(FIC) His heart's desire (PG-13, Superman/Batman)
Soooooo it isn't Sunday anymore, but here it is my other WFGE prompt! I'm so sorry, requester, for being so late! *bows* I am the slowest writer! But I hope you like this?
Title: His heart's desire
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Superman/Batman
Word Count: 4100+
Summary: Bruce comes over to Clark's apartment. They have dinner, decorate Clark's tree... smooching is only natural :)
Prompt: F53 All of the ornaments on my Christmas tree have a story or some deeper meaning. There are handmade ornaments I made in school, commemorative ornaments for major events in my life, ornaments given by friends and relatives, some show my interests, others my values, the list goes on! I'd love to know some of the stories and meanings behind the ornaments on Bruce and Clark's trees. (And if Clark's tree is a super tiny, but completely covered in decorations like the one I have in my apartment, it would warm my heart. =3)
Beta by mithen, who also helped me figure out Christmas decorations! :D
Clark juggled the grocery bags, trying to get his key lined up and open the door to his apartment. He felt the bags shift and he tried to compensate -the cantaloupes were going to fall and they were the ripe and how long had it been since he had had good ones?- but his keys fell to the floor with a soft clink.
He cursed under his breath, and tried to move all the bags to one arm so he could crouch and pick up the keys.
Christmas was around the corner. Less than a week to go, and his life was unraveling around the edges, the Planet pushing him to finish human interest pieces, his regular editorial giving him hell because he couldn't figure out what to write this time of year, feeling like Scrooge as he pointed out how tens of thousands were left out of the holiday cheer because they were hungry and cold, not in some distant third world country -though, of course they were, no matter how much Superman tried to help, he could just not bring whole nations out of poverty, and it broke his heart- but here, in Metropolis, right under the careless shoppers' noses, right by their building's doors, by the metro stations, under the concrete bridges, by the bay. Clark Kent brought you the scoop: People Were Miserable 365 Days a Year, No Matter How Much You Caroled, Fah La La La La.
And then there were the parties, and he started the month feeling pretty positive, but as the days passed his nerves started to get a bit frayed, the smell of eggnog and punch becoming a fixture of December. Parties with the Planet staff, where Clark Kent was quiet and subdued but nice and friendly and clumsy and shy; parties with the JLA where Superman was respectable and friendly and supportive and nice, and it wasn't that he was faking it in either of those places, it was not like he didn't trust the people he spent those hours with, it was not like they weren't his friends.
It's just that it was December, The Month From Hell.
So he felt like a grumpy bastard for not being completely sincere in his cheer, but he wasn't really into it, because there was a lot of things to do. Superman's hands were full, tons of shifts of Monitor Duty needed to be pitch-filled because everyone was busy and they couldn't make them; and at work lots of smart, diabolical coworkers had taken time off to be with their families so there was more work to be done, and Superman was a little busy with ice making car accidents the order of the day.
Not to mention the holidays brought out a lot of the colorful rogues, and winter brought with it the cold-themed villains. If he had to fight Toyman and Killer Frost one more time this month he was going to lose it.
The paper bag full of cantaloupes shifted, and they started to fall. He was going to shift into superspeed and put the bags in the floor and pick the fruit from the air -he hated using his powers to make Clark Kent's life easier, it felt like cheating but he was not letting his cantaloupes go to waste- when a pair of hands grabbed the melons before they landed, a well polished black shoe keeping the last one from touching the floor.
Clark stared.
"It looks like I just saved your... cantaloupes?" Bruce said with a half smile, his left eyebrow going up as he looked at his catch, bending down to grab the one that he was balancing on top of his shoe. "Hi," he said as he straightened up.
"Uh, hi?" Clark stared for a second, looking at his friend. A brightly wrapped package contrasted with his dark coat and gloved hands. He had the package under one arm and was cradling all of his fruit. "Come on in, sorry, I was not really expecting to see you! Let me just..." He reached for his keys and opened the door to his apartment, walking in and ushering Bruce to do the same.
They left the groceries in Clark's small kitchen, and while he put them away Clark absently pointed Bruce to the adjoining living room. "Take a seat. What's up? I didn't know you were in Metropolis."
Bruce looked around the living room, looking for a place to sit. There were rolls of recycled wrapping paper over one of the chairs, tape and scissors casually left by the arm rest. There were packages and bags on the loveseat, boxes on the floor, boxes by the wall, decorations half unpacked on every surface. He pushed a couple of bags and leaned against the arm rest of one of the sofas. "I got here this morning. I had meetings and lunch with the Foundation branch here in Metropolis. You know. December."
Clark chuckled. If someone shared his opinion on December being a Month from Hell, it would be Batman. The man's social schedule alone gave Clark nightmares.
"Good to know you're keeping yourself busy," Clark turned around and saw his own living room, the clutter everywhere. "Oh, man. What a mess. I'm still not done with shopping and I thought I should decorate a bit, but..." He gestured at the boxes of half unpacked decorations. "Every time I open one of them something comes up. Killer Frost or Toyman or Silver Banshee... everyone needs the spotlight, apparently."
Bruce grunted in agreement -or annoyance, it was hard to tell- as he looked inside one of the bags on the couch. "Who are you getting make up?"
"Don't go through those! You're going to ruin your surprise."
Bruce turned back at him, looking dubious. "You're not getting me make up."
"No, not you," Clark rolled his eyes and walked to snatch the paper bags with his Christmas shopping. "That's for Dinah. I'm her Secret Santa."
"Nice."
"Whose Secret Santa are you?"
"Can't tell you."
"So you're mine?"
"No."
"Then why can't you tell me?"
"Because."
"You are my secret santa!"
"Am not." Bruce grabbed the present he had brought with him and handed it to Clark before leaning back on the sofa again. "Everyone makes such a big deal about it being a surprise, but the exchange itself is terrible because everybody either already knows what they're getting or the exchange is ill-suited. Not this year. I am sick of those parties and I am sick of the post-party whining."
Clark laughed. "You arranged the gift exchange?"
"One less headache."
"That's not fair, you know who's yours."
"Actually, no." Bruce shifted, then crossed his arms, looking a little embarrassed. "An algorithm chose the best candidates."
Which meant, of course, that Bruce made a database correlating relationships, tastes, friendships and gift preferences about the League members. Clark did his best not to laugh. Batman was a mysterious creature of the night, and he would not appreciate being called adorable.
"It's good for morale," Bruce said. "Come on, open it."
"What is it?" Clark shook it, a shuffling sound coming from the box.
"Don't shake it!"
"Why did you bring me a present? I can't open it, I haven't wrapped yours."
Bruce rolled his eyes and sighed.
Clark shook his head. "Don't be dramatic! I am not opening this until Christmas or until I give you yours."
"Whatever. They'll be a waste by then."
Clark frowned. "Did you get me food? Is it going to spoil?"
"Just open it, damn it."
Curiosity got the best out of Clark. Bruce was not the festive kind, and when it came to gifts he tended to be very pragmatic. Clark had gotten a couple of things he needed, or that he didn't know he needed, for birthdays and Christmases past, but never anything that spoiled. He unwrapped the box and pulled the cover, revealing two tidy rows of crystals. He stared at them for a moment, then he pulled one out. The spire was about four inches long, stretching delicately like...
"Where did you get these?"
"I have a friend who works glass."
"A friend who does Kryptonian spire ornaments?"
"Well, not usually."
Clark shook his head, smiling at each of the fluting crystals. They were all slightly different, and he could recognize a couple that matched two towers in Kandor. Bruce must have copied those and designed the others.
Batman was Gotham's city Dark Knight. He would not take well to being called adorable.
"They're are beautiful."
"Good." Bruce stood up and straightened his coat. "I should get going."
"No, you should sit down and stay for dinner. Unless you have plans for dinner?"
"I have to get back to the hotel."
"Do you have plans for dinner, I asked you."
Bruce looked away, staring at the half unpacked decorations in Clark's apartment. "I guess I do now."
"Yes. Take off your coat, come on, help me get things started."
Bruce took off his coat and pulled off his gloves and looked around for where to leave them as Clark pulled out a pot. Soon he was back in the living room, idly looking at the boxes on the floor.
"Pasta is okay?"
"Uh, sure. I.. I should probably not help you."
"You can make salad just fine, I'm sure."
Bruce walked into the kitchen space and washed his hands. "Famous last words," he muttered to himself.
Clark laughed. "Come on, Bruce. It's just slicing and throwing in some dressing."
"Yes."
"You can't tell me you don't know your way around a knife, so start chopping."
Bruce sighed and started chopping.
---
"What did you do to the dressing?"
"What? What? I didn't do anything!" Bruce said, looking frantically at the salad bowl.
Clark laughed as he swallowed. "Oh man, Bruce, relax. You're so easy."
Bruce glowered, attacking the pasta with a vengeance. "Don't joke about that. That's just low."
Clark kept chuckling and topped his glass of iced tea. Batman, you're adorable. Yeah, it would not go well.
"So, did you have some glass bat ornaments made too?"
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Yes, because bats are very festive. That will not be suspicious at all."
"So it isn't that kind of friend?"
"What?"
"Your friend who made the spires. Is she not that close a friend?"
"Why do you think it's a she?"
It was Clark's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Well, because it's you?"
"What does that mean? I have male friends."
"Okay, so is he not that close a friend?"
Bruce's smile was all teeth and exasperation. "She's fine."
"See?"
"See what?"
"It was a girl."
"You are so annoying." Bruce looked behind his shoulder, pointing at the living room. They were sitting at the isle partition instead of the table, avoiding the boxes that were scattered all over the small apartment. "I thought you had a tree."
"Yeah, that. I haven't had a chance to put it up. Do you have MD tonight?"
"Yes. At midnight."
"Fun."
"You kidding? I'm looking forward to staring at monitors for six hours instead of going to a function."
"I know. Can't wait for January."
"Hh. Not really my favorite month."
Clark nodded. January was the anniversary of his parents' death, and it always put Bruce on edge. "What about February?"
He shook his head. "My birthday. Let's move straight into March and I'm happy."
"I like February. Nothing wrong with your birthday."
"Yes. Always a joyful occasion."
"Well, it is for some of us."
Bruce gave him an odd look before he changed the topic. "I could give you a hand with your decorations, if you want. I have nothing to do until midnight."
"That's what you think. The minute we sit down to open one of the boxes, we'll get called away. Toyman. It's always Toyman."
"What about Starro?"
Clark looked confused. "What about him-- it? Whatever it is."
"Well. It's kind of festive."
Clark stared at his empty plate for a moment, trying to make sense of the idea. "How?"
"I don't know. A star."
"A giant space starfish is not festive."
"And Silver Banshee is?"
"More than Starro, yeah! A ghost? of Christmas? I mean, I know that's not what she is, but I have yet to see her care."
"You just hate Starro."
"Yes! Of course I hate Starro. What, do you like Starro?"
"No, I'm just saying that if you're going to make the connection of a banshee to Christmas you could make the case of a star-shaped villain being thematic too."
"No, no you can't." Clark stood up and picked up the empty plates, carrying them to the sink. "You can set up the tree if you want while I do the dishes."
Bruce stood up, looking around the room. "Where is it?"
"In that white box," Clark said, looking over his shoulder.
Soon the small apartment was filled with the sound of dishes and cutlery clashing and the shifting and shuffling of boxes. Clark smiled to himself. It was nice to have Bruce around, it was fun to tease him and annoy him and just talk with him. It was a nice break from the whirlwind of activity he had been in lately. He opened his hearing surveying his city. Below them, cars stopped in the red lights, people walked in the cold streets, having dinner, doing last minute shopping after going home. A couple of buildings behind his a community kitchen was a hot spot of sound, dishes and voices and people.
Behind him, on the isle, sat the box with crystal ornaments. He had never gotten anything that wasn't practical from Bruce. They were beautiful, but he wondered just what Bruce had been thinking when he got them. They could not have been a spur of the moment thing -not that he thought Bruce was the kind of person who did spur of the moment things, least of all emotional shopping- so... why the ornaments? He shook his head.
"This is a tiny tree."
Clark rolled his eyes, not turning back. "Where would I put a huge Christmas tree?"
"I see your point, but this is kind of pushing it. It's tiny."
"It's not tiny. It's just... a little tree."
"And it's plastic."
"Are you done criticizing?"
"I am just stating the facts. This tree is not Clark-scaled."
Clark dried his hands, laughing. "Clark-scaled?"
"One to Clark, yes. This is more of a... Smurf-scaled tree."
"Smurfs live in mushrooms, they would not have my tree in their houses."
"No, but they could live in it. A tiny Smurf mansion."
"Smurfs don't exist," Clark said, not amused.
"Where do you want me to put this?" Bruce said, looking around the apartment, grabbing the tree by the base with one hand.
"I'll have you know that tree has been with me since college."
"So it's an old, tiny plastic tree."
"Old? Old?"
"Ancient history. Where do you want me to put this magnificent piece of decoration?"
"Give me that," Clark said, crossing the room in a three strides. "You just don't know how to appreciate it. What do you have in the Manor? A twelve foot monstrosity?"
"I have no idea. I haven't seen it."
Clark turned around to stare at him. "What?"
"Let's say I'm not a fan."
"You didn't help Alfred decorate it?"
"We don't decorate until the Eve. Alfred makes a big deal out of it every year."
"Sounds like a nice family tradition."
Bruce nodded, thoughtful. "Yes, well. You know Alfred."
Clark walked to the table in the middle of his living room, and cleared it with one hand. "Yes. Always very flamboyant."
Bruce laughed. "Ah, you know him well."
"Hand me the tree's skirt, it's in one of those plastic boxes."
"Did you buy the tree when you were in college?"
"I got as a present, actually. I always spend Christmas with my parents but they thought it would be nice if I had one of my own, just to... I don't know, some sort of ritual passage into adulthood?"
"A... tree? Really?"
"I guess so I could start collecting my own ornaments now that I was living away from home? I don't know. They gave it to me along with a couple of things to remind me of them, and it's just been escalating. From a box with a tree and half a dozen ornaments to... this."
Bruce sat on the floor, setting all the plastic boxes next to him and opening the first one. "There's plastic cherries here."
Clark laughed. "Go ahead. Put them on the tree. No, no wait, where's the tree skirt?"
Bruce set the box aside and starting looking through another box. "You should label them," he said, absently. "Here it is."
"Yes, my millions of ornaments. How would I keep them straight without labels."
"You mother made the skirt?"
"No, that's a gift from Lana. She made it for me," he said with a fond smile. "So don't you dare mock it."
"I wasn't going to. I am, though, going to mock your Hello Kitty ornaments."
Clark put the embroidered red taffeta skirt on the base of tree. "I... have no excuse for those. I just thought they were cute."
Bruce turned to look at him. "You bought these for yourself?"
"Why not? Look at them!"
"They are very sparkly." He just stared at them, manipulating the two cats before handing them to Clark so he could hang them. "Well, you learn something new every day."
"What? There's nothing wrong with them."
"I know. I just never pegged you for a Hello Kitty fan."
"Give me the cherries," Clark said, rolling his eyes. He seemed to be doing that a lot. He was having a good time, though, and he had yet to hear the siren call of disaster.
"What's the story behind these?"
"Ah, those I got from a friend in college, right around when I got the tree from my parents."
"Why cherries?"
"I don't know. Why not?"
Bruce shrugged. He opened another box, then smiled. He passed the wooden snow man to Clark. The white paint was chipped, and there were rocks in place of the eyes and the buttons and another pointy, orange painted rock for a nose, and a red piece of cloth tied around its neck.
Clark smiled and hung the little snow men on the tree. He had gotten that as a gift from Dick when the now-young man had been about ten. "Do you have one?" Clark asked.
"Mine has a blue cape."
Clark nodded. "Okay, what's left?"
"There's wads of paper in this box. Is that.. something?"
"Yes, hand them over."
"They have paper clips."
"I know, Jimmy and Lois and I made them at the office one day we got snowed in."
"Are they painted with liquid paper?"
"No, Bruce, it's real snow."
"They are inspired," he said, looking at them. "They're kind of great," he said, and Clark wasn't sure if he was serious or not. "I mean it. You can see it's recycled paper, very eco-friendly."
Clark turned to look at him, his black shirt open at the neck, the strong line of his jaw, his hair falling over his forehead, curling playfully against his neck and his cheeks, the relaxed line of his shoulders. You're adorable, Bruce. Clark shook his head and motioned with his hand so Bruce would hand him the handful of paper spheres they had made at the Planet in a moment of boredom. He was sure if he told Bruce that he would tense and sit there like he was on stake out instead of being here with Clark, decorating his Christmas tree.
"What the hell?" Bruce said. "This is mine."
Clark chuckled. "Diana gave it to me a couple of years ago. What did you say? It's inspired."
"No, it's a batarang. With googly eyes. These things are dangerous, Clark, and this is easily recognized as legit, it could compromise--"
"Ok, relax. Only you recognize which ones are real and which ones aren't. There's dozens of different models in the stores."
"This is not an ornament."
"It is, and it's mine. Give it."
Bruce bristled and shook his head, muttering under his breath about immature work colleagues.
"Are these all? Where are the red spheres?"
Bruce stood up, and looked around the chairs and came back with a white box. "Here."
He seemed to be sulking about the batarang, and he didn't make any more questions. Clark volunteered the stories anyway. "I got these from Lois one year. She thought my tree looked sparse."
"Those are tiny baubles," Bruce said.
"Baubles?"
"That's what they are."
"It's an unusual word."
Bruce shrugged. "Would you prefer I tell you that you have tiny glass balls?"
"Ha ha. Get me the crystal spires, jackass."
Bruce returned with the box of ornaments and sat on the newly cleared sofa behind Clark. Clark hung each spire, relishing the smoothness of the glass, the way it caught the light, each ornament a little different, the two spires of Kandor a little taller than the other four, the Krypton-inspired fictional towers.
He hung a couple of silver bells he had gotten from his parents, his very first ornaments. Bruce was silent behind him.
"Well. I think we're done." Clark stood up and rummaged through one of the unopened boxes, pulling a string of white lights.
"That was before the ornaments, Clark."
"It's not for the tree."
He put them over the table, looping them chaotically over the tree's skirt. "I like them better there. It's kind of too long for the tree, anyway. It would be nothing but lights."
He turned them on, then turned off the lights in the apartment. He sat next to Bruce on the couch, staring at their handy work. The crystal spires caught the light like ice.
"They're very nice. Thank you," he said, turning towards his friend. The blinking lights had shadows playing across Bruce's face.
Bruce nodded. "I kind of like the Hello Kitties better. They're sparkly."
He had a half smile on his lips, and Clark couldn't stand it. "Bruce."
"Yes?"
Thank you for helping me. Thanks for having dinner with me. Thanks for saving my cantaloupes. Thank you for coming over. "You're adorable."
Oh, hell.
Bruce just grinned. "I know. But you really shouldn't be spreading it around."
Clark just stared at him.
"I have a reputation to maintain," Bruce said. He seemed to be relishing the look on Clark's face. "What, I get to joke about your glass balls but I can't joke about my own overwhelming charm?"
Clark laughed, disbelieving. "No, no. Please, go ahead."
"I don't really have that much to say about it. It's not an extensive charm."
Clark pulled at him, his shirt soft under his hands, and before Bruce knew what was happening, he was in Clark's lap, and Clark was kissing him. He was still and awkward in Clark's arms, but his lips were soft, softer than Clark ever thought they would be, and he smelled of cologne, masculine and spicy and his muscles were hard under Clark's hands, and it was Bruce and this was way more out of line than calling him adorable.
Clark broke the kiss, his eyes meeting Bruce's just a few inches away. Bruce stared at him, his eyes wide, then he looked away without moving, then back at Clark's eyes, like he was not sure how he had ended up on his lap. But he had yet to move away, Clark told himself, so maybe...
"Uh, I'm sorry, that was out of line," Clark whispered. Bruce was still so close, if he leaned forward, he could kiss him again. He wanted to kiss him again.
Bruce cleared his throat. Clark felt like they were burning, his body heat mingling with Bruce's through the clothes, and still Bruce wasn't moving away. "I don't know."
"What?" Clark said softly.
"I don't know if it was out of line."
Clark smiled, and he let one of his hands (his treacherous hands, who had a mind of their own) tangle with Bruce's hair, and he nudged him forward, just a little. Let it be okay. Please, let it be okay.
Bruce moved in closer to him, and he kissed Clark, he kissed Clark, and Clark felt his heart tumble, and then Bruce's tongue was against his lips, tasting him, and it was impossible not to open up to him, not to let him explore him. So little had been off limits for them, their lives and their plans, their families, their hopes, their fears. It felt natural to share their heat, their space, their breath.
To share their heart's desire.
In the distance, Clark heard car alarms activate, people screaming and running. Bruce must have felt him, and he broke the kiss. He licked his lips as he chuckled. "Toyman?"
"I'm going to kill him."
"Well. I have time for a quick ass-kicking before MD." Bruce stood up and grabbed his coat. "Give me a ride to my hotel and I'll meet you there."
Clark changed into his uniform at super speed, and in a second he had Bruce's body against him and they were airborne. The winter night was cold and the wind bit this high, but Bruce was warm against him, and maybe...
He was going to kill Toyman.
Title: His heart's desire
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Superman/Batman
Word Count: 4100+
Summary: Bruce comes over to Clark's apartment. They have dinner, decorate Clark's tree... smooching is only natural :)
Prompt: F53 All of the ornaments on my Christmas tree have a story or some deeper meaning. There are handmade ornaments I made in school, commemorative ornaments for major events in my life, ornaments given by friends and relatives, some show my interests, others my values, the list goes on! I'd love to know some of the stories and meanings behind the ornaments on Bruce and Clark's trees. (And if Clark's tree is a super tiny, but completely covered in decorations like the one I have in my apartment, it would warm my heart. =3)
Beta by mithen, who also helped me figure out Christmas decorations! :D
Clark juggled the grocery bags, trying to get his key lined up and open the door to his apartment. He felt the bags shift and he tried to compensate -the cantaloupes were going to fall and they were the ripe and how long had it been since he had had good ones?- but his keys fell to the floor with a soft clink.
He cursed under his breath, and tried to move all the bags to one arm so he could crouch and pick up the keys.
Christmas was around the corner. Less than a week to go, and his life was unraveling around the edges, the Planet pushing him to finish human interest pieces, his regular editorial giving him hell because he couldn't figure out what to write this time of year, feeling like Scrooge as he pointed out how tens of thousands were left out of the holiday cheer because they were hungry and cold, not in some distant third world country -though, of course they were, no matter how much Superman tried to help, he could just not bring whole nations out of poverty, and it broke his heart- but here, in Metropolis, right under the careless shoppers' noses, right by their building's doors, by the metro stations, under the concrete bridges, by the bay. Clark Kent brought you the scoop: People Were Miserable 365 Days a Year, No Matter How Much You Caroled, Fah La La La La.
And then there were the parties, and he started the month feeling pretty positive, but as the days passed his nerves started to get a bit frayed, the smell of eggnog and punch becoming a fixture of December. Parties with the Planet staff, where Clark Kent was quiet and subdued but nice and friendly and clumsy and shy; parties with the JLA where Superman was respectable and friendly and supportive and nice, and it wasn't that he was faking it in either of those places, it was not like he didn't trust the people he spent those hours with, it was not like they weren't his friends.
It's just that it was December, The Month From Hell.
So he felt like a grumpy bastard for not being completely sincere in his cheer, but he wasn't really into it, because there was a lot of things to do. Superman's hands were full, tons of shifts of Monitor Duty needed to be pitch-filled because everyone was busy and they couldn't make them; and at work lots of smart, diabolical coworkers had taken time off to be with their families so there was more work to be done, and Superman was a little busy with ice making car accidents the order of the day.
Not to mention the holidays brought out a lot of the colorful rogues, and winter brought with it the cold-themed villains. If he had to fight Toyman and Killer Frost one more time this month he was going to lose it.
The paper bag full of cantaloupes shifted, and they started to fall. He was going to shift into superspeed and put the bags in the floor and pick the fruit from the air -he hated using his powers to make Clark Kent's life easier, it felt like cheating but he was not letting his cantaloupes go to waste- when a pair of hands grabbed the melons before they landed, a well polished black shoe keeping the last one from touching the floor.
Clark stared.
"It looks like I just saved your... cantaloupes?" Bruce said with a half smile, his left eyebrow going up as he looked at his catch, bending down to grab the one that he was balancing on top of his shoe. "Hi," he said as he straightened up.
"Uh, hi?" Clark stared for a second, looking at his friend. A brightly wrapped package contrasted with his dark coat and gloved hands. He had the package under one arm and was cradling all of his fruit. "Come on in, sorry, I was not really expecting to see you! Let me just..." He reached for his keys and opened the door to his apartment, walking in and ushering Bruce to do the same.
They left the groceries in Clark's small kitchen, and while he put them away Clark absently pointed Bruce to the adjoining living room. "Take a seat. What's up? I didn't know you were in Metropolis."
Bruce looked around the living room, looking for a place to sit. There were rolls of recycled wrapping paper over one of the chairs, tape and scissors casually left by the arm rest. There were packages and bags on the loveseat, boxes on the floor, boxes by the wall, decorations half unpacked on every surface. He pushed a couple of bags and leaned against the arm rest of one of the sofas. "I got here this morning. I had meetings and lunch with the Foundation branch here in Metropolis. You know. December."
Clark chuckled. If someone shared his opinion on December being a Month from Hell, it would be Batman. The man's social schedule alone gave Clark nightmares.
"Good to know you're keeping yourself busy," Clark turned around and saw his own living room, the clutter everywhere. "Oh, man. What a mess. I'm still not done with shopping and I thought I should decorate a bit, but..." He gestured at the boxes of half unpacked decorations. "Every time I open one of them something comes up. Killer Frost or Toyman or Silver Banshee... everyone needs the spotlight, apparently."
Bruce grunted in agreement -or annoyance, it was hard to tell- as he looked inside one of the bags on the couch. "Who are you getting make up?"
"Don't go through those! You're going to ruin your surprise."
Bruce turned back at him, looking dubious. "You're not getting me make up."
"No, not you," Clark rolled his eyes and walked to snatch the paper bags with his Christmas shopping. "That's for Dinah. I'm her Secret Santa."
"Nice."
"Whose Secret Santa are you?"
"Can't tell you."
"So you're mine?"
"No."
"Then why can't you tell me?"
"Because."
"You are my secret santa!"
"Am not." Bruce grabbed the present he had brought with him and handed it to Clark before leaning back on the sofa again. "Everyone makes such a big deal about it being a surprise, but the exchange itself is terrible because everybody either already knows what they're getting or the exchange is ill-suited. Not this year. I am sick of those parties and I am sick of the post-party whining."
Clark laughed. "You arranged the gift exchange?"
"One less headache."
"That's not fair, you know who's yours."
"Actually, no." Bruce shifted, then crossed his arms, looking a little embarrassed. "An algorithm chose the best candidates."
Which meant, of course, that Bruce made a database correlating relationships, tastes, friendships and gift preferences about the League members. Clark did his best not to laugh. Batman was a mysterious creature of the night, and he would not appreciate being called adorable.
"It's good for morale," Bruce said. "Come on, open it."
"What is it?" Clark shook it, a shuffling sound coming from the box.
"Don't shake it!"
"Why did you bring me a present? I can't open it, I haven't wrapped yours."
Bruce rolled his eyes and sighed.
Clark shook his head. "Don't be dramatic! I am not opening this until Christmas or until I give you yours."
"Whatever. They'll be a waste by then."
Clark frowned. "Did you get me food? Is it going to spoil?"
"Just open it, damn it."
Curiosity got the best out of Clark. Bruce was not the festive kind, and when it came to gifts he tended to be very pragmatic. Clark had gotten a couple of things he needed, or that he didn't know he needed, for birthdays and Christmases past, but never anything that spoiled. He unwrapped the box and pulled the cover, revealing two tidy rows of crystals. He stared at them for a moment, then he pulled one out. The spire was about four inches long, stretching delicately like...
"Where did you get these?"
"I have a friend who works glass."
"A friend who does Kryptonian spire ornaments?"
"Well, not usually."
Clark shook his head, smiling at each of the fluting crystals. They were all slightly different, and he could recognize a couple that matched two towers in Kandor. Bruce must have copied those and designed the others.
Batman was Gotham's city Dark Knight. He would not take well to being called adorable.
"They're are beautiful."
"Good." Bruce stood up and straightened his coat. "I should get going."
"No, you should sit down and stay for dinner. Unless you have plans for dinner?"
"I have to get back to the hotel."
"Do you have plans for dinner, I asked you."
Bruce looked away, staring at the half unpacked decorations in Clark's apartment. "I guess I do now."
"Yes. Take off your coat, come on, help me get things started."
Bruce took off his coat and pulled off his gloves and looked around for where to leave them as Clark pulled out a pot. Soon he was back in the living room, idly looking at the boxes on the floor.
"Pasta is okay?"
"Uh, sure. I.. I should probably not help you."
"You can make salad just fine, I'm sure."
Bruce walked into the kitchen space and washed his hands. "Famous last words," he muttered to himself.
Clark laughed. "Come on, Bruce. It's just slicing and throwing in some dressing."
"Yes."
"You can't tell me you don't know your way around a knife, so start chopping."
Bruce sighed and started chopping.
---
"What did you do to the dressing?"
"What? What? I didn't do anything!" Bruce said, looking frantically at the salad bowl.
Clark laughed as he swallowed. "Oh man, Bruce, relax. You're so easy."
Bruce glowered, attacking the pasta with a vengeance. "Don't joke about that. That's just low."
Clark kept chuckling and topped his glass of iced tea. Batman, you're adorable. Yeah, it would not go well.
"So, did you have some glass bat ornaments made too?"
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Yes, because bats are very festive. That will not be suspicious at all."
"So it isn't that kind of friend?"
"What?"
"Your friend who made the spires. Is she not that close a friend?"
"Why do you think it's a she?"
It was Clark's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Well, because it's you?"
"What does that mean? I have male friends."
"Okay, so is he not that close a friend?"
Bruce's smile was all teeth and exasperation. "She's fine."
"See?"
"See what?"
"It was a girl."
"You are so annoying." Bruce looked behind his shoulder, pointing at the living room. They were sitting at the isle partition instead of the table, avoiding the boxes that were scattered all over the small apartment. "I thought you had a tree."
"Yeah, that. I haven't had a chance to put it up. Do you have MD tonight?"
"Yes. At midnight."
"Fun."
"You kidding? I'm looking forward to staring at monitors for six hours instead of going to a function."
"I know. Can't wait for January."
"Hh. Not really my favorite month."
Clark nodded. January was the anniversary of his parents' death, and it always put Bruce on edge. "What about February?"
He shook his head. "My birthday. Let's move straight into March and I'm happy."
"I like February. Nothing wrong with your birthday."
"Yes. Always a joyful occasion."
"Well, it is for some of us."
Bruce gave him an odd look before he changed the topic. "I could give you a hand with your decorations, if you want. I have nothing to do until midnight."
"That's what you think. The minute we sit down to open one of the boxes, we'll get called away. Toyman. It's always Toyman."
"What about Starro?"
Clark looked confused. "What about him-- it? Whatever it is."
"Well. It's kind of festive."
Clark stared at his empty plate for a moment, trying to make sense of the idea. "How?"
"I don't know. A star."
"A giant space starfish is not festive."
"And Silver Banshee is?"
"More than Starro, yeah! A ghost? of Christmas? I mean, I know that's not what she is, but I have yet to see her care."
"You just hate Starro."
"Yes! Of course I hate Starro. What, do you like Starro?"
"No, I'm just saying that if you're going to make the connection of a banshee to Christmas you could make the case of a star-shaped villain being thematic too."
"No, no you can't." Clark stood up and picked up the empty plates, carrying them to the sink. "You can set up the tree if you want while I do the dishes."
Bruce stood up, looking around the room. "Where is it?"
"In that white box," Clark said, looking over his shoulder.
Soon the small apartment was filled with the sound of dishes and cutlery clashing and the shifting and shuffling of boxes. Clark smiled to himself. It was nice to have Bruce around, it was fun to tease him and annoy him and just talk with him. It was a nice break from the whirlwind of activity he had been in lately. He opened his hearing surveying his city. Below them, cars stopped in the red lights, people walked in the cold streets, having dinner, doing last minute shopping after going home. A couple of buildings behind his a community kitchen was a hot spot of sound, dishes and voices and people.
Behind him, on the isle, sat the box with crystal ornaments. He had never gotten anything that wasn't practical from Bruce. They were beautiful, but he wondered just what Bruce had been thinking when he got them. They could not have been a spur of the moment thing -not that he thought Bruce was the kind of person who did spur of the moment things, least of all emotional shopping- so... why the ornaments? He shook his head.
"This is a tiny tree."
Clark rolled his eyes, not turning back. "Where would I put a huge Christmas tree?"
"I see your point, but this is kind of pushing it. It's tiny."
"It's not tiny. It's just... a little tree."
"And it's plastic."
"Are you done criticizing?"
"I am just stating the facts. This tree is not Clark-scaled."
Clark dried his hands, laughing. "Clark-scaled?"
"One to Clark, yes. This is more of a... Smurf-scaled tree."
"Smurfs live in mushrooms, they would not have my tree in their houses."
"No, but they could live in it. A tiny Smurf mansion."
"Smurfs don't exist," Clark said, not amused.
"Where do you want me to put this?" Bruce said, looking around the apartment, grabbing the tree by the base with one hand.
"I'll have you know that tree has been with me since college."
"So it's an old, tiny plastic tree."
"Old? Old?"
"Ancient history. Where do you want me to put this magnificent piece of decoration?"
"Give me that," Clark said, crossing the room in a three strides. "You just don't know how to appreciate it. What do you have in the Manor? A twelve foot monstrosity?"
"I have no idea. I haven't seen it."
Clark turned around to stare at him. "What?"
"Let's say I'm not a fan."
"You didn't help Alfred decorate it?"
"We don't decorate until the Eve. Alfred makes a big deal out of it every year."
"Sounds like a nice family tradition."
Bruce nodded, thoughtful. "Yes, well. You know Alfred."
Clark walked to the table in the middle of his living room, and cleared it with one hand. "Yes. Always very flamboyant."
Bruce laughed. "Ah, you know him well."
"Hand me the tree's skirt, it's in one of those plastic boxes."
"Did you buy the tree when you were in college?"
"I got as a present, actually. I always spend Christmas with my parents but they thought it would be nice if I had one of my own, just to... I don't know, some sort of ritual passage into adulthood?"
"A... tree? Really?"
"I guess so I could start collecting my own ornaments now that I was living away from home? I don't know. They gave it to me along with a couple of things to remind me of them, and it's just been escalating. From a box with a tree and half a dozen ornaments to... this."
Bruce sat on the floor, setting all the plastic boxes next to him and opening the first one. "There's plastic cherries here."
Clark laughed. "Go ahead. Put them on the tree. No, no wait, where's the tree skirt?"
Bruce set the box aside and starting looking through another box. "You should label them," he said, absently. "Here it is."
"Yes, my millions of ornaments. How would I keep them straight without labels."
"You mother made the skirt?"
"No, that's a gift from Lana. She made it for me," he said with a fond smile. "So don't you dare mock it."
"I wasn't going to. I am, though, going to mock your Hello Kitty ornaments."
Clark put the embroidered red taffeta skirt on the base of tree. "I... have no excuse for those. I just thought they were cute."
Bruce turned to look at him. "You bought these for yourself?"
"Why not? Look at them!"
"They are very sparkly." He just stared at them, manipulating the two cats before handing them to Clark so he could hang them. "Well, you learn something new every day."
"What? There's nothing wrong with them."
"I know. I just never pegged you for a Hello Kitty fan."
"Give me the cherries," Clark said, rolling his eyes. He seemed to be doing that a lot. He was having a good time, though, and he had yet to hear the siren call of disaster.
"What's the story behind these?"
"Ah, those I got from a friend in college, right around when I got the tree from my parents."
"Why cherries?"
"I don't know. Why not?"
Bruce shrugged. He opened another box, then smiled. He passed the wooden snow man to Clark. The white paint was chipped, and there were rocks in place of the eyes and the buttons and another pointy, orange painted rock for a nose, and a red piece of cloth tied around its neck.
Clark smiled and hung the little snow men on the tree. He had gotten that as a gift from Dick when the now-young man had been about ten. "Do you have one?" Clark asked.
"Mine has a blue cape."
Clark nodded. "Okay, what's left?"
"There's wads of paper in this box. Is that.. something?"
"Yes, hand them over."
"They have paper clips."
"I know, Jimmy and Lois and I made them at the office one day we got snowed in."
"Are they painted with liquid paper?"
"No, Bruce, it's real snow."
"They are inspired," he said, looking at them. "They're kind of great," he said, and Clark wasn't sure if he was serious or not. "I mean it. You can see it's recycled paper, very eco-friendly."
Clark turned to look at him, his black shirt open at the neck, the strong line of his jaw, his hair falling over his forehead, curling playfully against his neck and his cheeks, the relaxed line of his shoulders. You're adorable, Bruce. Clark shook his head and motioned with his hand so Bruce would hand him the handful of paper spheres they had made at the Planet in a moment of boredom. He was sure if he told Bruce that he would tense and sit there like he was on stake out instead of being here with Clark, decorating his Christmas tree.
"What the hell?" Bruce said. "This is mine."
Clark chuckled. "Diana gave it to me a couple of years ago. What did you say? It's inspired."
"No, it's a batarang. With googly eyes. These things are dangerous, Clark, and this is easily recognized as legit, it could compromise--"
"Ok, relax. Only you recognize which ones are real and which ones aren't. There's dozens of different models in the stores."
"This is not an ornament."
"It is, and it's mine. Give it."
Bruce bristled and shook his head, muttering under his breath about immature work colleagues.
"Are these all? Where are the red spheres?"
Bruce stood up, and looked around the chairs and came back with a white box. "Here."
He seemed to be sulking about the batarang, and he didn't make any more questions. Clark volunteered the stories anyway. "I got these from Lois one year. She thought my tree looked sparse."
"Those are tiny baubles," Bruce said.
"Baubles?"
"That's what they are."
"It's an unusual word."
Bruce shrugged. "Would you prefer I tell you that you have tiny glass balls?"
"Ha ha. Get me the crystal spires, jackass."
Bruce returned with the box of ornaments and sat on the newly cleared sofa behind Clark. Clark hung each spire, relishing the smoothness of the glass, the way it caught the light, each ornament a little different, the two spires of Kandor a little taller than the other four, the Krypton-inspired fictional towers.
He hung a couple of silver bells he had gotten from his parents, his very first ornaments. Bruce was silent behind him.
"Well. I think we're done." Clark stood up and rummaged through one of the unopened boxes, pulling a string of white lights.
"That was before the ornaments, Clark."
"It's not for the tree."
He put them over the table, looping them chaotically over the tree's skirt. "I like them better there. It's kind of too long for the tree, anyway. It would be nothing but lights."
He turned them on, then turned off the lights in the apartment. He sat next to Bruce on the couch, staring at their handy work. The crystal spires caught the light like ice.
"They're very nice. Thank you," he said, turning towards his friend. The blinking lights had shadows playing across Bruce's face.
Bruce nodded. "I kind of like the Hello Kitties better. They're sparkly."
He had a half smile on his lips, and Clark couldn't stand it. "Bruce."
"Yes?"
Thank you for helping me. Thanks for having dinner with me. Thanks for saving my cantaloupes. Thank you for coming over. "You're adorable."
Oh, hell.
Bruce just grinned. "I know. But you really shouldn't be spreading it around."
Clark just stared at him.
"I have a reputation to maintain," Bruce said. He seemed to be relishing the look on Clark's face. "What, I get to joke about your glass balls but I can't joke about my own overwhelming charm?"
Clark laughed, disbelieving. "No, no. Please, go ahead."
"I don't really have that much to say about it. It's not an extensive charm."
Clark pulled at him, his shirt soft under his hands, and before Bruce knew what was happening, he was in Clark's lap, and Clark was kissing him. He was still and awkward in Clark's arms, but his lips were soft, softer than Clark ever thought they would be, and he smelled of cologne, masculine and spicy and his muscles were hard under Clark's hands, and it was Bruce and this was way more out of line than calling him adorable.
Clark broke the kiss, his eyes meeting Bruce's just a few inches away. Bruce stared at him, his eyes wide, then he looked away without moving, then back at Clark's eyes, like he was not sure how he had ended up on his lap. But he had yet to move away, Clark told himself, so maybe...
"Uh, I'm sorry, that was out of line," Clark whispered. Bruce was still so close, if he leaned forward, he could kiss him again. He wanted to kiss him again.
Bruce cleared his throat. Clark felt like they were burning, his body heat mingling with Bruce's through the clothes, and still Bruce wasn't moving away. "I don't know."
"What?" Clark said softly.
"I don't know if it was out of line."
Clark smiled, and he let one of his hands (his treacherous hands, who had a mind of their own) tangle with Bruce's hair, and he nudged him forward, just a little. Let it be okay. Please, let it be okay.
Bruce moved in closer to him, and he kissed Clark, he kissed Clark, and Clark felt his heart tumble, and then Bruce's tongue was against his lips, tasting him, and it was impossible not to open up to him, not to let him explore him. So little had been off limits for them, their lives and their plans, their families, their hopes, their fears. It felt natural to share their heat, their space, their breath.
To share their heart's desire.
In the distance, Clark heard car alarms activate, people screaming and running. Bruce must have felt him, and he broke the kiss. He licked his lips as he chuckled. "Toyman?"
"I'm going to kill him."
"Well. I have time for a quick ass-kicking before MD." Bruce stood up and grabbed his coat. "Give me a ride to my hotel and I'll meet you there."
Clark changed into his uniform at super speed, and in a second he had Bruce's body against him and they were airborne. The winter night was cold and the wind bit this high, but Bruce was warm against him, and maybe...
He was going to kill Toyman.