stands_for_hope | for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

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for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

[some time after the events here]

Superman and Batman were partners in more than a work sense. Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent were an adorable (if mildly ridiculous) couple. Kal-El of Krypton and a man who defied any definition outside of the single letter 'B' made time on weekends, worked around world crises and teenage tempers, and occasionally fell into bed together when the stars aligned. Thankfully, they aligned relatively often.

Wayne Manor received a delivery of organic produce and baked goods once a week from a small, independent farm in the heartland. Lois Lane was a little less likely to agree with snide comments about the uselessness of Bruce Wayne, especially after seeing the utter madness that was Clark's desk after a few weeks. The texting habits of a certain blond teenager in Kansas rose sharply... and in parallel to that of a certain former street punk in Gotham.

Life was... well, it was good, even if it was also Life. Until it wasn't. Until everything changed.

They all had enemies, of course. But the problem with Superman's enemies was that they were coherent enough to decide to team up. And crazy enough to use the kind of weaponry that could make whole cars just vaporize into nothing.

Crazy enough to point that weapon at a somewhat-pinned Batman and a Wonder Woman who was digging him out from the rock. Crazy enough to point that weapon at Batman.

Bruce.

B.

Clark didn't even make the choice. His heart made it for him. The beam shot out of the Toyman's mechanical monstrosity and Clark flew, the pain of the beam itself nothing on the fact that he was leaving Bruce behind. That his vision of them as old men together would never happen. That he was leaving behind a world that needed him.

The guilt that, if it meant saving them, saving him, he didn't regret a thing.

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Bruce kept walking, though he at no time attempted to out distance Clark or increase the space between them. He even stopped briefly to decrease it with Clark before resuming, but he was.

Yeah, that was a sore spot.

"It had nothing to do with whether you trusted them or not. If you were actually dead it wouldn't have mattered. You weren't, therefore your apartment didn't need to be packed up in the first place."

He may have threatened to set fire to anyone who tried to get through Clark's apartment door.

He took a longer step then, put his hand smoothly on Bruce's shoulder, making sure to keep his own movements obvious and careful.

"Thank you. For having faith in me."

Bruce turned his head to turn toward Clark and look him square in the eye. "That wasn't faith. Faith would have required I, at any point, had so much as a glimmer of doubt that you were alive. I didn't, and I had more than enough evidence to back that up."

He'd had his doubts, as time went on. He was human.

"I appreciate it all the same," he said peaceably, acknowledging the difference with a nod and a squeeze to Bruce's shoulder. "And the apartment thing."

He breathed out in a low huff.

"Do you know if anyone gave a story for Clark Kent?" He met Bruce's eyes again. "Did you?"

"Clark Kent suffered a skiing injury and is being treated by private physicians in Switzerland, where the injury occurred. He'll come back when he is sufficiently recovered.

Bruce Wayne will go pick him up, of course." Which would be a 'vacation' for him, while he was absent from the Manor without having gone any damned where. He'd just send the jet .

"Well, he is a terrible klutz," Clark mused thoughtfully. "And taking care of my injuries in Switzerland is very sweet. It's definitely the kind of thing to make a man think of changing his place of residence."

Which was when he tilted his chin towards the hallway they were on.

"Which one?"

"It's directly across from my room."

Clark had been in his room. Not that his room was... impressive, by the standards people might expect of him, but it was there. And - he was maybe testing Clark a little by not telling him more than that, or moving to show Clark where it was.

"We'll move you in and Bruce and Clark can get serious, for at least a while. There's always the option of a break up if you decide to move back out so you have more space."

Clark didn't even pause. He headed immediately across from Bruce's own room, opening the door to see a well-appointed bedroom with a black walnut bed that looked like it had seen World War II and won it, deep red bedding with dark gold accents that somehow managed to both match and compliment the frame, and a closet that appeared to be full of clothing in what would turn out to be Clark's size. A small set of toiletries had been bundled up in a small basket on the dresser beside the bed, and there was even a mint on the pillow with a small folded card that bore his name in Alfred's precise script.

Clark glanced back at Bruce as if to repeat 'terrifying psychic abilities, potential League material' before stepping in and heading straight for the bed. The towel was pulled off and folded on one of the chairs before he got there and slid onto the top of the comforter to snatch the note with a smile.

"Okay. Maybe he likes me a little."

Bruce hadn't looked at the room at all, but when he did he was impressed. He was deeply, deeply impressed by how beautifully Clark this room was, how well suited it was to him and how prepared it was to take the man in wholesale.

He really did owe Alfred so much more than he could ever give.

He checked the closet and the clothes, just because he was curious but what he was most interested in was the note.

"I told you he liked you." Ages ago. "What does the card say?"

Clark took a moment to read it himself, the simplicity of it making a warm smile break out his face as he pulled the mint over and popped it in his mouth. When Bruce asked what was on the note, he just opened the paper to show two words:

Welcome Home.

Bruce smiled. It was a crooked, surprisingly sweet, not at all playboy or Batman kind of smile. It was just... soft and sweet and fond.

For a moment.

"I need to give the man a raise." Alfred had a lot of money, already. Not the point, the sentiment was.

He looked at Clark and then inclined his head toward the bed. "Are you going to lie down or not?"

Clark looked from Bruce to the windows to the bed.

"First," he said, pushing himself back up to walk over to the windows. They were, in fact, east facing. That just happened to be how it worked in this wing, apparently. Convenient for Clark, both for his own enjoyment and for watching Bruce try and hide under pillows and Clark himself when the icky terrible sunlight came for him.

The heavy curtains were drawn back, then the blinds, and Clark took a moment to enjoy the sunlight again before turning around to head for the bed. Then, he didn't so much slip on as dive for it. And--ooo. The bedding was really very nice. Soft.

"...I'd give him a raise but his paycheck's probably bigger than mine. Either way, I think I'm going to spend the next conversation I have with him thanking him profusely."

Then he looked over at Bruce and tilted his head in invitation.

There was a naked Clark in a red bed. Of course a look and a head tilt were all the invitation he needed, though he didn't dive into the bed, just went to it and stretched out on his side in it.

"His paycheck is bigger than yours," he confirmed, a bit absently. "Thank him if you want to. Send him flowers. Tap dance on the ceiling. He'll take it all about the same."

Clark could appreciate a Bruce stretched out on his bed in nothing much more than exercise pants. For his part, he folded his hands behind his head and leaned back to enjoy the bed and the sun and his new room.

"One of those, huh? I guess I'll have to figure out something really nice. There's always something..."

The sunlight int he room seemed to make the red of the bedding glow. Bruce didn't much like it, since it was also streaming into his eyes, but the view was well worth any discomfort associated with his preference for being nocturnal.

He rested his hand lightly on Clark's chest, and just felt his heart beating.

"Or you could always trust that he did it because he wanted you to feel welcome and 'repay' him by just feeling welcomed instead of indebted."

Clark actually blinked at that, looking down at the hand with a smile that couldn't be called anything but 'melty' before looking up with a tilt of his head.

"I don't mean to repay him like a bank," Clark said with a low chuckle that Bruce could probably feel. "I mean... he showed a lot of care and this was so kind. I'd like to do something that might make him feel anything like how walking into this room made me feel."

He leaned up and took the opportunity to kiss the portion of Bruce's arm he happened to have in reach.

"No debt. Promise."

"The best way you can achieve that is to use the room, eat and enjoy his food, and know that you're home. If something else occurs to you, seize the moment, but don't feel as though you owe him more than being happy here." Or as happy as Clark could be. "He isn't that person."

"I will defer to your experienced judgment," Clark said. Because right now, he didn't have the bandwidth to sweat the small stuff. And almost everything was 'small stuff' right this moment.

"Though if that's the case, the job is fifty percent done."

Bruce kissed Clark's temple, because it was within easy reach, and curled himself a bit more comfortably around a very naked, very alive, very present man he'd missed a hell of a lot.

"You've got time to get the rest of the way there."

Clark's arm slipped around Bruce's shoulder and he let himself lean up against Bruce. He let his head rest lightly against Bruce's before asking--

"And what about you? How do I make you feel as good as I do right now?"

He could think of ways and the answer, though glib was on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed it back, because the last thing he wanted to pressure Clark for was sex. Actually, he didn't want to apply any pressure to Clark at all right now, to do anything except be there, and keep breathing and soaking up sun. To heal. To rest.

Those things didn't fit the standard definition of pressure.

He tilted his head just far enough to catch Clark's mouth in a soft, painfully gentle, kiss when what he wanted to do was press in and make himself believe in Clark's reality. His lip was still a bit sore from the earlier kiss, anyway.

"You're here. You came back. You asked to stay here. You already have."

He couldn't help that the sweet kiss made his heart flutter, or that his arm gave a soft squeeze around Bruce where he was holding him.

"Good. Good."

He let his head drop back against the pillows as his eyes slipped close. He wasn't sleeping, didn't need sleep right now, especially with the sun shining on him, but his muscles were relaxing and he felt like maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to deal with the world tomorrow.

After a moment--

"I'm trying to figure out if I really want sex or it's just the urge to wrap myself around you and never let go."

"And I'm leaving you alone to figure that out without input from me. If it was left to me we'd have fucked in the shower."

He paused, just a moment, and slipped his arm around Clark to rest at his back.

"It can wait. You're here now. There is no rush."

That just made him think of warm, slick skin; Bruce under his hands, the taste of his kiss, the exact texture of his hand wrapped around him. He made a soft noise of want and lifted a hand to adjust himself a little.

"Who's rushing?" he asked with a waggle of eyebrows before he couldn't help but grin. "Though I think I figured out my answer."

Bruce lifted his eyebrows when Clark waggled his and looked down at Clark.

"I think I just implied you didn't want it and you're too stubborn to ever take the easy way out."

No he didn't. He was smirking a little. He was also stubbornly not making a single, solitary move. Why? Because he loved Clark, but he was kind of a dick.

for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

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