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The Bat Lost a Bet - Chapter 4 Interlude

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Bruce woke up with a start and instinctively reached for a batarang. His eyes snapped open in shock to find himself naked under the blanket. He never slept in the nude (easier to conceal weapons in his pyjamas) so someone must have undressed him and...

Like a sudden flash flood, last night’s memories came rushing back in and Bruce groaned, burying his head deep in the pillow.

My god! What have you done! Crying and begging for mercy during sex. SEX! Not torture, SEX! And then passing out during an orgasm. A bloody orgasm!!! I don’t care if it’s your fourth or fifth or whatever. Not even your worst fucking injury had made you do that. And Clark has not even cli...

Bruce jerked up in a panic, heaving a huge sigh of relief to not find Clark in the room. Sounds of running water from the bathroom told Bruce that this was the best time to make his escape. He simply could not face Clark, especially not after how he had behaved in bed last night. Moreover, despite all that had happened, Bruce was still gripped by a notion that any relationship between them will fail eventually. Already, his paranoid mind was throwing ‘what if’ scenarios at him and Bruce felt overwhelmed.

Fingers crossed, hoping that Clark would not be able to superhear him in his shower, Bruce winced as he scrambled off the bed. A throbbing ache had flared up within him and he cursed Clark for his lack of self-restraint. Gritting his teeth, Bruce hunted hurriedly for his clothes. His face burned when he found his boxers hanging off a photo of Clark’s mom which had been placed on top of a dresser.

Grabbing it, Bruce felt something un-cloth-like crinkled in his hand. Taking a closer look, he realised that it was a heart-shaped sticky note.

We can make us work. So don’t walk out on me like this.

Bruce stared then crushed and threw the note out of the window as if it was a dangerous explosive device. He quickly put on his boxers and picked up his pants lying at the foot of the dresser. Frowning, he peeled off another heart-shaped sticky note.

Please, I beg you. Don’t break my heart now,

especially not after you had made me so happy yesterday.

Guilt stabbed at Bruce as he remembered what had happened at the Ark. It was shitty of him to go back on his words, but he just could not shake off the fear that things would go wrong and it would most likely be his fault. Look at how fucking fantastic his life has been, and Clark should not be involved with him at all.

Letting the note drop to the floor, Bruce stumbled in his haste to get dressed and get out as soon as possible. Unfortunately, his shirt took a much longer time to find. Bruce was biting his lips in agitation by the time he found it neatly-folded and tucked away in Clark’s laptop bag. He froze at the sight of yet another sticky note.

I love you, Bruce.

 I love you and I love you,

and I can’t stop how I feel no matter what you do.

Bruce fought to remain unaffected by the depth of Clark’s emotions. He tugged the note off, fingers poised to tear it into shreds but could not bear to do so. Instead, he stuffed the note into his back pocket, mind frazzled and emotions frayed, haphazardly wearing his shirt as he fled the bedroom.

Making a beeline for the front door, Bruce’s heart leapt to his throat when he spotted a sticky note stuck on the front door.

Turn around and look at me before you go.

Bruce hesitated. He simply could not walk out with Clark’s stare burning right into him. And neither did he want to turn around and look at Clark. That would vaporise his decision to leave. Belatedly, he realised that Clark knew. He knew how Bruce would react the morning after and had it all planned out.

“Bastard,” Bruce growled then sighed in resignation when Clark gently turned him around, drawing him into his embrace. He was acutely aware of Clark’s damp nakedness with only a towel around his hips for modesty, and Clark’s fresh clean scent enveloped him. But it was Clark’s soft smile and warm accepting eyes that were the most lethal to Bruce.

“You’re only making it harder,” Bruce complained, distracted by a droplet sliding down Clark’s nose and landing on his lips.

“I know, baby,” Clark licked the droplet away and leaned in closer.

“Don’t call me that!”

“Okay, honey.”

And his lips was on Bruce’s, sealing them with sweet slow kisses. The tension melted away and Bruce suddenly felt foolish for wanting to walk away from Clark, for worrying too much. It felt so right to be in Clark’s arms, to be pressed up against him, to be with him.

After a while.



“If you try to walk out on me again, I’m going to tie you up, recite all the reasons we are perfect for each other until your brains are filled to the brim with my love.”

Clark then hoisted Bruce into his arms and took him back to his bedroom, intending to make Bruce too sore to walk or even crawl for a long while.