've been dreaming about this.”

Bruce's breath caught in his throat and he gently carded his fingers through Clark's hair. “Me too. I never thought I'd be lucky enough to experience this.”

Clark's gaze softened and the kiss he pressed to Bruce's lips was so unbearably tender it had tears springing to Bruce's eyes. “I love you, Bruce.”

Bruce's heart stuttered. “I love you, too”, he answered, lips brushing Clark's as he spoke. Then he grabbed a fistful of Clark's hair and tugged lightly as he spread his legs as wide as he could. “Now, I think I was promised to be thoroughly taken apart.”

Laughing breathlessly, Clark leaned back and his fond expression made Bruce squirm. “So impatient”, he said, clucking his tongue. “Maybe I should teach you a lesson and make you wait.” But even as he said that he began to slide down Bruce's body, wedging his shoulders between his spread legs. His hands slid around to Bruce's ass, lifting him up. Anticipation built in Bruce's gut and by now his cock drooled a continuous stream of precome onto his stomach.

For a long while Clark just stared, gaze fixed hungrily on Bruce's cock, and Bruce squirmed helplessly in his grip.

“So darn pretty”, murmured Clark and then he was diving forward, licking a long stripe up Bruce's cock, swirling his tongue around the head before kissing his way back down. Bruce shouted in surprised pleasure and arched off the bed. But Clark wasn't done. Not by long shot. He didn’t stop at the base of Bruce's cock and instead moved further south, laving attention on Bruce's balls.

And then he moved even further down and Bruce's brain short-circuited as he stopped breathing. Clark's big hands shifted on Bruce, spreading his cheeks as he lifted his hips like it was nothing, and then his tongue was licking a broad stripe over Bruce's hole.

Bruce's entire body twitched as if it was connected to a live wire and his heart was beating so fast he feared it might explode. The pleasure coursing through his veins as Clark licked and sucked and bit at his hole, pushing first one then two fingers inside alongside his tongue was too much for him to take. But he couldn't escape it. Clark wouldn't let him. His grip on Bruce's ass was unrelenting and Bruce was sure he'd have finger-shaped bruises there later. He was harder than he'd ever been in his life, more turned on, and if Clark didn't stop soon he'd come just from that clever mouth and fingers alone.

“Clark”, he moaned, squirming, torn between getting away from the stimulation and grinding down into it. “I'm… If you don't stop…”, he gasped, trying to warn Clark, but if anything his attempt to get Clark to slow down had the opposite effect. Because Clark slid a third finger into Bruce, pushing them all the way in while his tongue circled around Bruce's stretched hole and then those blunt fingers found his prostate.

Stars exploded in front of Bruce's eyes. He was distantly aware of the sob he let out, the way his back lifted off the mattress, but everything was hazy as the pleasure consumed him. When Bruce finally came back down, panting and boneless, he quickly became aware of the fact that Clark's fingers were still buried deep inside him. Clark's gaze was fixed on Bruce's face, a hungry look in his eyes. Once he noticed Bruce was back with him he held eye-contact and very deliberately crooked his fingers. Lightning shot up Bruce's spine and a high-pitched whine tore itself from his throat.

“I want to fuck you, B. Just like this, when you're already sweaty and overstimulated. I want to make you cry.”

A violent shudder worked its way down Bruce's spine. Clark's voice was completely shot, his mouth was bright red, spit covered his lips and cheeks and his eyes seemed almost wild with arousal.

There was no way Bruce could deny him.

Exhaling shakily, he reached down and tangled his fingers in Clark's hair, pulling weakly, but Clark didn't budge. “Say it, B”, he rasped. “Tell me you want me to fuck you till you cry.”

Moaning, Bruce squeezes his eyes closed. His spent cock did its best to rise again even though it was impossible for him to go again this soon. “Fuck me, Clark. Do it”, he gasped, wiggling his hips to finally get Clark to move.

With a low curse that sent a shiver down Bruce's spine, Clark pulled his fingers free and began to crawl up Bruce's body. Bruce was still limp and sluggish as Clark slid his arms under his legs and lifted them, positioning himself at Bruce's entrance. Bruce moaned again as he felt the wet tip of Clark's cock against his hole, Clark's precome mixing with his spit as he slowly pushed his way inside. Bruce's tired body lit up at the delicious pressure and he threw his head back. It felt like forever until Clark was fully seated inside and when he finally was, Bruce's chest was heaving for air, sweat trickling down his spine as his nerves twinged and prickled with overstimulation. Clark was just so big, filling Bruce perfectly, pressing against his prostate without even trying.

And then he started to move in earnest and Bruce's brain immediately switched offline. Each and every one of Clark's powerful thrusts hit Bruce's prostate head on, sending jolts of pleasure-pain through his entire system, robbing him of his breath and making him feel like he was drowning in it. Bruce's being narrowed down to Clark. Clark above him, surrounding him, in him… There was nothing else in existence right now.

“Look at you, B”, panted Clark, hips picking up speed as he rocked into Bruce. “You're a mess. And you're so darn pretty like this.”

He leaned down and kissed Bruce, practically fucking his mouth with his tongue and Bruce felt like he was losing his mind. Weakly, he clawed at Clark's back, tried to hold on for the ride as Clark relentlessly forced his body towards a second orgasm. The coil of pleasure in his belly was wound steadily tighter and tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes.

“There you are”, breathed Clark, his thrusts growing erratic, his kisses more desperate and when he slammed home one last time, filling Bruce with his hot seed, Bruce tumbled over the edge as well. He'd never had a dry orgasm before. He didn’t even know he could, and it honestly felt like only Clark could have torn the pleasure from his body in this way.

Afterwards, Bruce's mind went dark for quite a while. He just drifted along in a cloud of exhausted satisfaction, lethargic and completely unaware of his surroundings.

When he eventually came back to himself, he was lying on Clark's chest, wrapped up in those strong arms. He sighed in contentment and closed his eyes. “That was quite a ride, cowboy.”

Clark laughed, arms squeezing Bruce a little tighter. “What can I say? You bring out the best in me, B.”

Bruce felt himself flush and buried his face in Clark's chest. “I can't believe I actually find that charming.”

Clark began gently stroking Bruce's back. “I can't believe I'm finally allowed to have you.”

Heart stuttering in his chest, Bruce craned his neck and pressed a soft kiss to Clark's jaw. “I'm all yours.”

Clark turned his head and captured Bruce’s lips in a tender kiss. “And I'm yours.”

Smiling, Bruce settled back down. He was in the process of drifting off to sleep when Clark's voice roused him once more. “I guess that means we owe Alfred a gift basket or something.”

Bruce groaned. “They're going to be unbearably smug about this.”

Chuckling, Clark kissed the top of his head. “I'm sure I can think of a few things to make this worth it though.”

Snorting, Bruce shook his head. “You're insatiable.”

“Only for you, B. Only for you.”

<3 <3 <3

As it turned out, Clark's first Valentine's Day date was a smashing success.

#DCUValentinesDay2024 #bruce wayne #superbat #clark kent #happy valentines #valentines cards #superbat fanfiction #fanfic

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