Work Text:
“Kal-El has entered the Batcave.”
The little message pops up on the Batcomputer with a beep. Bruce tries to pretend to himself that this surprise visit doesn’t instantly lift his mood. He keeps typing in the mission report, barely putting any conscious thought behind it. Eyes trained on the screen, he hears the soft whoosh coming through the tunnel and then stopping behind him. He recognises the now familiar rustle of the red cape as it settles around Clark.
“Hey, B! Whatcha doin’?”
Bruce turns, slowly, while continuing to look at the screen as if reluctant to be pulled away from his work.
“Mission report. What are you doing here?” He finally looks up at Clark. Even after years of knowing him, it’s still difficult not to wonder at the sheer beauty of the man standing before him. “Otherworldly” - his mind supplies, in a voice suspiciously like Dick’s. Bruce imagines the boy snickering at his own pun.
“Oh. Uhh. Didn’t mean to interrupt your work,” Clark rubs the back of his neck, a sheepish smile colouring his features. “I haven’t seen you in almost a week. So I thought I’d just, y’know, check in. See how you’re doing.”
“I’m doing fine.” Seriously though, he is. An uninvited guest isn’t always a bad thing, after all. Sometimes, it’s the best thing to happen in almost a week.
Clark smiles. “Good to know.” He walks over and sits in the chair that’s usually reserved for Dick. “I’m doing fine too, in case you’re wondering,” he chuckles lightly.
Bruce’s brain calculates the probability of him getting up right now and pressing his mouth to Clark’s.
93.91%.
Bruce tries to remember if he has any contingency plan for this.
“I missed you.”
They both startle. Bruce clears his throat and turns to the Batcomputer. His ears are getting warmer by the second.
He definitely doesn’t have a contingency plan for this.
“Bruce,” Clark nearly whispers. “You missed me? Really?”
There’s something in his voice - a note of affection, perhaps. Or longing, Bruce hopes. He can’t help turning back.
Clark is smiling softly.
And his eyes.
Oh Lord, his eyes.
Bruce feels like he’s drowning, but in a good way. If that even makes any sense.
“I missed you too,” Clark says with a sigh, as if relieved to say it. He pushes his chair to be closer to Bruce, their knees almost touching.
They hold eye contact for a few seconds too long.
Dick once asked Bruce, in a game of truth or dare, that if he had the ability to manipulate time, what he would use it for. He knows the answer now. He would stop and rewind this moment right here - staring into Clark’s eyes, their bodies so close that he can feel his warmth, fingers twitching to reach out and touch.
Maybe he would lean over and find out what Clark’s lips taste like.
Since he’d be stopping time right here, he wouldn’t need to worry about the consequences, right?
But Bruce doesn’t have that superpower. So he breaks the eye contact, clears his throat again (he really needs a glass of water), and says, “I lied. I didn’t miss you at all.”
Clark laughs. “Hey!”
“In fact, I’m very annoyed by you right now.” He narrows his eyes at Clark. “Get out of my city.”
The sound of Clark’s laughter echoes through the cave.
Bruce could get drunk on that sound.
Clark wipes the mist from his eyes. “Aw, that’s the first thing you ever said to me. Do you remember?” He looks at Bruce with so much affection that it hurts.
Bruce smiles. “Yeah, I do. You looked like a kicked puppy. I almost felt bad.”
“Almost.”
“Almost.”
“What about now? Do you still hate my guts?” The way Clark tilts his head makes him look like a puppy all over again. Bruce can easily imagine droopy ears and a wagging tail. He looks away to stop himself from laughing.
“Yes.”
“Aw, come on!”
Bruce can’t help it anymore. He starts laughing.
Some of the bats stir high above them, irritated by their joined laughter.
Not having the power to control time is for the better, it seems. After all, what’s the point of stopping time when you can keep having these moments, without ever fearing the consequences? It truly is a miracle that Bruce gets to create these memories with Clark. That Clark considers him a close friend whom he can visit whenever he wants.
He only wishes he could tell Clark about the way he lights up Bruce’s world. Or the way Bruce has come to think of him as family. Or that there is a place in Bruce’s heart for him, right beside Alfred and Dick.
He wishes he could tell Clark that he loves him.
But that is not going to happen. Bruce will never risk ruining their friendship and losing the only person who makes him feel worthy of love.
So Bruce keeps his mouth shut and his feelings locked in a lead-lined box.
And he counts. He counts the days, the hours, and the minutes he gets to spend with Clark. He memorises them by heart.
He pretends that these moments mean to Clark just as much as they mean to him.