Chapter Text
The door bell rings, interrupting the mandatory, weekly Movie Night at Wayne Tower.
Bruce is the one closest to the door, so he gets kicked out of his own couch from at least three different pairs of feet to go and get the door himself. Alfred looks way too pleased, perched on his favorite armchair, to go on his defence. So Bruce goes, keeping his complaints to a minimum, but grumbling to himself anyway.
What– who he finds at the door leaves him unimpressed.
“Oh come on, don’t look at me like that.”
It’s not unusual for Clark to come without texting or calling first. With his powers, he can determine if Bruce is home or not, but it’s unusual for him to come dressed up. He doesn’t have his super suit on, not even under his clothes from what Bruce can see, and has his nicer blue slacks and white shirt combo he uses only under one circumstance-
“Did you ditch your date to come here?” Bruce murmurs, in his own pajamas, and with enough bewilderment to surprise even himself. He knew Clark was going on a date that night– Clark told him some days ago about it, but it is barely eight o’clock, so-
“I didn’t ditch him to come here–” Clark’s face creases in the middle, looking almost pained. “I came here because I ditched him.”
The only reason Bruce doesn’t facepalm is because he has too much experience with teenagers to be surprised, or even disappointed. The fact that he was speaking with his forty-seven years old best friend didn’t make much of a difference.
“I’ll make us tea.”
Given that the main living room is currently occupied by all of Bruce’s children and the youngest Kent, Bruce takes them to one of the smaller lounges, the one with the better view of the city, and sits down.
Clark stays on his feet, watching the city with the boiling hot mug in his hands, a tired sigh escaping his mouth.
“When I decided to start dating again after the divorce I didn’t think it would be so-” His face scrunches up as if he smelled something rotten, “bad.”
Bruce blows on his tea, trying not to burn his tongue, but doesn’t speak, watching Clark’s muscled back move under his shirt in tiny, nervous twitches.
“Like, if I actually find someone my age to go on a date with, they are either incredibly boring or so, so bad, they make me, the superpowered alien, the less weird between the two of us.” He starts ranting, taking a sip from his tea, and moving his hands in the air like he always does when something is bothering him more than usual.
“There was Charlie the art curator that spent most of our date talking about how AI can do all of their work without breaking a sweat. Then there was Albert that ‘didn’t usually go for people my age’, he’s two years older than me for Christ’s sake. Then Tina, who wanted to bring her twenty years old daughter to our first date, what is wrong with people these days?!” Clark scoffs, rubbing his temples as if he could have a real headache.
“Is it really that difficult for people to be- I don’t know. Calm? It’s either people my age looking desperately for company or twenty-something years old trying to- trying to have sex with me!” His voice pitches higher, his cheeks getting redder. Bruce has always loved watching him blush, even though he could only dream about it. Lois always made him blush with two words at best. Bruce didn’t have that privilege. “I could be their father!”
“Daddy issues make men our age palatable for younger people, no matter our opinion about it.”
“Bruce!”
Bruce smiles, sly and sharp, just to fuck with him.
“Come on, I’m being serious,” Oh, he’s pouting now, he must be way more bothered than Bruce thought. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Clark,” Bruce softens his voice, Clark finally looking at his face, rather than the floor. “Why are you doing this?”
Clark shrugs, hugging the mug close to his chest. It makes him look younger for a second, even with the gray at his temples and the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. Bruce blinks, a flash behind his eyelids of all those years ago, the first time Clark landed in front of him in a whirl of bright colors and an even brighter smile.
“I think- I think I miss…it. The late night talks, the shared dinners and lunches and- I don’t know. The love, maybe. The intimacy. But I’m not so sure anymore.” Clark groans, rubbing a hand on his face. “Jesus, I sound pathetic.”
Bruce smiles, not unkindly, but his heart is clenching under skin and bones. I give you all of that, all the time, but you never see it, do you? He thinks, bittersweet.
“I want someone that knows me. Knows all of me, without being scared or without being a secret, someone I can trust. Someone like Lois. Someone like-” Clark hesitates, holding his breath for a moment. And Bruce doesn’t know what he is about to say, but Hell knows it’s going to hurt.
“Someone like you, Bruce.”
And it hurts. It hurts so fucking bad. And how can it still hurt so bad? After all these years, after countless moments spent together, incredibly close but so unbelievably far, a wedge between them that Bruce couldn’t gap, because Clark never chose him. How can Bruce’s heart break for the umpteenth time? How?
“Date me, then.”
A whisper, three words, and Bruce’s breath stops.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
Clark freezes. Shocked.
“Wha- What?”
What was more to lose, now?
“Date. Me. Then.” Bruce repeats, dry. Solid. Way more steady than he’s feeling.
Clark is one of the hardest people to surprise that Bruce knows. He’s smart and has heightened senses, but the mug falls from his hands, crashing on the ground in a pile of shards, his face a mask of genuine bewilderment.
“You’re not serious. You can’t be.”
“Clark,” Bruce snaps. “Get yourself together.”
“How the Hell am I supposed to?” He quips, high. “You want to date me?”
“Clark.” Bruce sighs. He’s trying to get angry, but he can’t. He just can’t. Lois would have his head if she was here. “I’ve been your best friend for the better part of two decades. I know you better than I know myself. I’m pretty much the male version of you ex wife- Don’t look at me like that, you have a type- And I’ve been in love with you for a long time. Yes, fuck, I want to date you.”
“Oh, golly.”
______
“How did I never notice?” Clark paces the room. Bruce didn’t know he could get pale like any other human, but he can, and he is getting paler by the second. If the situation wasn’t a fucking mess, Bruce would find it hilarious.
“I can’t answer that.”
“You never spoke to me differently. You never treated me differently. You never looked at me differently.” He keeps pacing, mumbling. “I can’t- I don’t know when you could have possibly fallen for me-” He stops dead in his tracks then. Bruce never stops looking at him, watching him process, analyze, and connect all the clues, exactly like he always does, because there’s no world where Bruce Wayne could be in love with someone less sharp and intelligent than himself.
Clark sits on the couch beside him with a soft thump.
“Bruce we’ve been friends for twenty years, for fuck’s sake.” Clark grips his own hair, eyes to the floor. “The whole time?”
Bingo.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” He chokes out. His blue eyes are turning glassy, filled with tears, and as much as his heart aches seeing Clark like this, Bruce is too tired. The cat’s out of the bag. He doesn’t have much more to lose.
“I don’t think you really want me to answer that.” Bruce whispers, weary and exhausted. Even talking is a chore at this point. “You’ll be sad.”
“Bruce.” Clark gasps out, trying to dry his tears and failing. “Please.”
Bruce bites his lower lip, trying to remain as composed as he can.
“I hate making you sad.”
“I know.” Clark takes one of his hands then, squeezing. “I know.”
Bruce sighs, closing his eyes and taking as deep of a breath as he can, preparing himself. There’s only quiet around them, unusual for the Manor, but all of their kids are either in the movie room or somewhere else. It’s just them. No protection, no barrier, no nothing.
Just Bruce and Clark.
“It all started when you appeared as Superman. You scared me, at first, but. It didn’t last long. I think it took me less than- I don’t know, two or three months? Before the fear turned into something else. I thought it was just attraction at first.”
Bruce scoffs, remembering those first few months.
The fear of a superpowered being that he couldn’t quite get a read on, who seemed too kind and too earnest to be true, coming to him. Talking to him, showing all of his cards, answering all the questions Bruce had about him and his powers and biology with a patience and warmth Bruce couldn’t wrap his head around. Then Clark confessed to him that Bruce was his inspiration to become Superman, how he saw his efforts after the Riddler and the flood, and Bruce couldn’t lie to himself anymore.
“But after you showed yourself- not just the superpowered, kind but unreadable alien, but you, Clark Kent, who loves strawberry and chocolate ice scream, who cries when watching movies and loves flannel pajama pants- How could I resist? I’m just a man.” Bruce smiles, a toothy, tight and sad smile, feeling the wetness on his cheeks. Having a beautiful, handsome, kind and thoughtful being would make even the toughest man kneel, and Bruce was always a weak, weak man for those bright, unnaturally blue eyes and endless hope.
“But it was too late, then. Your heart was taken away, by the best person the world could give you. I didn’t stand a chance.” Bruce chuckles then, rough and raspy. “From then on, I couldn’t bring myself to ruin that, because I knew what you’d say,” Bruce finally looks back at Clark. He doesn’t think he has even seen Clark look quite so heartbroken in all the years they’ve known each other. “You’d let me down slowly, with all your kindness and perfect words, and I- I-” He chokes, crossing his arms, getting his hand away from Clark’s. “I don’t think my heart could ever…recover.” Bruce sighs again, slower. “So I didn’t.”
“And Lois knew all of this? And didn’t tell me?”
Bruce nods. He gets his knees to his chest, trying to cover the last bit of his dignity, trying to protect the pieces of his heart that are broken and raw from getting even more sharp. He doesn’t want to be mean, but he can feel it starting to bubble in his throat, like a corned animal.
“She clocked me right from the start, and confronted me about it, because she didn’t like me much.” Bruce grimaces. Lois didn’t hate him, not at all, but just like Bruce, Lois’ trust is something you gain with time and effort. And she wasn’t and isn’t particularly fond of billionaires, so they were up for a rough start. But her straightforwardness was a big part of the reason Bruce warmed up quickly to her, even though his paranoia was not happy about a random woman knowing Clark’s secret.
The first time they met officially as Clark’s best friend and Clark’s girlfriend, and not as Lois Lane from The Daily Planet and Ermit Antisocial Billionaire Bruce Wayne, was because Clark asked him to meet her. And Bruce was a weak, weak man. So they went out for dinner, and the day afterwards Lois went up into his office and tried to rip his head off because he was lying to Clark. Bruce was so stunned he offered her lunch.
“I have a request.” Bruce spoke softly over the chatter of the restaurant around them. “Just one.”
Lois raised an eyebrow, watching him.
“Don’t tell him. He has no clue, and I want to keep it that way.” He sighed, slouching on his chair. “I just want him to be happy.”
“What makes you think I’ll make him happy and you won’t?”
Bruce scoffed, almost a smile on his face.
“Because in the last three years that I’ve known him, he dated a lot of people, but never asked me to meet any of them.” He watched Lois’ face carefully. “He chose you.”
There wasn’t much more she could say after that.
“What now?” Clark asks, voice barely above a whisper.
“I…don’t know.” Bruce curls more into himself, hugging his knees even tighter. He thinks about Dick when he was a child and he used to beg him to watch scary movies together. He feels the same way he did, probably. “I never thought this would happen.”
Clark turns his body towards him.
“Bruce.”
Bruce bites his lips again, so hard he can taste the blood.
“Bruce, look at me. Please.”
He doesn’t. He can’t, he can’t, for the sake of his sanity, he can’t. But a big, warm hand moves, slowly, to his cheek, holding it with care, as if he would shatter in a million pieces without a moment's notice. And maybe he will, because he’s barely holding himself together.
His own body betrays him, searching for that warmth, turning his face into Clark’s palm with a sigh. He still can’t look at him, preferring to close his eyes, but Bruce let’s Clark hold him as if he was something precious, even though part of him want to bite that hand, and bite the man that made him fall so hard and so fast, just to get his heart taken away by somebody else.
A thumb brushes his cheek, careful and kind, and Clark is closer than ever, his body warm and heavy on Bruce’s side.
“I’m in love with you, Bruce. I’ve been for a couple of years now, but I was too afraid to speak to you about it.” Clark murmurs, wrapping his free arm around him, taking them closer and closer. “I’m sorry.”
Bruce grabs his wrist, using all the grip his hands are capable of. He doesn’t know if he wants to get it away from him, or closer, but he rubs his lips on Clark’s palm, his tears wetting the invulnerable skin.
“Lois knows. Has known for a while now, probably before I even thought about it, and she- she pushed me to say something but.” He grimaces again, pained. “I don’t know. You were so peaceful- are, so peaceful, I think. I didn’t want to trouble you. I was fine being your friend, I didn’t want to be…selfish.”
A wet chuckle leaves Bruce’s throat, and he shakes his head.
“There’s no world where you have ever been selfish, Clark.” He whispers. “You deserve it all.”
“I don’t. I had a good life, I had love, I had a wife, I got to have Jon. My marriage ended, yes, but if that’s what life had to offer me, it was perfect. And it’s perfect, because it’s way more than I ever thought I’d have.” Clark takes a breath, deep, more to steady himself than the need for air. It’s so careful, so human, Bruce finally looks at his face, at the frown in the middle of his eyebrows and at the brightness of the baby blues that have been haunting him since he was twenty-eight.
“But when you got sick a few months ago, it all changed. I can count the times I was that scared on one hand, Bruce, and the fact that it wasn’t a- a mutant or giant robot or, God forbid, a kaiju, that sent you to the hospital, but a bad flu and bad luck, it scared the hell out of me- Because I can fight stupid fucking robots, but the only thing I can do against your- your-” Mortality, he doesn’t say. Bruce hears it anyway. “Is staying beside you, and holding you, and I couldn’t, because I was a coward. And I’m sorry about it.”
Bruce doesn’t remember most of the days he spent at the hospital.
He remembers his whole family staying with him, rarely all together, but he was never alone. He’s almost sure that Dick bribed the nurses to let them stay all the time with the best food he could buy them, and even though he didn’t say it, Bruce knew just how relieved Damian was that he was sent to the hospital he worked at. His youngest came to check up on him as many times as he could, even though his colleagues tried to reassure him that he was in good hands.
Clark and Lois too spent a lot of their time in his room, either talking or working, or reading the news out loud for him. It was comforting. It was everything he ever wished for.
“I wished you did.” Bruce admits, finally letting himself curl into Clark’s warmth, turning into his chest with his whole body, until he’s pretty much on his lap. Clark doesn’t waste a second, wrapping him with arms strong enough to destroy buildings, but so soft around Bruce’s shaking body. He throws his arms around Clark’s neck, trying to get them closer.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Clark whispers into his hair, kissing his temple. “Bruce-”
“I don’t- I don’t want to talk anymore.” Bruce murmurs into his neck.
“I didn’t tell you-”
“Clark.” Bruce snaps. Whines. He doesn’t know. “Kiss me.”
And Clark might be an alien with unfathomable strength and superpowers, but underneath all, he’s just a pining, weak man in front of the beauty that is Bruce Wayne. So he does, he grabs Bruce’s beautiful, solid shoulders, and brings them together with very little strength.
The kiss is intense from the start, Bruce sinks his hands in Clark’s thick hair, pulling and dragging him exactly where he wants, and Clark lets him, a groan clawing out of his chest and throat just to be swallowed by Bruce’s chapped lips.
Bruce straddles him then, getting his whole weight on Clark’s lap, and finally, finally, Clark puts his big, thick and soft hands on his body, rubbing his shoulders, going up his forearm, then down on his chest and waist and landing on his hips, and grabbing, bringing them even closer.
They go on and on until Bruce needs to breathe again, and they are both crying again, chuckling and intertwined in a mess of arms and legs and red cheeks as if they were teenagers and not almost fifty years olds.
“Tomorrow, we talk.” Bruce holds Clark’s face, chest to chest and panting, and locks their eyes in a whirl of dove gray and prussian blue. “Now, bed. Understood?”
Clark’s eyes wrinkle with the vastness of his smile.
“Yessir.”
---
fin.