Fic: Breakfast of Champions
Title: Breakfast of Champions
Pairings/Characters: Bruce/Clark
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own them, blah blah...
Summary: Heat vision. Part of the Strengths series.
Word Count: 530
Bruce Wayne awakened to an empty bed. Clark had spent the night, but it wasn’t unusual for him to be gone when Bruce got up in the morning. He rushed into the shower and began getting ready for the day. He had allowed himself to sleep a little later this morning; Alfred was on vacation so there was no sense in making time for a sit-down breakfast. Bruce figured he would just grab some fruit or a piece of toast on his way out.
Bruce dried himself off, slipped into a perfectly-tailored black suit, and headed downstairs.
To his surprise, he could smell breakfast cooking as he approached the kitchen.
He entered the kitchen and smiled upon seeing Clark at the stovetop, a frying pan full of scrambled eggs in one hand and a two pieces of bread in the other.
He was about to approach him, when the man set down the frying pan and proceeded to turn ordinary bread into toast. With his heat vision.
Bruce stopped dead in his tracks.
“Did you… did you just cook that with your eyes?”
“Yes, Bruce. I have what’s called heat vision. I can shoot laser beams out of my eyes. Or is that not in your extensive file on me down in the Batcave?”
“I’m well aware of that power, Kent,” Bruce said, rolling his eyes. “I just never thought I’d see it applied quite like that.”
“I do it all the time at my apartment in Metropolis. Here,” Clark said, grabbing both pieces of toast again. With detailed precision he focused his eye beams on the toast again. When he was finished there was a replica of the “S” shield on one piece, and the Bat symbol on the other.
“Cute,” Bruce said, “first ‘laser-toast’ and now ‘laser-toast’ that matches our uniforms.”
“Breakfast of champions, I always say. Besides, you already have a Bat-plane, a Batcave, batarangs, a Batmobile… why not bat-toast?”
“Ha ha. You’re lucky that Alfred’s on vacation, and not around to see what you’re doing in his kitchen.”
Clark turned around and reached for the butter and a knife.
“You really expect me to eat that.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it, Bruce.”
“Except for the fact that you cooked it with your eyes.”
“Oh come on, I eat it all the time.”
“Yes, but you’re also a super-powered alien with an iron stomach. I haven’t had time to properly study your heat vision. I don’t know if it produces radiation or what other detrimental effects it might - ”
Clark shoved part of the Batman toast into Bruce’s mouth.
Bruce chewed thoughtfully.
“Hm. Not bad.”
“See?”
“Yes. But it does taste a little burnt. Maybe you should work on that.”
Bruce kissed Clark on the cheek and then picked up his briefcase and headed out the door.
“It isn’t burnt, Bruce. You just can’t handle my ‘laser-toast’!” Clark called out at the retreating figure.
He picked up the Superman toast and took a bite.
Well. Okay, so maybe it was a little burnt. Maybe he was just out of practice.
But he was sure that once Bruce tried his laser-chicken that night that he’d be singing a different tune.
Pairings/Characters: Bruce/Clark
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own them, blah blah...
Summary: Heat vision. Part of the Strengths series.
Word Count: 530
Bruce Wayne awakened to an empty bed. Clark had spent the night, but it wasn’t unusual for him to be gone when Bruce got up in the morning. He rushed into the shower and began getting ready for the day. He had allowed himself to sleep a little later this morning; Alfred was on vacation so there was no sense in making time for a sit-down breakfast. Bruce figured he would just grab some fruit or a piece of toast on his way out.
Bruce dried himself off, slipped into a perfectly-tailored black suit, and headed downstairs.
To his surprise, he could smell breakfast cooking as he approached the kitchen.
He entered the kitchen and smiled upon seeing Clark at the stovetop, a frying pan full of scrambled eggs in one hand and a two pieces of bread in the other.
He was about to approach him, when the man set down the frying pan and proceeded to turn ordinary bread into toast. With his heat vision.
Bruce stopped dead in his tracks.
“Did you… did you just cook that with your eyes?”
“Yes, Bruce. I have what’s called heat vision. I can shoot laser beams out of my eyes. Or is that not in your extensive file on me down in the Batcave?”
“I’m well aware of that power, Kent,” Bruce said, rolling his eyes. “I just never thought I’d see it applied quite like that.”
“I do it all the time at my apartment in Metropolis. Here,” Clark said, grabbing both pieces of toast again. With detailed precision he focused his eye beams on the toast again. When he was finished there was a replica of the “S” shield on one piece, and the Bat symbol on the other.
“Cute,” Bruce said, “first ‘laser-toast’ and now ‘laser-toast’ that matches our uniforms.”
“Breakfast of champions, I always say. Besides, you already have a Bat-plane, a Batcave, batarangs, a Batmobile… why not bat-toast?”
“Ha ha. You’re lucky that Alfred’s on vacation, and not around to see what you’re doing in his kitchen.”
Clark turned around and reached for the butter and a knife.
“You really expect me to eat that.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it, Bruce.”
“Except for the fact that you cooked it with your eyes.”
“Oh come on, I eat it all the time.”
“Yes, but you’re also a super-powered alien with an iron stomach. I haven’t had time to properly study your heat vision. I don’t know if it produces radiation or what other detrimental effects it might - ”
Clark shoved part of the Batman toast into Bruce’s mouth.
Bruce chewed thoughtfully.
“Hm. Not bad.”
“See?”
“Yes. But it does taste a little burnt. Maybe you should work on that.”
Bruce kissed Clark on the cheek and then picked up his briefcase and headed out the door.
“It isn’t burnt, Bruce. You just can’t handle my ‘laser-toast’!” Clark called out at the retreating figure.
He picked up the Superman toast and took a bite.
Well. Okay, so maybe it was a little burnt. Maybe he was just out of practice.
But he was sure that once Bruce tried his laser-chicken that night that he’d be singing a different tune.