for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

[stands_for_hope]

[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.

Comments

[knightbynight]

"Then for god's sake don't open it," Bruce said, all in a rush. "Take the whole thing to a landfill. It's a three hundred dollar appliance, if it were new. We'll replace it for your landlord and spare us both the experience."

Bruce didn't have Clark's nose. He wasn't overly prissy about scents. He had absolutely no intention of subjecting himself to that. He had less intention of subjecting Clark to it.

[stands_for_hope]

Clark looked genuinely nonplussed at the very idea of throwing out a refrigerator because there was rotted food within it, but he stopped himself moving forward and put his hands down.

"Are you sure?" was the best he could manage, though, "I can have it cleaned out and smelling like chemical orange at the worst in a minute or so. No need to waste a perfectly good appliance."

[knightbynight]

"Clark, you've just come back from literal hell. I'm not making you stick your head in an insulated box that reeks of rotten food. Throw out the appliance. We'll have it replaced."

He loved Clark, but sometimes that man - came from another world in a way that had nothing to do with planets.

[stands_for_hope]

His fingers curled against his palm for a moment before he breathed out and nodded. Then his eyes went red as he carefully sealed the edge of the 'fridge, blew it cold again, and turned back to Bruce.

"Lemme go get that laundry in. Hopefully, it'll be done by the time we head out."

[knightbynight]

Bruce waited until Clark turned back toward him, then stepped in and deliberately, intensely, slowly, kissed Clark. Deeply, passionately, lovingly, and with a lot of both feeling and arousal.

Then stepped back.

"Go do your laundry. Let me know where or if you want help."

[stands_for_hope]

Clark was a little surprised, but soon enough he was far too busy being kissed (and kissing back) to concern himself too much with it. Bruce was... beyond distracting. Bruce made the world small just by stepping into view.

"If you don't mind grabbing my laptop and packing that up?"

It was a rugged old thing, bought years ago and still alive mostly because Clark refused to let it die. It had been left, closed, on the desk near the window where he'd usually worked.

"Anything else you think I might want. You know me well enough."

Then he was heading for his room and the bathroom to get what they'd come for.

[knightbynight]

After seeing Clark come in, battered and scarred, Clark's eyes glowing red and that casual display of power were beautiful things to Bruce. He wasn't going to explain that, though. Instead he just went over to the desk to pack the laptop, and then searched through the room for personal things.

That meant books, photographs, anything that wasn't, basically, the furniture or fixtures. He did know Clark. He knew what mattered. But he also applied some of his own sensibilities and sentiment.

[stands_for_hope]

Given that Bruce had already had his run of the apartment, he'd know that the luggage was kept in the top of the front closet. He'd find that Clark had already grabbed one of the bags, but there was another two for him to pile things into.

Clark himself finished the laundry, ransacked the bathroom, did a tiny bit of high speed cleaning that he wasn't going to mention unless Bruce asked to leave the room at least liveable, then headed for the back closet. There were a few stupid little things he wanted to have with him that he needed to grab from there before they did a proper moveout sometime next week.

Then he remembered the kitchen and headed to find his pie bird. That had to come with him. Ma had gotten it for him when he'd first moved to Metropolis, so he could bake for himself properly, and it was one of the small, simple things that made the place home. If he was moving, the pie bird had to come with him.

"I was just wondering," Clark asked as he opened the drawer to grab the item in question, "but are we allowed in the kitchen? I can still cook and bake and things, right?"

[knightbynight]

The look Bruce gave Clark when he was asked that question was very 'deer in the headlights' - by any standard. There was a moment or two of silence while he parsed that, and then found his voice.

"I assume so?" Which was to say he wasn't sure of the answer. "I can't imagine Alfred kicking you out or forbidding it." He just... "It's never really come up, beyond reheating something when I convince him to take a trip somewhere."

[stands_for_hope]

"Well, at least he'll know someone's feeding you edible things when he decides to go on vacation," Clark noted as he grabbed a few other little bits and bobs. He assumed that the kitchen at Wayne Manor had every kind of cooking technology known to man, but he was reasonably certain that they didn't have his grandmother's pie plate.

[knightbynight]

"I'm sure he'll be relieved rather than forbid you muck about his kitchen. He might protest if you start moving things around or trying to 'help' him in there, but he's not going to mind if you use it." That wasn't how Alfred worked.

Often.

Usually.

With Clark.

"We should arrange for the Salvation Army to pick up here after we've finished removing what you want to keep."

[stands_for_hope]

"If I'm honest, it'll probably be ready for picking over once we leave today. I learned early to travel light," and there were a couple of other items from the kitchen, the living room, before he headed back to his bedroom to finish packing up.

[knightbynight]

Clark was starting to make Bruce a bit dizzy moving around. He'd done what he thought he should as far as grabbing items so he ultimately sat down and waited on Clark to be done.

[stands_for_hope]

Clark finished up just in time to put the laundry in the dryer before he made his way back to Bruce and slipped a hand lightly on his shoulder.

"I'll bring the two bags back to the house and come right back, all right?"

[knightbynight]

Bruce turned his head and bit Clark's wrist. Then looked up at him and said, "That's fine. I'll keep an ear on your laundry while you're gone. We can stay here long enough for it to finish, at least."

[stands_for_hope]

The bite got a warm grin out of Clark before he gave Bruce a firm squeeze and pulled away.

"Back in a few."

And with a soft gust of wind, Clark and the two bags were gone.

[knightbynight]

Bruce... stretched out on Clark's sofa, and went to sleep. Because that was totally what he should spend his time in Clark's apartment doing.

Except no one had gotten much sleep while Clark was gone, including him, and there were limits. Dozing for a few minutes was perfectly productive.

And necessary.

[stands_for_hope]

Clark heard Bruce's breathing and hearbeat go regular and took his time in putting things away, tucking things where he wanted them to go, setting up the room, cutting his hair and taming the beard. Then he put on a pair of shoes he'd brought back with him since he decided once he got there that he wanted to grab a falafel from his favorite stand before they came back.

When he flew into his apartment again, he made his way over to Bruce soundlessly before reaching over to start stroking his hair.

[knightbynight]

Bruce startled like fuck when Clark started stroking his hair. He was used to Clark making some sound, which meant that even asleep the touch seemed to come out of nowhere. He made a grab for Clark's wrist and snarled at him, but finished waking up so fast he near instantly relaxed again.

"You look better." The hair was better. He still liked the beard. He just liked it more tamed.

[stands_for_hope]

Clark didn't startle at the snarl and the grab because he'd expected it. He didn't fight it.

"Sorry," but the apology was mild and easily forgotten, "and I had a feeling you'd prefer this to wildman chic."

[knightbynight]

One of the most comforting (or threatening, depending - for Clark, comforting) things in the world for Bruce was to be truly known by someone and in that first moment after waking that feeling of being known and accepted was nearly overwhelming.

"I've sported that look once or twice myself. I didn't mind the beard, but the hair gets annoying, fast."

[stands_for_hope]

"Not conducive to being Batman, though," he agreed with a little grin before curling his fingers to run a thumb against Bruce's hand around his own.

"Clothes are dry."

Which meant they could tuck the last few things away before heading home.

"But I wanted to grab some falafel on the way back. Do you mind?"

[knightbynight]

Bruce pulled himself up to sit up, without quite letting go of Clark's hand. Until he was up, anyway - once he was, he couldn't justify hanging on any more.

"Today, I don't mind anything you want to do."

Clark was alive and Bruce had been and was pissed but every once in a while...Well, he could yield some. "I could use lunch."

He'd just... badly hide the fact that he was going to be that agreeable. Flimsy excuses.

[stands_for_hope]

"Did you want shwarma or were you going to join me on the falafel?" he asked as he settled beside Bruce on the couch. Bruce couldn't justify hanging on. Clark didn't give much of a damn about justifying himself. He'd keep in contact with Bruce as much as he could, savor the memory of his blood in his own mouth. That should have concerned him, but he decided it wouldn't, at least for the moment.

[knightbynight]

Bruce's libido didn't protest any of that in the least. Bruce as a whole worried about it some. Just some, though. He still had faith in Clark. He stayed on the couch with Clark, since Clark sat and frowned faintly at him. "I'm eating falafel with you. Just because I do meat doesn't mean I need to eat it at every meal."