They say that the world was built for two

[kingofrooks]

Who: The Superbat Husbands. By which I mean Bruce Wayne [kingofrooks] and Clark Kent [isitablurred]
When: Backdated to December 20th, 2011.
Where: Batcave
Summary: Bruce goes home after dealing with the Shadow. Clark is waiting for him.
Warnings: Uh. It's these two, plus that Shadow. Probably massive tl;dr, talks of violence and mindfuck and gore, and even more fucked up

Comments

[isitablurred]

Christmas was going to be a very quiet affair. Clark was homesick, and while he'd fully expected to be spending it here, the actual reality of it was something entirely different. The city at Christmas would have been fine if not for the fact that the companies didn't stop, the murders didn't stop, the madness that this place was so fond of didn't stop. The Shadows were only the latest thing, and while Clark would never ever admit to being depressed, it was true that he wasn't exactly at his best. The days were short, the sun distant and silvery, though the sentiment couldn't be blamed on a lack of energy either. He was just worn out. There was no stopping, no breaks, and nothing ever seemed to improve, and while he had made a lot of difference in Metropolis, this place seemed only to get worse rather than better, directly responding to any positive changes in the city with a fresh wave of crushing negativity and disaster. Opportunistic, it seemed to prey on joy

[kingofrooks]

Clark was here. Of course Clark would be here. He had never learned to keep away from anything, or to leave things alone. He was probably here in the (vain) hopes that Bruce would suddenly have a rapid change of personality and decide that he needed to talk to someone. Or that he would collapse into Clark's arms and spill all of his secrets, because wasn't that what people liked to do with Superman?

But Bruce wasn't anyone. That was precisely the problem. He was too controlled, too powerful, too clever to be anything but Batman. Or perhaps there was something nebulous called fate that had something that stopped him from being anyone but Batman, no matter how hard he tried

[isitablurred]

Well Bruce was probably right about that--if he knew what was good for him, he wouldn't want to know. After seeing that... Clark wasn't so sure any more where Bruce's mind was wandering to. But that was why he was here.

He didn't miss the tension in the other man's steps, in the heavy look, in the removal of his gauntlets. There were scratches on the knuckles, but it was Bruce himself that Clark was looking at, in the working of his hand that stood in for readjusting to glovelessness when it was actually a statement of his anxiety. Even if his heart wasn't racing, even if he disobeyed most of the rules of being human, he still was. The tiredness that hung under his eyes, the high carriage of his shoulders, not the natural hand of muscles in ever-readiness but tense. Clark was sure if he touched Bruce's back it would be as hard as marble... Like his expression

[kingofrooks]

"There's nothing to fix," Bruce said, flatly, turning around to look at Clark, his eyes sharp and cold and hard. All of his shields had slammed down, guarding everything that he thought, and instinctively, he calmed his autonomic reactions as well. He stopped his heart from trying to beat faster, stopped his breath from becoming shallow pants. He gritted his teeth and glared at Clark.

"The source is the same as any other. My Shadow isn't the first, or is it new. Perhaps you haven't been paying attention."

He knew that was false. He knew that it was as impossible for Clark to not pay attention as it was for him to do the same. But it was so much easier to try to piss Clark off than to actually try to talk about what happened, even- especially after that little speech he had with Re-l. Especially after that phone call. He had revealed himself too much today, his shields and armours torn away to reveal the bleeding, vulnerable flesh underneath, and he hated that. He hated being so exposed. He hated that the entire island now knew the