#clark kent ficlets

[dorkofclanlavellan]

Clark Kent / Kal-El Masterlist

Lone Wolf series

Preferences

To be added

Headcanons

To be added

Drabbles

To be added

Ficlets

To be added

One Shots

To be added

Fics

To be added

[ikiprian]

Clark is taking Kon and Jon out for a classic, super-style bonding flight. Just a quick jaunt around the US and back!

They don’t get far. Somewhere in Illinois airpace, they run across another family.

The three (a hulking man, a snarky teenage boy, and a cackling youngest girl, each a grayscale blur in the blue, blue sky) throw neon-lit beams of energy at one another, quips and insults flying almost as fast as they do. It looks like training. It looks like fun!

The boy of them looks like a younger version of the man. Exactly like, even. Clark is familiar with clones.

The youngest, a girl, looks like both of them, but not quite. Perhaps she will, age sharpening her childish features, but it’s hard to say. More likely, she’s the man’s daughter.

Interested, Clark introduces himself to Dan. He seems to be a hero in his own right, even if Superman’s yet to see him in action. And it’s not often Clark sees a family so like his own!

[cloakedsparrow]

Clark calls the Batcave.

Jason: Hello?

Clark: Robin? It's Superman.

Jason: Yeah, you were ID'd before I even answered. What's up?

Clark: Uh, I stopped at a store after flying back into town and bumped into someone from work. We walked out together, so I had to pretend my car was stolen, but it's still at my apartment building. I wanted to know if Batman had any ideas for a cover.

Jason: Oh, no worries. I got you.

Clark: What do you mean?

Jason: I'll take care of it.

Clark: Oh...kay. Thank you, Robin.

Jason: No sweat!

Later, Clark discovers his car truly is missing. It's found with the tires, stereo, and catalytic converter removed, the wiring stripped, and the hood ornament knocked off. The police tell him that, sadly, this sort of thing has been happening more and more, even in their fine city.

Clark calls again.

Jason: Hey! Did everything work out with your car story?

Clark: Yes, thank you, Jason.

Jason: Great! Swing by later and I'll give you your cut.

Clark: You mean the missing parts of my car?

Jason: What? No. That shit's serial numbered. The cops would think you were pulling an insurance scam or somethin' if you put it back and anyone noticed. I sold the parts to a chop shop here.

Clark: You sold-?

Jason: Don't worry, my guy ain't a snitch. Your secret's safe!

Clark: ...Thanks.

Jason: No problem. I had to tell him you needed the car disappeared 'cause you were cheating on your old lady so he wouldn't think it was tied to something too bad, though.

Clark: I'll keep that in mind.

Jason: Oh, hey, B's here. You wanna talk to him?

Clark: Yes, please.

Jason: Cool. Talk to you later!

Clark: Bye, Jason.

Bruce: Clark.

Clark: I take it you know what happened?

Bruce: Yes. You learned a valuable lesson, didn't you?

Clark: Next time, I will definitely ask how he intends to take care of it.

Bruce: Good. I don't want my son arrested because he was doing you a favor.

Clark: I had no idea he was going to strip my car and sell the parts to a chop shop!

Bruce: You know how I found him. You knew the risks.

Clark: ...

Bruce: And you're letting him keep your cut.

Clark: Of course.

[violent138]

Clark: *wakes up under sun lamps* "Hey Bruce."

Bruce, unshaven, cowl off: *looking up from League reports* "Finally. Now that you're finished with your unapproved holiday, I brought you all the paperwork you have to sign off on, four reports of shenanigans you can deal with, and one of the Lanterns lost a deep space "pet" somewhere, so I need you to find it."

Clark, smiling; "You didn't have to do all that. How long have you been here?"

Bruce, checking his watch: "Around ten minutes, too long already. I better get going." *climbs out of the chair, every joint cracking horribly*

Clark:

Clark: "Do you have any idea how many mattresses are around here?"

Bruce, rolling his eyes: "I was not about to lug a mattress in here. Terrific told me you'd recover soon, not that you can be counted upon for anything."

Clark: *mentally reminding himself that Ma would disown him if he joked about regretting saving Bruce's life*

Clark: "With that kind of bedside manner I'm starting to understand why you dropped out of med school."

Terrific, bursting into the room: "Is everything okay? I thought I heard something-- is he okay?"

Clark: "We can never truly be sure. Batman, stop laughing, you're freaking people out."

[mild-and-hammered]

When I asked for prompts @unshatters-your-teacup blessed me with

"Teeny tiny superbat prompts 👀 what about them hanging out on a rooftop mid-patrol?"

and

"Or maybe Clark interviewing Batman? (writers choice if they know each other’s identities)"

So here we go!

The Rooftop

“We can stop here,” Kal El said, floating down beside Bruce, where he crouched beside a gargoyle. “It’s been slow tonight.”

“Mmh,” Bruce grunted. He needed a rest,he knew, recently bruised ribs presenting their bill. He knew Superman knew it too. 

Kal El –Clark– sat on the edge, feet dangling off the side of the building in his bright red boots. He kicked them a little, like a little kid. Bruce scowled at the way it made him want to smile, and settled from his crouch into a seated pose that mirrored Clark’s. He did not kick his legs. 

Gotham often ranked among the top five, regularly top three, ugliest cities in the United States. Bruce had never thought so, but then, most people didn’t get to see it from the vantage point that he did. He wondered what Clark thought of it, comparing it to the mirrored glass and sparkle of Metropolis. Was he disgusted by the fetid Finger River to the north? Could he smell it from here? In the middle of summer Bruce could sometimes. That insalubrious bit of Old Gotham generally known as the Cauldron was certainly not the prettiest part of the city, but Bruce stared to the southeast, in the direction of the Belfry and some of Gotham’s better kept older buildings. Through the fine, misting rain, everything looked like a watercolor done in deep purples and navy shadows, here and there the amber of a street light flickered.

“It’s gorgeous,” Superman said, smiling softly. 

Bruce studied him, then decided he was indeed being sincere. He reached into his utility belt and found the lollipops he usually kept for frightened kids. He handed one to Clark, who grinned and unwrapped it. 

“You don’t even need to eat,” Bruce snarked, but there was no edge to it. 

“I don’t need to read books, go for walks, or visit friends either,” Clark said. He leaned back bracing himself on his arms. One red-gloved hand brushed against Bruce’s fingertips. Clark didn’t seem to notice. 

“I suppose you think that’s what you’re doing now? Visiting a friend?”

Clark grinned again, teasingly, and Bruce was glad of the cowl to hide his expression. 

“Aren’t I?”

“You’re certainly visiting.”

“You love it,” Clark said. 

Bruce stared at him, feeling the solar-flare warmth of him even through both of their gloves, burning away just at his fingertips. The bat signal lit the sky, briefly framing Clark’s profile in a halo. 

“I do,” he said, shooting a grappling hook at the next building over. 

-----------------------------

The Interview

Bruce had agreed to be interviewed as Batman for one reason only. It was a stupid reason, and when all of his various kids had expressed utter disbelief that he was being interviewed, he’d dodged their questions neatly, passing it off vaguely as a favor.

It wasn’t a favor.

Bruce was, well, he was just a little bit jealous maybe. The thing was, he and Superman had gotten close lately. Really close, really. He was probably one of Bruce’s closest friends, even if they didn’t know each other’s identities yet. Admittedly, Bruce’s other closest friends were Ollie and Dinah, Diana, and Harvey whenever he wasn’t trying to beat the shit out of Bruce.

He didn’t feel the same about Ollie and Dinah as he did about Kal El, though. Kal made his stomach swoop like he’d mistimed a grapple. And Kal spent a lot of time rescuing Lois Lane. Lois was smart, beautiful, and accomplished, Bruce had no issue with her as a person, he just wanted to know. 

So when she’d asked if the Daily Planet could get the inside scoop when Batman had saved a gala, he’d agreed. The interview could go both ways, perhaps. Although, he’d be much more subtle about inquiring into her dating life, of course. All things considered, he was ready for Lois Lane to meet him in Grant Park that evening. He was not prepared for Clark Kent, who was sitting on a bench hunched over a tiny notebook. Bruce only recognized the man from the blurry photo they put next to the byline in the Planet. 

“Oh!” The man said, standing up and promptly dropping the notebook, then, when he bent to pick up the notebook, the pen he’d stuck in his shirt pocket fell to the ground. He nearly brained himself on the underside of the bench scrabbling to pick it up. Behind the cowl, Bruce rolled his eyes. He was running on eight hours of sleep in the past three or four days, and the last thing he wanted was to sit through a half hour interview with the Daily Planet’s village idiot.

A voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Alfred reminded him that he got rather mean when he was tired. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Kent said, at last standing and shifting pen and notebook to his left hand so he could  offer his right to shake. Bruce did not shake his hand. 

“I was expecting Miss Lane,” he said simply, letting his voice modulator turn it into a growl. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, she was really excited that the Planet got the exclusive with you, but she’s been scheduled for an interview with the mayor and–” Bruce waved a hand, dismissing the issue. 

“Go on,” he said. “Ask questions.”

“Why did you decide to fight crime?”

Bruce answered a few standard, rather banal questions, eyes flicking mostly around the park to make sure they weren’t being followed or otherwise hunted. He was secretly hoping to see the Bat Signal so he could have an excuse to leave without insulting the reporter who was, likely, a perfectly nice man. He just couldn’t tell Bruce what he wanted to know…probably.

“You work closely with Miss Lane?” Bruce asked, next time Kent was scribbling something. He finally really looked at the man, the line of his nose, the curve of his chin…

“Oh, yeah, we share a desk actually, Lois is great.”

“Must get annoying, all the flowers Superman gets her probably take up a lot of desk space.” It was not Bruce’s most subtle play. It was, in fact, a disastrously obvious one, but hopefully he could play it off as him being interested in Miss Lane, as opposed to Superman. Considering that half the tabloids in Gotham thought Batman was dating Bruce Wayne, he could deal with the rumor mill spinning that Batman had a crush on a reporter. 

Kent was blinking at him, full lips parted, dark brow furrowed. He was remarkably pretty, in a way that niggled at Bruce’s mind. He’d seen the man before, but sleep deprivation and deja vu were mixing in an odd way. 

“You mean the daisies she got for her birthday? How did you– world’s greatest detective, of course, but um, I think those were from her dad, she didn’t like them all that much.”

“Hmm,” Bruce said, keeping his face carefully neutral. At least Superman wasn’t dropping roses off for her every day or anything. 

“Speaking of Superman, do you like him?”

“What?” Bruce worked hard to keep the shock from his voice.

“Oh, I mean working with him, you’re both Justice League members, and all that. Are you two friends or just colleagues?”

Ah, of course Metropolis’ newspaper actually wanted to interview Batman about their local golden boy. He wasn’t particularly upset about it. 

“Superman is one of my closest friends,” he said simply, trying not to panic at being so plain about it. 

“That’s very high praise,” Kent said. Was he blushing? Why was he blushing?

“Not exactly, I have very few,” Bruce said, feeling the poison of sleep deprivation sinking hooks further into his brain. The stupid reporter was cute when he blushed. 

“However,” Bruce continued, realizing how his statement could be construed. “Kal El is someone I trust completely to have my back. He’s an asset to the Justice League, and those of us that get a chance to know him are truly lucky.”

“Wow,” Clark breathed, scribbling. “What about you Mister, uh, Batman, who knows you?” 

Bruce froze at the question and blue eyes widened behind thick-framed glasses.

“Oh no, I meant uh, when you aren’t in the cape…readers want to know…there’s rumors you’re dating Brucie Wayne.”

“Mister Wayne is an acquaintance,” Bruce said, simply. Of course, the gossip mill did love to turn. 

“No comment, then,” Kent said wryly. “Understood. Between the two of us, I think you could do better.”

“Do you?” 

“W-well,” Kent stuttered. “All I mean is that you deserve someone who…understands the burden, I think. Of the cape.”

“And what do you know of the ‘burden of the cape’,” Bruce said, smirking slightly. 

“Nothing, obviously, it was just a silly thought.” Kent’s face was so red, scarlet even in the dim light as the sun set and lamps flickered on in the park. Scarlet like a cape… The man bit his lip and the dimple on his chin…

“Kal?” Bruce whispered.

Mortification, then guilt flickered across Kent’s face. Then he sighed, resignation tipping his broad shoulders downward. He pulled off the glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

“I guess I should know better than to try and fool you, B,” he said. “Sorry for the–” he waved a hand at himself, the notebook, the park in general. “Everything. Lois really is busy, though, and the Planet still wanted the interview.”

“You have a day job at the Daily Planet?” Bruce asked. 

“Yes,” Kal said, then, for the second time that night, he stuck out his hand to shake. “Clark Kent, mild mannered reporter from Kansas, at your service.”

“Batman, bad mannered protector of Gotham,” Bruce said, shaking his hand. Kal– Clark– laughed. 

“Why ask about Bruce?” Bruce asked. He wasn’t opposed to Kal knowing, certainly not now that Bruce had uncovered his secret, but he wanted to know if he had let something slip. 

“Oh,” Kal said, blushing. He looked more human, much more like a Clark-from-Kansas when he did that, as opposed to Kal El-from-Krypton. “It’s very silly, please don’t tell anyone.”

“Who would I tell?”

“I wanted to know if you were seeing someone,” Kal said. “I don’t know, I guess I just wondered if…”

“Mmh,” Bruce grunted as Kal trailed off miserably. “I agreed to the interview to find out if you were dating Lois Lane.”

“What?” Kal’s head came up, eyes confused. “Why–oh, I guess my dating life could be a liability for the league. Especially since Lois gets kidnapped so much now, when we’re just friends.”

“Just friends?”

“Yeah.”

Bruce hesitated a long while. “I was not considering the league in my inquiries,” he said at last. 

“No?”

“No. Do you really think I could do better than Bruce Wayne?”

“Um, I don’t know if better was actually fair of me to say–”

“What about you, do you think you could do better than Bruce Wayne?”

Kal, Clark, gaped at Bruce. “I’d never really–”

Bruce pulled off the cowl. 

[bbbbbbbbatman]

Bruce rolled over in bed.

Then he rolled back to his other side.

Then he rolled onto his back.

He opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling in his dark room. His blankets were twisted around him from all the moving around.

He couldn't sleep.

He squinted at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It read 3:42 in red letters. He had been trying to sleep for nearly two hours. He glanced over to his other side, to the empty bed beside him and sighed.

Bruce was no stranger to insomnia, but his sleeping patterns had drastically improved in the past few years--especially the last few months. He had patrolled earlier, so he should be tired, nice and worn out, but sleep eluded him. He pondered on the possible reasons why he might not be sleeping.

A flash of Clark's sleeping face next to his passed through mind and he immediately sat up and waved it off. Perhaps a snack would help.

He wandered down to the kitchen and rummaged through the fridge, squinting at the bright light.

"Couldn't sleep either?"

Only years of intense training prevented him from jerking at the sound, and he would deny being startled to his dying breath.

He looked over at Tim, standing in the entrance of the kitchen, holding a coffee mug, illuminated by the light from the fridge. His small smirk said he knew he had caught Bruce off guard.

Bruce straightened up. "No. I haven't been able to fall asleep yet."

"Cute."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"

Tim just huffed a laugh and walked further into the kitchen to rummage in the cupboards. "You. You're cute. You've gotten so used to sleeping with Clark since he moved in and now that he's off world on a mission you can't sleep," he said, turning back to send Bruce a teasing smile.

Bruce immediately bristled at the accusation. "Clark has nothing to do with me not being able to sleep," he defended, crossing his arms over his chest.

How stupid, to think that he, who had slept alone his entire life, couldn't fall asleep because his boyfriend was away like a child who had lost his favorite teddy bear. Preposterous.

"Sure, B," Time said sarcastically. He pulled down the snacks he had been looking for.

"I'm serious, Tim. Sometimes, I just have trouble sleeping, it's not any deeper than that."

Tim patted Bruce on the shoulder on his way out the kitchen. "Whatever you say." Then he disappeared down the dark hallway.

Grumbling to himself, Bruce shut the fridge and went back to his room, no longer in the mood for food. He climbed into his bed which had gotten cold from the few minutes he was away.

Ridiculous. That Clark has anything to do with his insomnia.

But, Bruce thought, turning on side facing where Clark normally slept, it'll be nice when Clark gets back.

[the-hype-on-tv]

i was chatting with a friend who happens to be trans and she was telling me how people mistakenly think that changing sex can affect who you're attracted to, and that gave me an idea for a superbat fic:

bruce gets temporarily turned into a biological woman out of magic (yes cliche i know) and sleeps with clark

the following dialogue ensues:

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this for." Bruce's unfamiliar body snuggled against Clark's. It felt like home. The man lifts his head and sends him a look.

"Then why didn't you?" His deep sapphire eyes are filled with numerous questions. "You could have asked before."

Bruce let out a cynical laugh. If he had his original body, Clark would be terrified to see his colleague do so. But at that moment he couldn't help but frown, lips pursed.

"I'm serious, Bruce."

The woman Clark sees changes his expression suddenly. His thin mouth was now a straight line, like Batman's.

"Clark, I am straight." The kryptonian raises an eyebrow. "Only now that I am experiencing this body transformation it would make sense to have this."

It was Clark's time to laugh, but he held his free hand to his mouth. In the dark, Bruce could vaguely make up the shapes around him, but he heard his friend's snicker with clarity.

"Bruce, that's not... That's not how it works." The grin on his face was sickening. The Bat rolled his eyes and kept his glance down, annoyed.

"How is it not? I've been attracted to women my whole life, I should know what my preferences are."

Clark sighed, a condescending look on his face that was the brightest light in the room.

"Didn't you say you wanted this for a while now? Even before this..." His hand touched his partner's new body like a feather sliding down his abs, thinner than before, but just as firm. "...Happened?"

Bruce nodded. His eyelashes flickered as he waited for a conclusion, but it came from his own brain rather than Clark's voice.

How had he been so blind? No, this has to be a mistake, unless...

Bruce closes his eyes and his face goes red. Biting into his lower lip and hiding his face under the soft pillow, realization dawns upon him: he's still attracted to women. Which can only mean--

"I'm not straight." The pillow muffles his raspy voice, but Clark understands him perfectly. "I can't believe... How could I have missed this?"

A strong hand lands on his silky hair, dark as the night, stroking it gently until the pretty face comes out of its hideout. His face is still pink, but he doesn't care. Clark loves it like that.

Clark has always loved it.

[saw3amanda]

The thing is, Clark doesn’t even like coffee. Yet there sits a shitty drip coffee maker, glass carafe and everything, on his worn linoleum countertop. The office was throwing it out, as they had recently upgraded to some single-serve machine (pods full of damp coffee grounds soon filled the break room trash can, and Clark has to hold back a gag every time he passes it) and was giving away their old one.

Clark stares at the chipped black paint on the coffee maker from his bed. Gentle morning light filtered through his curtains in his studio apartment, and Clark turned to watch how the glow and shadows played along Bruce’s bare back. HIs hand starts reaching out of its own accord, determined to feel if the sunlight had warmed Bruce’s skin. But millimeters above a scarred, broad expanse, Clark stops and lets his hand hover.

Because him and Bruce? They don’t do that. There’s no loving caresses, no morning kisses with horrible breath. Each touch is purposeful, yanking off shirts and ripping down zippers. There’s slamming against walls and hungry hands, and, if Clark is really lucky, rough kisses and wine-stain marks left on his neck. Bruce is, if nothing else, an efficient man, so Clark knows why they do this. Bruce will come in after patrol, peppered with bruises, and push Clark against the wall. Or Clark will hover over the entrance to the Batcave after flying halfway across the world for a tsunami, screaming of those he could not save ringing through his head, until Bruce will let him in. They aren't gentle, and they aren’t romantic, and Clark has almost gotten used to having this. Tantalus finally gripping onto the fruit to take a bite, and having it yanked away after the first taste.

Because he wants it all. He wants to cook for Bruce in the early hours of the morning after patrol. He wants to wrap gently around him in bed, for no reason other than he wants to be close, and he wants forehead kisses. He wants to soothe Bruce from nightmares and have dinners with Bruce’s kids. He wants Bruce to look at him with a soft smile and gentle eyes.

He wants to make Bruce coffee in the morning. 

And so the coffee maker sits in Clark’s kitchen, glass glinting as if to make sure Clark can’t ignore it. 

Clark sighs and lays back in the bed with a thump. He glances over to Bruce, sheets pushed around his torso and the rise and fall of his hips,  If this is all he gets, he will gorge himself on these small moments. Clark zeroes in on Bruce’s heart rate (something that is halfway to an obsession at this point. He’ll find himself reaching for the steady beating multiple times a day, just to check, he tells himself. Just to check.) and realizes the tempo has increased too much for Bruce to still be asleep.

Clark doesn’t rouse him with doting kisses on his neck, or wrapping his arms around his waist. He doesn’t thread his hand through Bruce’s foppish hair and he certainly doesn’t run his fingers lightly down his back.

So Clark waits. He glances around his room, something to distract him from gazing at Bruce with what he is sure is an entirely too honest face. His eyes catch on the glare of the coffee-machine in the kitchen once again and he feels his heart pick up its pace.

It was an impulse decision to bring it back to his apartment, fueled by some pipe dream that maybe he could be something for Bruce besides a stress-reliever. He regrets it immensely. Every time he saw it, it was a stark reminder of what he couldn’t have and hopes that would never be realized. He should just throw the damn thing away. Clark rubs his hands over his face and sighs heavily, then glaces over to Bruce. Soft grey eyes peer up at him.

“G-goodmorning,” Clark stammers, feeling caught.

“Goodmorning.” Bruce says, low and even. 

Neither of them move, and for a moment the two meet eyes. In moments like these, where Clark is not only looking, but he’s being seen, that he has hope. He feels it flutter in his chest now as he takes in Bruce’s pillow wrinkled face and sleep-laden expression. 

Clark wants to be brave in love. He wants to reach out and try and not be ashamed if he fails. He wants to stand on that precipice and see if he’s caught when he falls. And as Clark stares, he smiles gently, and swears he sees something reflected in Bruce’s eyes. Bruce breaks contact and looks away, and the moment should be gone. The ache in Clark’s chest should dissipate, and yet he can see a light flush in Bruce’s cheeks.

Maybe Clark can be brave. If Bruce doesn’t leave, if he stays in the bed for one more minute, Clark will ask him. 

So Clark waits, counting silently along with the beat of Bruce’s heart. He stares up at the ceiling, the glow of sunlight trapped in his curtains, down at his hands. He avoids and he waits.

Bruce shuffles to sit up in bed around the 45 second mark, and Clark’s heart drops. But Bruce simply props his pillow up and lounges, glancing over.

“Clark,” Bruce clears his throat. 50, 51. “Are you..alright?”

Desperate to not lose count, Clark holds up a finger. 58, 59, 60.

He finally turns and faces Bruce, only to see a softly furrowed brow and concerned eyes. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

His heart drops and Clark wants to be brave. He can feel each word lodged in his throat, ready to be spit out, and distantly he’s aware that he is simply about to ask if Bruce wants coffee, as any mid-westerner raised properly would. But he knows Bruce, despite the distance the vigilante tries to create. He knows what this invitation would mean to both of them.

You are the ledge I leap off of, and you are the ocean I fall into, he thinks.

“Bruce, would you like some coffee?”

Bruce schools his expression immediately and Clark feels the wind whipping his clothes as he falls.  Clark glances down at his hands curled in his lap, and he waits and he waits. He hears Bruce clear his throat once, twice.

“I would.”

Clark feels a grin lift his lips, unbidden, and he laughs a gentle huffing thing.

“Yeah?” He looks over at Bruce and sees a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Let me, um, let me get that started then.”

He lifts the sheet and quickly walks over to the nearest pile of clothes (he may have superspeeded a bit) to grab a shirt. He throws it on and walks towards the kitchen, hearing a shout of, “It better not be that awful bottled shit you drink, Kent!”

Clarks laughs again, giddy, and yells back, “Shucks Bruce, I had just picked some up at the gas station for you!”

CLark moves around his kitchen, grabbing a mug and the bag of grounds he had picked up the day prior, before moving over to the coffee machine. His coffee experience is limited to glass bottles of cream and sugar with the barest hint of coffee in only the direst of circumstances (days of no sleep or after battles with kryptonite), so he tries to emulate the movements he’s seen at the office. He dutifully fills the carafe with water and pours it into the machine, then reaches over to grab one of the filters he had stolen from work. After successfully filling the filter with grounds, he reaches over to flip the switch and … nothing. He hears a teasing huff from behind him.

Bruce leans against the counter and Clark marvels at how quietly the man moves. Bruce forwent a shirt, standing only in boxers. Clark stares for a moment, taking in sharp hip bones, a stark v-line, and pale skin before realizing Bruce had spoken.

“I’m sorry?” Clark asks and tears his eyes away back to safety.

Bruce huffs once more.

“I said the machine wasn’t plugged in.”

Clark flushed and quickly went to plug it in, fumbling on the way there. He tried once more to push the button, and lo and behold, the machine started with a small whirr. Coffee collected and dripped into the glass carafe, the sound filling the silence left in the kitchen.

The light had shifted to something brighter, heartier as it fell through Clark’s windows. It hit the side of Bruce’s face and Clark let himself look unabashedly, for once. He felt almost hedonistic, basking in the presence of a sleep-warm Bruce and the morning light.

“So you’re a big coffee drinker, huh?” Bruce said, a smile playing at his lips.

“Rao, no.” Clark protests. “I just thought it might be nice for when I have, uh, guests over.”

Clark can see the ghost of a smirk and has never felt more transparent. He takes the leap.

“You’ve never stayed.” 

“You’ve never asked.” Bruce replies and the two let that hang in the air.

“I wanted you to一 want you to.” Clark breaks the silence with a sheepish smile. “I just never thought you’d want the morning-afters.”

Bruce moves to grab a mug from the counter and starts to fill his cup up. He takes a sip, and Clark knows that the coffee is too damn hot just as he knows Bruce needs a second to process. And he’s more than happy to wait.

“I wasn’t sure of the parameters of … this. So I erred on the side of caution.”

Clark stares at him for a moment, trying to decipher what Bruce meant. Reading Bruce has become a skill (an artform) that he’s honed over years. He tries to rid himself of a hopeful bias as he discerns what Bruce meant, but it almost sounds like一

“I was happy to take what I could get too.” Clark says softly. He can feel every desire he has bubbling in his chest, fueled by hope. He wants to say it all, but he swallows down his words. He couldn’t break this fragile moment. Now was not the time. But there would be a right time, Clark knew now. 

They let the minute stretch quietly, both content. Bruce takes another sip of coffee and grimaces.

“Clark, this is terrible.”

Clark laughs, a bright, surprised thing and looks over at Bruce. Both men are smiling, carrying a lightness that Clark hadn’t seen before. 

You are the ledge I leap off of, and you are the ocean I fall into, but you are the hand I grip as we slip off the edge. Clark thinks.  

[malfiora]

I'd like to think that Martha Kent and Martha Wayne would've been friends.

That Mrs. Wayne secretly hoped for a girl, but she took one look at her darling, red-flushed baby boy with whisps of his father's hair and fell in love all over again. Bruce keeps her young. He is sharp and filled with questions and quick to point out the injustices around them. Thomas jokes that he'll make a great lawyer. Bruce always scrunches his nose at this and says that he's going to be a "good guy like Zorro!"

That Mrs. Kent never gave up hope that God would deliver her a child, and when a star crash-landed by the barn she knew her prayers had been answered. Clark sticks by her side. He is watchful and curious and easily fascinated by everything around him. He watches her bake with the same rapt focus as he tinkers with the truck under Jon's tutelage. He "pokes his nose into everything, I swear," according to Jon's hearty chuckles.

They meet somewhere mundane – at a bookclub or grocery store or library, catching each other's eye and smiling in honor of the mutual world-weary experience of being a "boy mom" – and hit it off immediately. Mrs. Wayne invites her over for tea parties (and if there is more wine than tea, Mrs. Kent will never judge) under the guise of playdates, finishing projects in progress, exchanging home care tips. Mrs. Kent brings over slices of small town Americana – home baked goods, half-done quilts, preserves ("yes, please keep the jar"). Mrs. Wayne will inevitably insist they "make a day of it" and get their hair done, browse a boutique on the way home, pick out new toys and books and shoes for the boys.

They spoil each other's child rotten: Mrs. Wayne whisks Clark away with the family to some remote island for vacation, buys him a watch as a graduation present, arranges for a personal shopper to get him suited properly for his first adult job at the Daily Planet. Mrs. Kent shows Bruce how to care for horses and gives him the foal he helped deliver, bakes from scratch his three favorite pies for his birthday, spends the day with him at a range perfecting his marksmanship.

Martha Kent, fiery and compassionate, definitely would've been friends with the clever and gentle Martha Wayne in another life

[frownyalfred]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Lois Lane Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Lois Lane Additional Tags: Platonic Relationships, Weddings, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Clark Kent is Superman, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Clark Kent Needs a Hug, Identity Porn, Secret Identity, Identity Issues, minor ones at least, Friendship, me holding onto this fic and hoisting it up in the air:, I CAN WRITE PLATONIC BRUCE AND CLARK I SWEAR, BAMF Lois Lane, the author is jewish and doesn't fully understand churches, and that's ok, is it really a wedding if you don't have a minor crisis about immortality, Bruce Wayne ships Clois, no beta we die like jason todd Summary:

“I’m going to lose her,” he says, the words spilling from his lips as soon as Bruce’s eyes meet his, “I’m going to outlive her. Hell, Bruce, I might outlive our kids. We don’t even know if we can--”

“Clark,” Bruce says.

“--and I don’t really think that’s fair to her, you know?” Clark says, chest heaving, “I mean, maybe she won’t. Maybe we’ll die on a mission and she’ll never know what happened or where I was. Just waiting and I can’t do that to --”

“Kal-El.”

Kal-El snaps to attention, the words dying in his throat. He stares at Batman, spine rigid and hands at his sides. Steady heartbeat, even breaths. Waiting.

[antebunny]

go for it, Lois Lane!

FOUR WEEKS BEFORE CLARK JUMPS OUT A WINDOW

Lois has a crush on Clark for six months, two weeks and three days before she asks him out. Not that she’s counting or anything. It feels a little silly to say “crush,” even though that’s what it is. It feels even sillier for a go-getter person like Lois to wait for so long before asking, but really, her reasons are completely logical and totally understandable.

First, she’s friends with Clark for about a year before she considers that he may actually like her back, and he’s only keeping quiet about it because he’s, well, Clark. After that is when the “crush” develops in which Lois continuously overthinks every act of friendship she previously took for granted. 

Second, Lois is the senior at work, even though they’re the same age. For the first couple weeks or so, it was her job to show him the ropes, which makes speculating about a relationship feel inappropriate. Though as far as improprieties go, Lois is not sure this one is even on the list. 

Third, it’s never a good idea to date someone from work. This sticking point holds Lois back for a while until she realizes that Clark is not just a friend from work.

“Uh, where do you want the fridge?” Clark’s voice is muffled from behind the boxed side-by-side refrigerator held precariously in his arms.

It’s move-in day for Lois and her new apartment, and she recruited a bunch of friends to help her. Friends from work, friends from college, people who just happened to be in Metropolis at the right time. Mostly they’re just free labor to her, but Lois bought some very nice wine and snacks to share, and she started off with her closest friends.

“Just put it on the kitchen floor!” Lois calls back.

Clark is one of her favorite friends.

This is the realization that sinks in as Clark settles the refrigerator carefully on the kitchen tiles. Even if one of them quit working at the Daily Planet, Lois is confident that they’d still find time to meet up. They are friends outside of work too.

“Phew!” Clark catches Lois’ eye from across the living room and smiles that goofy smile of his. He rolls his shoulders back as he straightens, but there’s not a hint of sweat as he wipes the back of his hand across his forehead. “That was pretty heavy.”

Lois rolls her eyes fondly. He’s obviously lying; there’s not a hint of perspiration, no heaving chest, or anything other sign of exertion. It’s kind of sweet that he feels the urge to comfort her about the difficulty of lifting her boxes. Unnecessary, as Lois never had any plans to carry it around herself, but sweet nonetheless.

That’s just how Clark is. He’s kind of a coward, but he’s surprisingly strong. And so what if he’s not a daredevil? This isn’t the 1600s. She doesn’t want him to grab a horse and a lance and joust for her honor. He’s thoughtful, he remembers the little things, he respects her, he’s quietly funny, he can cook, and he is genuinely kind-hearted. Of course she likes him. 

One by one, her friends bow out and head home. Ellis helps her get the last rug down, gleefully samples all of her wines, and has to be driven home by Xochitl. Perry swipes a handful of snacks on his way out, Irene takes the subway and a taser, and Meg, self-proclaimed expert bedroom decorator, sets up hangings and decorative pillows until her phone hits 10% battery and she catches a midnight cab home.

In the end, it’s just Lois and Clark, settled in her newly-furnished living room and talking into the wee hours of the morning. Politics, arts, home decor, lead pipes in housing projects, superheroes and the proper way to grill a chicken; Lois will lose her voice before she runs out of conversation topics. She wishes she could have this regularly. Just her and Clark, passing around a bottle of wine or that mysterious red-blue ice cream flavor that Clark likes. 

Clark, Lois knows, lives alone, and it’s so hard for a big guy like him to take the subway at midnight. Still, he’s had a little wine, so it’s not ideal. Maybe that’s why, when Clark eventually slaps his knees and reluctantly says that he should get going, Lois speaks up.

“You could stay.”

Okay, so it’s not the wine that drops her stomach off a cliff when he rises and heads for the door. But in any case, he pauses at her words, and glances at the couch. It’s white and soft, ideal for sleeping, but Lois doesn’t have a change of clothes for him. At least, nothing that fits him. Clark had only intended to help a friend move into her new apartment.

“Do you have a spare blanket?” Clark asks. He tips his head to the side. “For the couch?”

Lois hesitates, still thinking of what he will wear tomorrow (Sunday) even though no one in Metropolis will blink twice at a man walking around in a giant marshmallow costume. Really, she muses, it’s better for him not to wear clothes at all. And then she’s thinking of her nice new bed, which deserves a housewarming party of its own, and maybe it’s the wine, or the lighting, or the (to emulate Clark) gosh-darn genuineness of Clark’s question, but–

“Don’t have to take the couch,” Lois blurts out. “Could come to bed with me.” She’ll blame the wine to the end of time, but her cheeks immediately color deep red. “That’s not how I wanted to say it. I don’t mean just–I like you.”

Oh, this is embarrassing. This is really quite off-game for Pulitzer prize winning journalist Lois Lane. She swears she usually has more game than this.

Clark smiles the crooked little smile of his. “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, Ms. Lane?”

Well, she always knew that Clark was at least as embarrassing as her. 

Lois tosses her dirty blond hair back, one hand on hip, reclaiming her dignity through performance. “And if I am, Smallville?” 

Clark beams. “Then yes.”

Faster than Lois knew was humanly possible, Clark crosses the space between the front door and the arm of the couch. Lois rises to her feet, vaguely shocked by how much taller Clark is than her when he’s not hunching his shoulders as per usual. The breadth of those shoulders nearly halves when he’s hunching them, too. He hides so much with the way he carries himself. His sense of humor, his silent, steely convictions, his compassion; everything that makes him Clark Kent.

He’s not hiding anything now. Clark bends his head down, a boyish smile on his face. Behind those thick glasses of his, his eyes are shockingly blue. The stubble on his chin brushes against her forehead. He leans in. And all Lois can think is: holy shit, I can’t believe that worked.

Whoever said the course of true love never did run smooth? Lois thinks it’s pretty easy. 

SIX MONTHS BEFORE CLARK JUMPS OUT A WINDOW

Lois discovers Superman’s weird obsession with her around the same time as she’s learning about the existence of Superman. The Flash has been running (ha) around Central City for a few years now, the Batman is somewhere between urban legend and dangerously real vigilante, and everyone knows Wonder Woman. Superheroes are not uncommon. But Superman is the first one to really stick for Metropolis. And as always, Lois Lane is right on the case. 

She’s worried, now, that her persistent, journalistic pursuit of the guy might have been taken as interest. Perhaps this worry could be interpreted as ego-inflating, i.e. can you believe it? Superman is just soooo obsessed with me. But Lois can safely make this claim from her unwanted vantage point of Superman’s arms.

 He’s saved her from falling to her death, or so he says. Lois doesn’t know that she was truly in danger of falling, but she’s not going to argue with the man when he’s carrying her hundreds of feet over Metropolis. Survival instincts 101: don’t talk back to the only person standing between you and certain death. Thank you for coming to her TED Talk. And please note that this is the first red flag. 

In any case, she sure feels weak in the knees when he sets her down gently on the roof of the Daily Planet. He hovers for a moment longer, about a foot off the rooftop. Like he’s forgotten that people generally like to have conversations eye-to-eye.

“If you ever need me, just give me a shout,” Superman says, in a way that’s probably supposed to be comforting. 

Then he flies off without waiting for a response. So much for having a conversation. But Lois is more preoccupied with the implications of give me a shout. Just how far is his hearing range? Can he hear her if she’s underground? Can he hear her in the office? Is he eavesdropping on the conversations she has with coworkers? 

Lois makes it down to the Daily Planet offices in record time. This is not the first, and, distressingly, probably not the last time that Superman has dropped her off on the rooftop of the Daily Planet. She slinks back into her cubicle, glances left and right, and ignores the knowing looks of her coworkers. 

“Hey, Bea,” Lois rolls her swivel chair backwards and places an arm on the divider of the desk of her colleague, Beatrice Langford. “Superman ever invite you to dinner?”

Bea stares at her blankly. “No? Why?”

“Just curious.” Lois rolls her chair back to her desk.

Lois is pretty sure that Bea is more conventionally attractive than her, though there’s no accounting for taste. True, Lois is the one pursuing his case on the regular, but just about everyone in her office has had an interaction with Superman, and she hasn’t had significantly more than the average. 

Still, she’d probe Bea more if she weren’t so worried about Superman overhearing. That’s another problem: the fear that he could be watching her at anytime. The more she learns about his abilities, the more scared she becomes. He can hear her heartbeat through a skyscraper. He can see through anything, can smash through every material that is commonly found in a major city. Bullets break on his skin. 

And he asked her to dinner, just over a week ago.

Lois turned him down, of course, as politely as she knew how. Worried, again, about antagonizing the person she was stuck on a rooftop with who could fly, shoot lasers with his eyes like he’s in Star Wars without the cool lightsabers, and send her flying off said rooftop with a flick of his pinky finger. 

Superman has never been anything but polite, if somewhat distressed at totally reasonable times. Still, getting asked to dinner by someone like him is what turns his obsession from weird to worrying.

She looks to her left. Ideally, she could talk about this with Clark. But funnily enough, he’s out of the office again.

[plaudiusplants]

You ever think about a superbat telling of Orpheus and Eurydice? Capes or no capes, Clark Kent is lost to the world, or in magical peril, or maybe just lost, and Bruce Wayne cannot abide this. He cannot allow this world to exist without Clark Kent. Robin may be the light that casts Batman's shadow, but Clark is the optimism of the entire world. His parents raised him so well that he has the powers of a god and he still chooses to be kind enough to have a tea party with a little kid. And so Bruce goes to the appropriate authorities and pleads his case. He offers money, resources, in quantities unmatchable. They decline. He offers himself, one hostage for another. They decline. He offers himself again, his identity as Batman, his company, his city. They decline. All they want, they say, is to see him trust fully. Trust that Clark will follow him to safety. Trust that there are no tricks here; that no replacement who will come to take Clark's place; that Clark will follow. He may not turn, he may not glance, he may not follow his thousand instincts telling him to check that Clark really is following or he forfeits Clark forever, not only lost to him but to the whole world. And what else can he do but agree? He begins to walk

[katherineholmes]

“We should get married,” Bruce suggests nonchalantly and Clark fumbles with the salad spoon. And the salad which doesn’t look like it will be filling at all.

He looks up at Bruce, wondering if his eyes are giving away how confused he is.

“Since when did you start joking?” He asks, trying to control his voice. Attempting to hide the crush love he felt he had on both Bruce and Batman.

“I’m not joking,” the dark eyes that stare at him are as serious as they would be from behind a cowl, his jaw set and serious.

“Why would we do that?” Clark doesn’t expect much, not a grand gesture or a romantic speech. Nothing even remotely like a proposal.

They’re not even dating.

“In case we get caught. So we can’t be made to testify against each other.” Bruce continues eating his stake after that as if he hasn’t just proposed.

“It’s crazy.”

Bruce looks at him for a long moment, holds his gaze and seems to stare into Clark’s soul despite the fact that Clark is the one who can literally see through people.

It takes all his years as superman to keep him from squirming in his seat.

“When have I ever suggested anything that would be bad for you?” Bruce asks quietly, his eyes intense, and something odd underlying his voice.

He’s speechless now, Bruce is right after all, and Clark trusts him. But this-

It’s all a bit too much.

[cloakedsparrow]

DC Headcanon: Public Restrooms #1

After the first couple of times that Bruce and Clark hung out together with baby Jon and had to use a women's restroom because the men's didn't have a changing table, Bruce changed the WE policies so every Wayne owned building had to have a changing table (or two) in every restroom.

After Barbara Gordon was crippled by the Joker, Bruce updated the accessability requirements of every Wayne owned building. This included requirements for multiple handicap stalls in every restroom, multiple wheelchair accessable sinks, and enough space for two wheelchairs to easily pass each other while heading to and from the stalls.

When Clark and Jon were in the Cave one day so Bruce and Clark could discuss a JL issue, Bruce heard nine-year-old Jon lamenting to Tim that his mom had made him go into the women's bathroom when they'd been out together recently. He got to use his own stall, of course, but his mom said he wasn't allowed to go into the bathroom by himself in the city until he hit double digits. Tim had told the younger boy that he was lucky Metropolis was a safer city because his mom made him go into the ladies' room with her until he was twelve because Gotham was so unsafe. Bruce didn't say anything to the boys, but he changed the policy again so all Wayne buildings were required to have family restrooms as well.

After Tim had to take off one night because Cass had texted him to bring her tampons asap, Bruce once again updated the restroom policy so all Wayne building bathrooms had to include a pad, tampon, and bandage (because Gotham) dispencer.

Eventually, he sent out a company-wide email that employees could fill out stating any amenities they would like included in work and/or public restrooms. He made a few more policy updates in response. He just saw the changes as practical, but it has added to WE's reputation as the best employer in Gotham, if not the world.

[violent138]

I think usually after seeing some weird mirror versions of each other (Clark), or even when they're working late on the Watchtower and kind of worried they were obnoxious/fascistic to their coworkers (Bruce), Clark and Bruce wind up discussing how they'd take over. Clark talks about the ways they could systemically suppress the press, and Bruce adds on with how they'd take out all their friends (earns them a dirty look from someone still working there), but they find it extremely amusing (and horrifying).

Clark tells Bruce which reporters Bruce could charm and install that'd say anything he wants (it's the ones Clark deeply dislikes for their ethics). Bruce tells Clark that he plans to stand back and let Clark take the brunt of going after members of the League.

"And you trust me to actually help you?" Clark says, deeply flattered. "Not going to go it alone?"

"What's the fun in that?"

Clark pretends to think it over, and kindly informs Bruce that he wouldn't stab him in the back, and let him stay second in command and Bruce tells him that's very gracious, and that he'll give Clark a raise.

[luxroyalty]

I do love bullying my friends (and I’m sharing this with the class):

Some days even Clark forgot that he was the last.

Then it slammed into him again, the weight of a dead planet on his shoulders reminding him. Even before he was old enough to understand, he’d known, he’d seen the weight of the world cracking in on itself and the life-giving core pouring out. Clark had been a toddler dreaming about the death of everything he’d ever had. He’d woken up screaming, grieving, without the language to explain.

What use were kryptonian lullabies when there wasn’t anyone to sing them?