Archive of Our Own

"You're lucky you didn't break it."

"Just take your suit off."

Clark does as he's told, shrugging off his cape and costume, glancing over his shoulder to double check Bruce activated the lock.

He has, of course, much like every other time they have sex Bruce's rarely-used suite in the Watchtower. In fact, Bruce might only ever use this room to have sex with him.

He looks back to Bruce, who is having some trouble getting out of his millions of layers of armour. To be expected, given the fact he is severely injured. Clark gently pushes him onto the bed, and prises the clasps undone himself. With well-practiced care, he eases Bruce's battered arm out, clicking his tongue when he sees the blood and the bruises.

"It's been worse." Bruce grunts.

"I know." Clark continues stripping Bruce down. "It's been better though."

"I suppose." A small, muted hiss as Clark peels away his undershirt, sleeve soaked in yet more blood. "I did what I had to do."

"We'll agree to disagree." He grabs the hefty first-aid kit that Bruce keeps locked in his closet, as if needing to tend to injuries is a point of shame. Anything and everything Bruce could possibly need was included, from dressings to doses of morphine.

The first few times Clark nursed Bruce's injuries, he'd had no idea what he was doing. He still doesn't fully know, but he's had enough practice at this point to feel confident doing the basics; stitching up wounds, temporarily setting broken bones, tending to burns. He does his best not to think about how insane it is that those are minor injuries for Bruce.

Clark may be invulnerable, but Bruce's willpower-fuelled strength is something else entirely.

"Would you rather I have fled?" Bruce scoffs at him, still so Batman even out of the costume,

"No." Clark takes the bottle of disinfectant and soaks a wipe, dabbing it to the cut. "But... You could have called for me, and I'd take the hit."

"You're vulnerable to magic." Bruce grunts back. "It's not a big deal. I'm not one of your damsels in distress."

"I know. I wasn't saying-"

"You're annoying me." Bruce clicks his tongue. "It's like you don't even want to fuck me."

Clark rolls his eyes, and readies a needle, threading it with the usual dissolvable stitching. "You're the one who buzzed me this time. I'm happy to finish up and just keep lecturing you."

"The point of casual sex is to keep all this talking to a minimum, you know."

"Just putting the friend in friends with benefits." Clark pierces Bruce's skin, causing a grunt. "Be grateful I'm not flying you to hospital."

"If I had it my way we wouldn't even be doing first aid right now. Hurry up and put your dick in me."

"I'm going to do this carefully and properly." Clark makes another stitch. "I thought you were meant to be good at patience."

No reply, just another grumble.

It's a little hypocritical of Bruce - just two weeks ago, Clark had been desperate for a comforting hook-up after a long day involving being blasted by kryptonite, and the asshole had made him sit through two hours of various nursing activities before he could take his pants off.

"That's new." Clark hums as he finishes up, thumb grazing the semi-fresh bullet wound on Bruce's shoulder.

"Museum break-in on Wednesday." Bruce scowls. "Are you done?"

"Just need to put your stuff back."

"Sounds like a yes." Bruce swipes at the first aid kit, sending it tumbling to the floor, and pounces, good arm winding around Clark's neck, forcing him down and pressing their lips together.

Clark doesn't argue, and kisses back, infinitely preferable to tidying up a first aid kit.

Bruce is a good kisser. And sure, Clark doesn't have many other reference points - promiscuity is Bruce's thing - but it's still the best he's ever had. Bruce takes the lead here, from the firmness to the amount of tongue, and Clark revels in just matching the energy, rather than having to dominate it.

He forgets that Bruce needs to breathe, with how long that man can keep their lips locked together, to the point that sometimes Clark feels winded with want before his partner needs to come up for air.

Partner.

With a soft hum, Clark pulls back from Bruce's lips and begins his journey downwards, one hand lowering to tease at his ass while he starts marking up Bruce's shoulders with his mouth. 

It's not an inaccurate word. They are partners, in a way. On the battlefield. Within the League. They work well together. And they are friends, even if it took Clark a while to figure out how to understand Bruce's aloof style of friendship. They're sexual partners too. It just makes it seem... more intimate than it is.

Bruce grunts as Clark lowers his mouth once more, lightly biting at his chest, tongue swiping around nipples. He takes a finger and circles it around Bruce's asshole a few times, before slowly penetrating, just to the end of his nail, smiling at the tiny moan it earns. Clark still isn't fully comfortable with how resistant he is to the use of lube, but the more they do this, the more apparent it becomes that the pain is a part of Bruce's pleasure.

"Good?"

"Mhm."

"Good." Clark pushes in a little more, raising his head again and pressing their lips together as he gets knuckle deep, and introduces his second finger. Bruce doesn't like making sounds during sex, some deep-set need to be stoic all of the time, so Clark protects him from it by putting his tongue to better use.

Because he is a good friend, who cares about Bruce's enjoyment of their mutual-beneficial, no-strings-attached, purely-sexual relationship.

He feels Bruce keen into the kiss, arms tight around him, one hand tangling in Clark's hair and the other digging nails into his back. Bruce tends to do that, clawing into Clark's skin, to the point that he wonders whether Bruce's human partners walk around with scratches on their skin for weeks.

Sometimes, Clark wishes he could give up his invulnerability, just for an hour or two, so he can have Bruce's marks on him, however temporary. That is probably a very normal thing to want from your friend-with-benefit.

With two fingers all the way in, Clark scissors them carefully, feeling Bruce's grip tighten around him. What would have been a presumably-loud moan is silenced by their locked lips. He pauses movement, and Bruce uses the moment to take a breath.

"Do three." Bruce grunts.

"Yeah?"

"Mm."

Clark nods, waiting for Bruce to initiate another kiss to move again. It's rare Bruce asks for extra prep, only if he's feeling especially achy or weary. Knowing him, the blast to the arm was worse than he's trying to make it out to be.

Idiot.

Rather than chastise him and ruin the night, Clark just writhes a third finger in, Bruce tensing around him as he does so, a tiny hiss escaping him as he squeezes his eyes closed in between kisses.

It's at those moments Clark really takes the time to look at Bruce. Soak in every plane of his face, the curve of his nose, the bags under his eyes, the five o clock shadow and the strong jaw line. Committing every pore to memory, again and again.

Bruce is beautiful. He's Gotham's Most Eligible Bachelor for a reason. It's insane no one has managed to lock him down yet, the longest flings in the tabloids never going beyond a month. To be fair, he's probably shielded enough that anyone broaching the topic of a serious relationship gets tossed aside the next morning, but still...

Clark would marry him in a heartbeat.

Bruce kisses him again, and Clark can feel himself hardening as Bruce bucks into his hand. The sensation of Bruce stiffening as well definitely helps too. 

For another minute or so, Clark just keeps pumping his fingers, every one of Bruce's shudders going straight to his dick. With a pant, he leans back.

"Ready?"

"Mm." Bruce's gaze is glued to Clark's dick.

Slowly, Clark enters. And Bruce gasps and lets out a low moan before grabbing Clark's face and pulling him into a kiss.

Fuck. That moan is going to be ringing in Clark's ears for the next few nights.

"Taking it so well for me." Clark mumbles against Bruce's lips as he bottoms out.

"Shut up." Bruce groans, hips bucking.

So Clark shuts up, and begins thrusting, slow and steady.

Their kisses grow more feverish, Bruce's clawing more erratic, and Clark just keeps pounding, chasing a climax.

And he dips into his guilty pleasure. Focuses his hearing, just a little bit, so he can hear the thump thump thump of Bruce's heart, normally so steady and composed but now beating rapidly. There are moments where it stutters, when Clark hits exactly the right spot, and Bruce's muffled whines sync with it.

Bruce's regular heartbeat is one of Clark's biggest anchors. Bruce's aroused heartbeat is one of Clark's biggest turn-ons. 

The closer Bruce is to cumming, the more his pulse quickens, and Clark thrusts over and over until-

"Mmgh."

Bruce's lips press further into his own as he cums. Clark follows suit, with a restrained moan of his own.

I love you.

He shoves the urge back into the recesses of his mind that it belongs in, and instead carefully pulls out.

As always, he cleans himself and Bruce up, and they lay together in silence, Bruce's head on Clark's shoulder, Clark's hand on Bruce's waist.

I'm in love with you. I want you. I'm yours. Love me back, please.

"We should think about the debrief tomorrow." Clark mumbles. "Arthur's turn to be clean-up crew. He'll hate it."

"Mm. And check that Diana's okay with keeping that sorceress locked up on Themyscira." Bruce grunts back.

Clark nods, and glances at the cut on Bruce's arm. He'd been at the brunt of the majority of spells, only some of them seeming to have immediate effect, like causing the gash or blasting him back.

In retrospect, it would probably have been wiser to run a few checks for any lingering, non-obvious effects, rather than caving in to Bruce blowing up his communicator demanding sex.

... Wait a minute.

"Was one of them a horny spell?"

Bruce snorts. "What benefit would there be to making me horny?"

"I dunno, maybe she was just throwing a whole spell book at you." Clark shrugs. "Wants to decommission the Batman, I don't know. She was gunning for you."

"There is no decommissioning the Batman."

"I know." Clark rolls his eyes. "But she might have tried."

Bruce scoffs at the idea.

Clark is not a hopeless romantic. He is under no illusions that hooking up with Bruce will lead to anything more substantial, and he is mostly okay with that. Romance is complicated. Dating amongst the League could be tricky, if they ever broke up, that could damage team dynamics, impact the way they fight. It's better to keep things as they are, nothing more than secret sex behind closed doors.

Lois is a hopeless romantic. And it can be annoying.

"Batman just doesn't strike me as someone who has casual sex." She clicks her pen a few times, doodling a little heart on her notepad. "There's surely something serious between you two."

Clark snorts at the idea of Bruce Wayne in a serious relationship; if Lois had any idea, she'd be telling Clark to get tested, that even aliens might be vulnerable to a (non-existent) Wayne-inflicted STD.

"Trust me, there's not. Even if he wanted it, I don't think Batman would let himself get into a relationship."

"Annoying." Lois sighs, leaning back on Clark's couch. "You should still tell him."

"There's nothing to tell."

"You're in love." She rolls her eyes. "You go all moony-eyed, huffing and sighing the whenever we talk about this. It's gross."

"I'm not in love. And I don't do anything, you're the one who asks!"

"C'mon, as if you weren't waiting for me to ask if you'd heard from your batty boyfriend lately."

"We're just friends." Clark makes his voice firm, just as much a reminder to himself as it is to Lois. "And like I said, no. I haven't seen him since the Sorceress Incident last month."

"Aww. I'm sure he misses you too."

"Batman has plenty of better things to do than miss me." Clark looks at his laptop. "Now please, just help me with this article?"

"Only if you tell me how big his dick is."

"I'm not telling you that."

Lois huffs dramatically, and peers over Clark's shoulder, topic finally dropped.

The very day after Lois's accusation of love, Clark walks into work to see Bruce Wayne by his desk. It's exceedingly rare they interact as civilians, save for the occasional interview, and it raises alarm bells.

"Ew." Lois mutters as she sees him. "Good luck Smallville."

Clark laughs, a little bit hollow, and approaches, ignoring the way his colleagues eyes follow him, 'discreetly' watching and listening.

"Mr Wayne." Clark studies Bruce's face; even knowing it's an act, it's difficult to see past the false persona, the bright smile almost painfully sincere. "I was unaware you were visiting the Planet today. Did you need something?"

"Please, Clark, call me Bruce. No need for formalities." Bruce says airily. "I'm here for our meeting."

Clark squints at him. "I wasn't aware we had one scheduled?"

"Ah." He makes a show of checking his phone. "Hm. Maybe my assistant forgot to send you an invite. Oh well!" Bruce claps his hands, and takes Clark's arm. "I'm here now. May as well hold it anyway. No one will mind if I steal you for a few hours."

"Uh." Clark glances at Perry, standing in the doorway of his office, watching the exchange with as much subtlety as a peacock. "I'm not-"

"Come along." Bruce strides towards the elevator, dragging Clark by the sleeve.

He couldn't argue even if he wanted to.

"Everything okay?" Clark asks after Bruce ushers him into his car. He's brought the Lambo this time; last time Clark had the privilege of entering a Wayne vehicle, it had been a Ferrari.

"No."

"Oh." It's rare to get an outright negative to that question. Clark squares his shoulders, tuning into his surroundings, but it doesn't look like they're being followed, so it's not like Bruce is in imminent danger. "Do you need to go low profile? I'm happy to play Batman for a bit if you need-"

"No." He grunts, lips pursed. Then he tilts his head ever-so-slightly. "Maybe."

"... Are you under attack?"

"No." Bruce stares at the road ahead of him, speeding up as his hands grip the steering wheel. "I need your advice."

"I'm happy to do anything you need, you know that B." Clark looks at the tightness with which Bruce is holding the wheel, knuckles almost white. "Where are we going?"

"The Manor."

"If there's an emergency, I'd appreciate a little bit of preparation."

"'S not an emergency." Bruce grumbles.

"Then - Bruce. I have a job. I can't just take off-"

"Just write some mundane exclusive with Bruce Wayne. They'll forgive you."

Clark doesn't reply, just looks at Bruce. His jaw is clenched, shoulders the slightest bit tense, and upon closer inspection, there's concealer beneath his eyes, hiding darker circles than usual.

There isn't much Bruce Wayne panics over. Almost nothing would warrant seeing Clark in a civilian setting, and even after late nights of vigilante-ing, he doesn't look that tired or that tense. Whatever is going on, it's big. Far too big for Clark to walk in on with no knowledge.

"I need intel, Bruce, I'm not going blind into whatever you're up to."

Bruce ignores him, and accelerates some more.

"Don't give me the silent treatment, you literally just-"

"Be patient." Bruce growls. "There's no emergency. No fight. Just information, that I will share with you in the comfort of my home."

"Something that's... scaring you then?"

No reply. Clark must be on the right track.

His heart leaps before his brain, a hopeful fluttering instinct slamming to the forefront of his mind.

He wants to confess his feelings for you and you're going to get married and be in love forever.

And while yes, talking about feelings is definitely something that probably scares Batman, it's unlikely. He has other things to fear. His identity being revealed to the public? A spy within the League? A scheme one of their many rogues are cooking up?

He wants to stop being friends-with-benefits and is terrified you'll get angry about it.

A stupid thought that is unhelpfully supplied by the voice in the back of Clark's head. Probably unlikely. If Bruce wanted to end their hook-ups, he would have done so through a single curt word.

"Bruce-"

"Kent. Just wait."

Clark stays quiet.

After a half hour of driving that Bruce is definitely going to be fined for, Clark is sitting in one of the Manor's many rooms, a freshly brewed coffee in hand, courtesy of Alfred.

Bruce has some fruit tea instead, which set off all kinds of alarm bells, because Clark has never known him to deny an espresso.

"So..." Clark takes a sip, the burning heat almost pleasant to his tongue. "Was this just an elaborate teatime invitation?"

Bruce shoots him a withering stare, and paces.

"Okay. I'll just sit here silent and keep waiting." Clark chances a playful eye roll, and instead of earning a glare in response, Bruce's face flickers with what could only be described as anguish.

"I know." Bruce steels his expression, but his eyes continue to betray something indescribably raw. "I'm sorry. I thought I'd have the words by now."

"Wow, Bruce Wayne apologising? Now I know you're out of sorts." It's an attempt at a joke, one that would usually be rewarded with a dramatic huff or humoured click of the tongue. Instead, nothing. Just that same caged expression.

Clark sets his cup down, and floats out of his seat, standing in front of Bruce to stop his pacing. Gently, he takes Bruce's hands.

"Hey. It's alright. Whatever's going on, I'll be here. Whatever you need." He squeezes a little, the rough callouses on Bruce's palms pressed to his own.

Bruce looks at their joined hands, and then at the wall. "I need you to know that I'm deadly serious with what I'm about to say."

"Obviously. Everyone knows you think jokes are illegal."

"You're not allowed to find it funny either."

"I won't!"

Bruce takes a deep breath, and still stares at the wall. "There may have been some merit with what you said about the sorceress' intentions. It seems that there were... deeper effects to her spells than I thought. And it is likely my libido was heightened in order to keep me from investigating it, as you suggested."

"Oh shit." Clark frowns. "That's not funny at all Bruce, I - Have you done some tests now? What's going on, what did she do to you?"

"I began feeling some symptoms a few weeks ago. Finalised some testing two days ago, and visited her cell yesterday to get confirmation. It seems..." He trails off, and there's a flush to his cheeks.

Clark can feel his own heart pounding in his chest, almost ready to blast through the ceiling and beat the daylights out of the sorceress. Whatever harm she may have done, whatever awful hexes and jinxs she might have put on Bruce. He does his best to remain composed.

"You can tell me. I'll help, you know I will, the whole League will, we'll pool all our resources to undo it."

"This isn't League business." Bruce snaps at that. "It's just ours."

"Ours?" Clark blinks. "Is the spell affecting me too?"

"In a way." Bruce's shoulders tighten, and he is pointedly not meeting Clark's gaze. "I'm pregnant."

...

What did he just say?

Clark squints at him. Bruce's cheeks get redder, and Clark doesn't even have the capacity to appreciate how he's never seen Bruce blush like this.

"You're - Sorry, I don't think I heard quite right."

"You heard perfectly." Bruce grunts. "You have superhearing, Clark. You know what I said."

"I - Right, yeah, but... It - That can't be right."

"It is." Bruce prises his hands from Clark's grasp, wrapping his arms around himself protectively. "A spell was cast altering my internal biology, giving me female reproductive organs, and then I had sex. Since then, I've been nauseous, fatigued, and felt something deeply wrong within my body. Multiple blood tests have come back showing increased levels of hCG, and a provisional scan of my body shows the addition of a uterus containing an ill-defined blob. You connect the dots."

There's a touch of anger in his voice. Clark can't blame him.

"Okay. I mean - Yes, that all sounds very... I'm not saying you're lying, I just - Fuck, Bruce. This feels impossible." He runs a hand through his hair.

"Because it should be impossible." Bruce grunts back, and turns away. "I thought it would be right to get your opinion as the father before I make a final decision on what to do with it."

Clark chokes. "My opinion as the what?"

Bruce sends him a harsh glare from over his shoulder. "No one else has fucked me lately. Of course you're the father."

"Uh." Clark says, intelligently.

Bruce becomes very interested in a bookshelf, sipping his tea, leaving Clark to have a crisis on his own.

He's the father? Of a baby? Bruce's baby?

None of those words should be put together in that order.

This is insane, actually. But Bruce wouldn't say this unless he was 100% sure, and-

Clark double checks the date, a part of him hoping maybe it's suddenly April 1st.

It's not. It's still July 27th.

Okay. So it's real. He knows better than to doubt Bruce, especially if it's something so incredulous. He probably ran dozens of tests on himself to be certain, and even with that he is aware of how outlandish it sounds, if the lack of eye contact means anything.

Right. Fine. Bruce is pregnant, Clark just needs to accept that.

Hm.

It's very hard to accept.

He sneaks a glance at Bruce. He doesn't look pregnant. Except right, it's only been a month, too early to be showing.

Okay.

Clark hovers on and off the floor, a secret cowardly part of him desperate to just bolt. But he can't do that, that would be beyond dishonourable.

"Did you, um... Need my opinion right now?"

"Preferably." Bruce tuts. "Your gut instinct is more reliable than if I left you to stew on it for a week or two. I know that from experience."

"Okay. Okay." Clark mumbles. He flies up, touches the ceiling, then touches back down, repeating the movement over and over, just so he has something to do other than stand uncomfortably. "Give me a few minutes."

"Of course." Bruce takes a book, and sits, flipping through pages. Clark isn't sure if he actually reads that fast, or if he's pretending to keep himself busy.

To give Clark space to think.

Obviously, the correct thing is to tell Bruce that he will support him whatever he wants to do, whether that be keeping the baby or aborting it. Except that's not what Bruce wants to hear, he wants an opinion. Everything Bruce says and does is deliberate, including his word choices, he wouldn't ask what Clark wants if it wasn't something he genuinely wants to take into consideration.

And it's not like Bruce would make a final choice based on what Clark says. The input would be a factor, but overall, Clark knows that Bruce is far too strong-willed to be strong-armed into a decision he doesn't like.

Overall... Clark needs to be honest.

The issue with that is Clark has no fucking idea what he wants.

He glides across the room, floating through the air on his back, extending his eyesight beyond the confines of the Manor and up to the sky, cloud gazing.

Maybe it will be easier to strip it all down.

If he wasn't Superman, and Bruce wasn't Batman, and they were in a long-term romantic relationship, Clark wouldn't hesitate. Yes, he'd want the baby in that scenario. A normal life with a normal kid, no complications.

Unfortunately for him, he is Superman, Bruce is Batman, and they are not married, or dating, or even exclusive sex-partners. Bringing a baby into any of that is irresponsible.

They could maybe make it work though? Probably not. Definitely not.

If Bruce didn't want a relationship - Clark could confess, if they move forward with this, just to take the chance - then they'll just share custody. And he'll have to ignore the questions from everyone in his life, where the baby came from and why the other parent is a famous billionaire.

The baby will be half-Kryptonian. Clark knows from Ma and Pa how much of a handful it was to keep a super-powered baby secret, with all the publicity that comes with being a Wayne, hiding it would be nigh impossible. Then the connection between Clark and Superman would be made, potentially the one between Bruce and Batman too, and then both secret identities are blown. Mitigating that would be a nightmare.

Not to mention the danger of being the child of two superheroes. Their baby could be targeted by any of their rogues, just for the crime of being born, and Clark knows he would kill himself - and others - a thousand times over if anything happened to a potential son or daughter. Bruce would be similar.

In fact, the danger would start even before birth. Bruce is stubborn. It is painfully unlikely that Bruce would cease being Batman. Gotham is his priority; Clark isn't sure being pregnant would change that. He's definitely been going out in the costume since finding out, despite being undecided on if he wants to keep it.

Anything could happen to the baby out there, even 'safe' in Bruce's uterus. A strong punch to the stomach, a gunshot, getting caught in an explosion, being stabbed, thrown around... Bruce's rogues fight dirty and Bruce keeps up with them. Half-Kryptonian or not, the baby would be in danger, even concealed beneath the batsuit.

Clark knows himself. Can already hear himself begging Bruce to take a step back, can already see the shouting matches that would happen with every patrol Bruce goes on. He knows that if anything were to happen to their child because Bruce refused to take a backseat, he would never be able to forgive him. The rage would be too much.

Clark lowers himself back to the ground. Bruce is still reading - or pretending to read, he's too good at acting to tell.

"Okay." He clears his throat. "I've thought about it."

"Mm?"

Clark twists his hands. "And just to clarify, you definitely want my actual thoughts? Because I'll say them, totally, just - If you want something different, that's totally fine, I'll be there for you, and-"

"I know. I don't want platitudes." Bruce rolls his eyes and shuts his book. "Don't beat around the bush. Tell me."

Clark nods. Swallows air. Twists his hands together again. "I think it's a bad idea."

Bruce's expression is inscrutable. "Okay."

An awful gap of silent. One could call it a pregnant pause, if the pun wasn't too on the nose.

"It's not that I don't want it." Clark adds, a desperate pull to get something tangible out of Bruce. "If things were different, I'd totally be happy to raise a kid with you. But between Superman, Batman, the baby being half-Kryptonian... Hell, even you being Bruce Wayne complicates things, I don't have a reasonable explanation for Clark Kent having a baby with a billionaire. And that's not even counting the whole 'you being a male' thing. There's just a lot of-"

"I know." Bruce grunts. "It would be complicated."

"Yeah. It would." Clark sighs, and picks up his coffee again, now cold. He feels a little too on edge to confidently reheat it with his heat-vision.

"To be clear, Clark, I'd already made up my mind. I just wanted to know if you could think of anything I hadn't considered, or if you had any arguments I haven't managed to counter myself. But we've covered the same points." Bruce is looking back at his book. He's definitely not reading it.

Clark nods. They tend to be on the same page on big issues. "Right. So. I don't really know about abortions or how you would book-"

"I'm keeping it." Bruce cuts him off, not meeting his gaze for a second. "I want the baby."

Clark's mouth goes dry.

"I just don't understand." Clark rests his head in his hands. "You're meant to be the logical one."

"I've never claimed to be." Bruce grumbles back, laid on the couch.

Clark glances at the clock. It's nearing midnight. They've been going back and forth for hours.

"You can't be Batman while you're pregnant, that is insane."

"I can, and I will. I've already drafted some schematics for a new batsuit."

"People aren't going to accept-"

"We live in a world of alien invasions and magic, Clark, a man getting pregnant is hardly the most ridiculous thing to happen."

"A baby is so -"

"Clark." Bruce pinches his brow with a deep sigh. "I'm not budging. I'm not asking permission. I'm having the baby. You don't have to be involved. We're not debating this."

His words are sharp, final. There is no changing his mind.

Clark doesn't reply, instead just leaning back in his chair. At the same time, Bruce sits up, stretching.

"The exclusive you write about Bruce Wayne can be about a skiing trip or something. Company plans. Whatever you like, as scathing as you want. I'll see you at the next Justice League meeting. You can see yourself out."

"Where are you going?"

"This conversation has delayed my patrol by -"

"Uh. No." Clark darts to his side, taking his arm. "No. We're not done. And you are not patrolling."

Bruce grunts, and tugs his arm out of Clark's grip. "What more is there to discuss? I'm having the baby, that's it. And you can't tell me what to do."

"Bruce, we're having a baby, there are a thousand and one more things to talk about!"

At that, Bruce pauses. "You want to co-parent?"

"Just because I think this is an insane, reckless, irresponsible decision - because it is Bruce, and you know it - that doesn't mean I'm going to let you do it alone." Clark takes his hands. "I told you. It's not about wanting the baby. Of course I want it. I'm just... How are you not terrified?"

"There's nothing to be scared of." Bruce shrugs.

"I'm going to fall in love with them." Clark mumbles. "And I'm afraid of what I might do if anything happened to them."

"Nothing will happen to them. We'll keep them safe." Bruce smiles, ever so softly. "I've thought about all of this Clark. About the danger. But there is no danger, not really. Because I know you'd do whatever it takes to protect them. Even if you walked away, from me, from parenting, you'd protect them. That's who you are."

"I could fail, Bruce."

"You won't. Not if it's our baby on the line."

He says it firmly, as if it's an inalienable fact. It makes Clark feel stronger, just by hearing it. He moves closer to Bruce, and puts his hand out, gingerly placing it over his stomach.

Bruce lets him.

"This is crazy." Clark murmurs. "I can't believe we're doing this."

"I know." Bruce gives a curt nod, and steps back. "We can continue later, I need to -"

"Please don't." Clark takes his wrist. "Don't. We're gonna do this together, it's our baby, I should get a say in how many risks you take while you're pregnant."

"I'm not giving up Batman."

"I'd never ask you to." Clark pulls him close again. "But I think it would be best if put some ground rules in place. And just for tonight... Don't go on your patrol. Stay here."

There's some hesitation. Clark only needs to push a little bit more, and Bruce will rest. Words would be too much. Instead, he grazes his fingers against Bruce's stomach, touch ardent.

Silently, Bruce brushes his knuckles against Clark's.

"Let's go to bed." Clark whispers, and Bruce nods, leading the way to his bedroom.

It takes a while to get used to the idea.

When he went back to Metropolis the day after, it felt like the whole world had changed. He couldn't focus on the inane gossip column he was writing following being stolen from work by Bruce Wayne, and he struggled to answer any questions from Lois and Jimmy about what they'd discussed.

He is going to be a father. Bruce is carrying their child. Everything about it is insane.

In the past three weeks, Clark's routine has changed drastically. On top of balancing the day job with saving lives, he has a constant ear out, listening intently to Bruce's every heartbeat. He flies to Wayne Manor each evening instead of going to his apartment, and they talk.

Clark goes home; Bruce goes out on patrol.

Clark doesn't sleep until he hears Bruce get into bed. He drives himself mad suppressing the urge to swoop in and put a stop to every fight Bruce gets into. Every punch that lands has Clark clenching his pillow, every gun that goes off makes him want to pull out his hair.

And they text, which is new.

Bruce sends him a "Home now." each night, despite knowing full well that Clark has been keeping an eye on him.

Clark sends "Good morning :)", "Want to get lunch?", "Hope the nausea is ok today", and whether or not he receives a reply depends on the day.

He wakes up thinking about the baby, he works thinking about the baby, and he falls asleep thinking about the baby. He can't recall if he's had any dreams about the baby, but it's likely.

And despite all of that, he's not sure how involved he actually is, or what Bruce expects of him.

They haven't talked about their relationship, or lack thereof. They're not together.

Bruce Wayne is in tabloids, seen spotted with some model.

Clark heard them together. He didn't tune out.

It stings, a little bit. Bruce has every right to sleep with whoever he wants, but he's pregnant. With their baby. If he was horny, why would he not come to Clark first?

Maybe because there's a weight to it now. Clark can feel it, something unspoken hanging in the air between them, something neither of them are brave enough to address.

Bruce probably knows Clark is in love with him. Probably knows the baby has only fuelled delusional daydreams of spending the rest of their lives together, and is putting roadblocks up to send Clark a message.

A confession is on the tip of his tongue every time their eyes meet. But Clark is too weak, too afraid of the inevitable denial. And what if that gets in the way of knowing everything about his child? Bruce could stop telling him about all of it, the morning sickness, the flickers of movement, any future cravings or ultrasounds, might decorate a nursery without him.

Telling Bruce was scary before, when it was just him Clark could lose. Add their baby into the mix? Fuck, Clark has to keep this to the grave.

Somehow, they are both closer and more distant than ever.

"Did you visit Sorceress Chyani in Themyscira last month, Batman?" Wonder Woman asks, arms folded and eyebrow raised, like she already knows the answer.

Clark feels his own shoulders tense up as he shoots a look at Bruce, looking remarkably calm. They discussed it before the meeting started; they're not telling the League about the baby yet, not for another few weeks at least.

(Meaning Bruce is still on the active member roster, meaning Bruce could be assigned a mission to go to space, meaning Bruce could be called in to help anyone against anything, and Clark can't intervene, no matter how much he'd begged Bruce to be benched from now until after the baby is born.)

"I did." Bruce meets her gaze easily. "Is that an issue?"

"We agreed that captives on Themyscira, regardless of if they are from League battles, were under Amazon control. You snuck into our prisons without informing anyone."

"And I would recommend you improve security around the western-most wall of your prison." Bruce looks back at the agenda displayed in front of him. "Moving on from actions of last meeting, there have been-"

"You cannot do as you wish on the territory of your own teammate!" Diana cuts him off, one of the few League members with the guts to do such a thing to Bruce. "I would have happily granted you access, your need for independence when utilising our shared resources is as disrespectful as it is inane."

"Alright." Bruce tilts his head. "I apologise."

Clark glances around the table, and sees Barry go comically slack-jawed.

"As Bruce was saying, the number of reports of cosmic energy related threats has risen." Clark interjects before Hal can make a sarcastic jab about the rarity of a Batman apology. "I've tended to three of these, and I believe you've sorted a few of your own, Aquaman. The-"

"No." Diana cuts him off. "I'm not ready to move on. I'm tired of Bruce thinking he can do whatever he wants, and getting aggressive with us if we do that same. I don't understand why you would go behind my back."

"I apologised." Bruce grunts through gritted teeth.

"I want an explanation, not an apology."

Hal not-so-subtly uses his ring to conjure a green bag of popcorn. He and Barry mime eating it.

"I don't think this is the best use of our time." Clark clears his throat. "This might be best for after the meeting concludes, to handle privately?"

"No." Arthur chimes in. "This is fun."

Barry laughs.

"I had to discuss something with her. That's all." Bruce snaps, sending Barry a withering glare.

"What could possibly be so important that -"

"It's not your concern, Diana." Bruce growls. "Leave it."

"This is ridiculous, if any of us had entered Gotham without permission, we wouldn't be hearing the end of this, I-"

"Hey." Clark raps his knuckles on the table, commanding silence. "No more. Bruce, please go via Diana if you want to visit Themyscira. Diana, he answered your question, please don't push any further."

Diana nods. Only for Arthur to stir the pot again.

"Do you know why Bruce went to Themyscira?"

Clark has never been a very good liar. His tongue feels too big in his mouth.

"Uh..." Is all he manages to get out.

Diana stands up, palms slamming on the armrests of her chair. "This is ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous. You always take his side."

"Well that's not true." Clark squares his shoulders. Diana's anger always makes him feel like he's being told off by his mother.

Hal conjures a bigger bag of popcorn. J'onn puts his face in his hands with a deep sigh. Barry gives Arthur a big thumbs up.

"You would have similar issue, Kal-El, if Bruce was to visit one of your detainees without asking."

"It would depend on who and why." Clark folds his arms. "It's not like Bruce chose an inmate at random. He had personal reasons for-"

"Clark." Bruce clicks his tongue. "I don't need you to defend me."

"Personal reasons?" Barry perks up even more. "Ooh. I'm intrigued."

"It's nothing to concern yourself with." Bruce snaps.

"You told Supes." Hal huffs dramatically. "That's not fair, we're meant to be a team."

"Life isn't fair, get over it." Bruce drums the table with his fingers. "Frankly, it's not the League's concern."

And while Clark would love to agree... "Well. It is. A little bit." 

Bruce sighs at him, as Diana's frown deepens.

"What?"

"It doesn't directly impact the League." Clark adds quickly. "You'll find out eventually anyway."

"Clark, stop talking."

"Or, even better, just tell us now?" Hal spreads his hands like this is some genius, novel idea.

Clark looks at Bruce. Bruce offers him the middle finger.

J'onn just sits quietly, looking very tired.

"Something, something, this will help us with team bonding?" Barry bounces his leg. "Or, um... It's bad team spirit to only tell one of us potentially relevant information."

"If it was relevant to you at this moment, I would have told you. But it's not." Bruce tuts. "This is not a Justice League matter at this time."

With only a few grumbles, they move back to the matter of cosmic energy. Beneath the table, Clark puts his hand on Bruce's knee as a silent apology; Bruce lets him keep it there.

"Wow."

"Mhm."

Clark stares at the ultrasound, heart in his throat.

The baby is so small.

Dr Thompkins stands quietly as she manoeuvres the ultrasound wand over Bruce's gelled stomach, taking the whole pregnant male thing very well. It's the first time Clark's met her, but he can see why Bruce trusts her.

"Wow." Clark says again. He grips Bruce's hand in his, taking a moment to memorise every minor detail. The vague silhouette of a head almost the same size as the body, tiny nubs for legs and the beginnings of little arms. Almost imperceptible, the baby seems to have an itty bitty nose too.

"As I said, I'm not an expert, but from what I've studied, it looks as if you're around 12 weeks along."

"That lines up." Bruce nods. "And they're growing properly?"

"Very well, I'd say." Dr Thompkins smiles. "You'll be starting to show soon."

The thought makes Clark dizzy - Bruce, with a growing baby bump, cupping it when he sits. It's a beautiful image.

On the screen, the baby wriggles a bit, and Clark can't help but beam.

"Bruce. Look at them."

"I am looking." Bruce rolls his eyes.

"... Look more."

Bruce laughs at that, a soft and quiet huff that Clark wants to play on loop. He holds Bruce's hand even tighter, and Bruce squeezes it in return.

"You said I should get rid of them."

"I was clearly being stupid." Clark tuts.

"More so than usual?"

"That's a bit unnecessary."

Out of the corner of his eye, Clark sees Dr Thompkins smile at them warmly.

When they finish up, and Clark is making his way out, he pretends he can't hear what she says to Bruce.

"You're a cute couple. He's good for you."

He puts even more effort into pretending he didn't listen to Bruce's answer.

"I'm just having his baby. We're not a couple."

It's more than a little nerve-wracking to fly home.

Bruce told him it would be fine, but he doesn't get it; Alfred's known about the baby from the beginning, and Bruce doesn't trust many people beyond that. Telling the Justice League will be one thing, easy to explain, but for Clark? Telling his parents, Lois, Jimmy... It's a different ballgame.

Explaining friends-with-benefits to his ma and pa will be hard; add male pregnancy to that? Clark is going to be talking for hours. And then while Lois and Jimmy know about his hook-ups with Batman, telling them that's actually Bruce Wayne, who is having his baby...

It's almost all too much.

Still, Bruce is in the second trimester now. Clark should give everyone enough adjustment time so that once their baby is born, his friends and parents will be ready to shower them with love.

Clark lands gently just outside the front door, and knocks. His grip tightens around the tin of cookies he's brought, rehearsing his words.

Ma, Pa, I'm going to be a father. Bruce is pregnant with my child - it was this whole thing with a sorceress, his body was magically altered, and we were intimate. We're not dating. The baby is due in six months.

That's all it has to be. Just those few sentences, and it will be all over.

Jonathan Kent opens the door, and claps a hand to his shoulder with a warm smile.

"Clark! You didn't tell us you were coming. Your ma's just finishing up in the kitchen." He squeezes Clark, and ushers him inside. "You know, we were just saying the other day, our boy hasn't been home lately. Sure, he's Mr Busy Bigshot, but no time for his old man? Knew you'd pull through for me though."

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, I really did mean to come back sooner, I've - I've just had a lot going on." Clark avoids meeting his father's eyes, tongue a little too big in his mouth. He always feels ten times more fragile at home, both a blessing and a curse. More human, but more anxiety. Projecting the brave facade of Superman is useless here.

"Mm? Haven't seen anything major on the news. Unless it's another one of those extreme events where we all get our memories wiped." Jonathan laughs, as if the times Clark has seen the world blow up and had to go back in time to stop it mean nothing.

"No. Nothing like that." Clark thinks his palms might be sweaty.

"My boy!" Martha crosses into the living room, and wraps him in a tight, tight hug. It relaxes him a little, and he hugs her back with one arm, still clutching cookies. When she steps back, she pinches his cheek. "You look tired. Saving the world again?"

"Aren't I always?" Clark huffs a laugh, and presents the tin. "Homemade. Fresh this morning."

"And I thought I was the baker." Martha takes the tin. "Jonny, dear, make us some tea?"

"On it, captain." Jonathan gives a mock-salute, and Clark sits on the couch, his mother continuing to fuss over him.

What will he and Bruce be like as parents? It's different, obviously, they're not together, but it's hard to imagine not raising a baby in just one house together. It's almost too easy to imagine, Bruce grumbling at Clark to make breakfast for three (four, with Alfred), while their child sits on his knee, a little hand clutching at Bruce's fingers. Sleepy mornings after a long, tantrum-filled night, their baby laying between them, and Clark will lean forward and brush his fingers through wispy hair as Bruce watches, forever in Protection Mode.

"Clark?" Jonathan calls. "You in the room with us?"

He blinks. Right.

Clark opens his mouth to answer, except wires cross in his brain.

"I'm having a baby." He blurts, instead of Yeah, Pa, I'm here, just lost in thought.

His parents stare at him. Clark decides the best place to look is at the cup of sweet tea in front of him, avoiding both pairs of eyes.

"... What?" Martha has a hush of excitement in her tone.

"Son?" Jonathan puts a hand on Clark's back. "You... Lois is pregnant?"

"No." Clark stares harder at the tea, watching the reflection of the sun through the window scatter across it. "It's not Lois. It's -"

"You didn't tell us you were seeing someone!" Martha chastises. "And - Oh, I did hope you'd get back with Lois, she's lovely, but your new partner, I'm sure she's... You must invite her down, what's her name, how far along is she?"

"Nearly 13 weeks." He replies, the easiest question to answer, giving himself an extra millisecond to think about how he's going to phrase the rest. "And, um. It's Bruce."

Silence.

Jonathan sputters. "Bruce? As in... your colleague?"

"Yeah." Clark twists his hands together. "Yes."

"You're adopting?" Martha's lips purse. "Clark, you never told us you were together, this is so out of the blue -"

"No. Um. There was a fight, with magic, and stuff. And the sorceress - She hit Bruce. And, uh... Well it's probably to get him out of commission, the spell she used, changed his biology a bit. Um. Yeah. He's pregnant. With my baby."

"Let me get this straight." Jonathan rubs a hand over his face. "This sorceress. She cast a spell on him, which then implanted a fetus in him, and somehow you know it's your DNA?"

"Uh." Clark flushes. "No. She just gave him the uterus and stuff. Didn't magic up the baby. That was, uh... Us."

More quiet, and Clark shifts uncomfortably as he waits for his parents to put it together.

"You and Bruce?" Martha's voice is soft. "You didn't tell us."

"Bruce Wayne is carrying my grandkid?" Jonathan guffaws a little, shaking his head. "Clark, are we having a billionaire son-in-law? How long have you been together?"

"He's been round! Multiple times! You should have introduced him as your boyfriend." Martha claps a hand to her cheek. "I didn't even make him pie. I made Lois pie."

"I... Me and Bruce, we're-" Clark stumbles over his words. "It's complicated."

"Are you embarrassed of us?" Jonathan frowns. "You should be proud of your heritage, boy, just because he has money doesn't mean you should be ashamed of how us real folk live."

"No! No, of course not." He speaks without thinking. "Bruce hasn't really known family in so long, I didn't want to overwhelm him."

It's not a lie, exactly. It's not like he's lying about dating him, just avoiding the question! Not a crime.

Martha nods, and takes Clark's hand.

"How is he? I imagine it's not been easy for him."

"Yeah. Yeah, we're both getting used to it. Had an ultrasound a few days ago - here, I brought a copy for you - and Bruce is... He loves them a lot already, very determined to keep 'em safe while they're in there." Clark feels himself soften. "He'll be starting to show soon. Putting on a brave face, but deep down, I think he's worried about that. What people might say."

"Understandable." Martha hums.

For a moment, Jonathan doesn't say anything, then smirks.

"Never seen you look so smitten. And he's not even in the room!"

"Ha. Yeah." Clark swallows a lump in his throat. "Yes. I-"

"Are you going to get married?" Martha cuts in. "You should use your grandfather's wedding ring to propose!"

"Maybe." He says weakly.

"On your next anniversary, that should be it." Jonathan nods. "Take him out for a nice dinner, get down on one knee. Not the most traditional family structure, sure, but married parents are a solid foundation. How long have you been together? A few months, a year? Never too early to get married, 'specially at your age, and how long you've known him."

"I'll think about it." Clark hears himself say, instead of no, we're just fuckbuddies.

He doesn't manage to find a chance to correct the assumption; or maybe, he deliberately avoids it.

By the time his parents bid him farewell, Clark may or may not have accidentally agreed to invite Bruce for a proper family dinner, accepted his grandfather's ring, and stated that he is in love.

He tells Bruce it went perfectly, and hides the ring in his bedside drawer.

Bruce requested that he take the lead on telling the Justice League, and Clark was more than happy to let him. Bruce always chooses the right words, and Clark trusts him to explain everything delicately, so no one will start shrieking like Lois and Jimmy did.

"Before we discuss who will join Green Lantern on the mission to Oa, there's a few other things on our agenda." Bruce drums his fingers on the table. "As a reminder, put weapons back where you found them after jousting in the training room; Wonder Woman spent two days trying to find one of our cursed axes because someone didn't follow protocol."

Barry coughs at the glare Bruce sends his way.

"There have been some alterations to the monitor duty schedule, Aquaman and Green Arrow, you're on tonight."

Oliver groans, and Arthur rolls his eyes.

"There are schematics being worked on for an improved jet after Black Canary broke one last month -"

"Hal crashed into me, that is not fair."

"You had time to manoeuvre away." Bruce sits back. "And finally, Superman and I are expecting a child. As I was saying-"

Nevermind. Of course there was never going to be a chill and delicate way to explain it.

"You and Supes are what?" Barry yells, hands slamming on the table.

"Expecting a child." Bruce repeats. "As for the mission to Oa-"

"Fuck the mission to Oa!" Hal interrupts. "In fact, I don't care about anything you just opened with, what the hell do you mean that you and Clark... What?"

"Congratulations!" Diana beams at the two of them. "When will they be here?"

Oliver and Dinah start whispering to each other, and J'onn offers a smile.

"If we could all calm down." Clark clears his throat, and the room settles into quiet. "Thank you. Yes, we're having a baby."

"What do you mean? Why would you and you adopt a baby together?" Barry gestures wildly between them, arm blurring with speed.

"We're not adopting." Bruce's voice is crisp. "One of the spells Sorceress Chyani cast on me three months ago altered my biology in such a way that I am now carrying Clark's child. I-"

The room erupts into more howls.

"You're pregnant?"

"Oh my god, Spooky's pregnant."

"I'm dead, is this real? Am I tripping? Dinah, pinch me, am I awake?"

"This explains your visit to Themyscira! All is forgiven."

"Hey." Clark waves a hand as Bruce rolls his eyes, commanding silence once again. "Settle down. Three questions about this and then we're moving on, okay?"

Barry's hand shoots up. "Uh, yeah, one from me! How the fuck!"

"As Bruce said, the sorceress hit him with a spell that gave him female reproductive organs."

"No, yeah, I get that bit. I meant how do you know it's yours?"

"Oh." Clark's cheeks redden, but Bruce cuts in.

"I find it very disappointing that not everyone in this team is observant enough to have noticed mine and Clark's flings."

"Wh - You guys have... You make love?" Hal gawps, voice squeaking.

"We have casual sex, yes."

"No strings attached." Clark adds, more to remind himself than anything.

"I hate to point this out, but a baby seems like a pretty big string." Dinah hums.

"That's -"

"I have a question." Oliver interrupts Bruce, grinning at him. "How big is it?"

"At the previous scan, the baby was the size of a lime-"

"No." He rolls his eyes. "How big is that Superman dick?"

Clark flushes, and Bruce pulls a face.

"I don't think that's your concern." Beneath the table, he links his fingers with Clark's, squeezing. It's... odd.

Bruce doesn't seek out comfort. It's just not something he's built for, especially in public. If Clark didn't know any better, he'd think Bruce Wayne was looking for some kind of reassurance. Very strange.

Clark holds his hand tightly, giving Bruce a small nod.

"I hate to spoil the fun, but I have an actual, logistical query." J'onn pipes up. "Will your duties as Batman and Superman be affected?"

"No."

"Uh, yes?" Clark stares at Bruce. "You're pregnant. We agreed you'd step down."

"To light duties, not entirely." Bruce clicks his tongue, snatching his hand out of Clark's grasp. "Recon missions, lower-level threats, monitor duty, casework... The majority of -"

"Monitors and behind-the-scenes stuff sure, but you are not going on any missions or doing groundwork, are you crazy?"

"You explicitly stated that you wouldn't ask me to hang up the cowl-"

"Patrolling Gotham is not the same as going on a League mission, you are insane if you think I'm going to let you-"

"Let me? You don't tell me what to do, Kent."

"The whole time you've got our baby in you, I'm allowed an opinion. I don't care how reinforced your suit is, you're not stepping one foot on a battlefield until you give birth."

"This is ridiculous." Bruce folds his arms. "You want to suspend me for six months?"

"Probably more, actually! You'll need to recover after literally creating a new life. I swear, I will physically restrain you if you even think about putting yourself in danger-"

"I am going to lace every fucking seam in my suit with kryptonite if you dare to manhandle-"

"I'm not just going to lay down and let you put our baby at risk-"

"You lack of faith in me is insulting-"

"Faith isn't going to save you from an explosion-"

"I am more than able to get myself away from-"

"You're pregnant, Bruce, in a few months you won't be as agile or strong or flexible or anything like you are now!"

"Then until I reach that point, I see no reason why I should have to step down any earlier."

"The reason is to keep our baby safe. That's it." Clark runs a hand through his hair. "It's bad enough you still patrol, that you're still getting into fights with your rogues. But this is a step too far. League business is too much, too dangerous. Our baby-"

"Is fine." Bruce growls.

"And you seem committed to trying to change that."

Maybe it's too harsh. It definitely is, actually, as Clark hears Hal audibly wince after he says it. Bruce stares at him for a few seconds, silent.

"The mission to Oa." His voice is sharp as he turns back to the League. "I propose we send Diana and J'onn along with Hal."

Clark deflates in his seat, and it seems the rest of the team is more eager to discuss the mission than witness more arguing, based on how everyone nods too. At least Bruce didn't put himself forward, to make some sort of point, and-

"Ah, we needed four people. My mistake. Superman, you can go too."

"... What?" Clark blinks at Bruce. The Oa mission is predicted to last at least a month, not including the two weeks for space travel each way.

"Do you have an issue, Kal-El?" Bruce holds his gaze, shoulders squared.

His Kryptonian name usually sounds so pretty on Bruce's tongue; it's marred by the venom in his voice, by the punishment barely disguised as a mission.

"I'm not going."

"It's an order, Boyscout." Bruce hums. "Unless anyone else at the table would like to go over my head and volunteer in his place?"

A threat.

The room stays silent.

"Bruce." Clark says quietly. "Don't."

"Hal, let the Lantern Corps know that it will be you, Diana, J'onn and Kal."

"Uh." Hal shifts in his seat. "... Maybe I should just let them know I won't be coming alone?"

"No, no." Bruce's lip curls into a crooked snarl. "I want them to know Superman is coming to their aid."

"Bruce." Clark puts a hand on his shoulder. "This isn't fair."

"Tell the Corps, Hal." Bruce bats his hand away. "This meeting is dismissed."

He stands, and stalks out the room.

Clark whirls to Hal.

"Please don't do that."

"I won't." He puts his arms up in mock surrender. "Barry, you can come."

"Sounds good." Barry mumbles. "Better than having to stick around and witness whatever the fuck that was again."

Clark nods, and glances at the agenda again, just in case anything urgent has been missed.

Nothing. With an apology for the mess of the meeting, Clark sticks around to cover Oliver's monitor duty just so he has something to do while the last of his frustration cools off.

He'll give Bruce some space, and swing by after his patrol.

At 3:01 a.m., Clark hears Bruce get home, heart thumping a tad faster than usual as he flops into bed. At 3:02 a.m., Clark is standing on his balcony, knocking one of the windows.

"The door's unlocked."

It's a mumble, but Clark is so acutely focused on picking up every one of Bruce's breaths that it may as well have been a yell. He lets himself into the room, and sees Bruce on his side, facing away from him. If Clark concentrates his ears well enough, he can faintly catch the sound of a much more rapid heartbeat, tiny but so, so strong.

"... Did you know I can hear the baby, too?" Clark thinks it's a good opener. Something to ease the conversation where it needs to go.

"What does it sound like?"

"To anyone else, just a really fast, really quiet heartbeat."

"And to you?"

Clark sits on his side of Bruce's bed. "Hope. Home."

Bruce grunts in acknowledgement.

"How was patrol?"

"Fine. No injuries. Because I know what I'm doing. And as you can hear, the baby's fine too."

"Good." Clark hesitates. "... If you really want me to go to Oa, I-"

"I don't." Bruce rolls over, finally facing him. "You'd be a liability there. Your head wouldn't be in the game."

"Right. Definitely not because you'd miss me."

"Irrelevant. If the mission called for it, you need to go. And the same goes for me. That's our role, Clark. If the world needs us, we answer. Regardless of personal feelings." Bruce shuts his eyes, and one hand slides down to his stomach. At the touch, the fabric of his sleep-shirt goes taut, and there's the slightest curve there.

Clark knows better than to comment on it, instead just placing his own hand over Bruce's. "Don't you ever get tired of being selfless?"

"I'm not selfless." Bruce snorts. "I'm bringing a child into an objectively dangerous situation because I want to have... That's a fundamentally selfish decision."

"I don't think it's selfish to want a baby, Bruce. And it's not selfish to step back from saving the world for the billionth time. You have spent years saving people. There is not a world where you're selfish, not at all."

More silence.

"Would you miss me? If I was offworld for two months?"

No reply.

"I'd miss you." Clark hesitates. "Miss your face. Miss your voice. Your body."

"I imagine it would be a tad jarring to leave while I'm still relatively in shape, and come back to me completely swollen."

"You're going to look beautiful with a baby bump."

"Sure, Clark." Bruce huffs, and prods his own stomach with a finger. "I'm already letting myself go."

"Wow, you're right Bruce, how dare you let the baby in your uterus grow."

Bruce rolls his eyes. "Be serious Clark."

"I am! You're gonna look good. At least I'm gonna think you look good."

"Okay." Bruce snorts, though there's a trace of bitterness there. "You've barely touched me since I told you about the baby."

Clark blinks. "What?"

"It's fine. Forget I said anything."

"We had sex literally the night you told me about them."

"And never again since." Bruce clicks his tongue. "I said forget it."

Clark shakes his head. "I didn't think you wanted me at the moment."

"You're the father of my baby. Of course I want you."

"... I've heard you with random people. Never even texted me first to see if I was free."

Bruce shuts his eyes. "We're not exclusive."

"I know that." Clark pauses. "I just thought that maybe, while you're pregnant, you wouldn't want anyone else."

"Then why didn't you stop me?"

The question hangs in the air, and Clark feels the cogs in his brain click together.

"Were you trying to make me jealous?"

"You're easy, Clark. If I wanted you to want me, all I had to do was sleep with someone else, and you'd be with me within the week. That's how it's been for the past year and a half. And then I got pregnant, and tried it as usual, and it didn't work. I'm far from stupid, it doesn't take a genius to put two and two together."

"You could have just asked me. I asked all the time."

"It's not that simple." Bruce grumbles. "I'm not opposed to asking, you know that. But if I asked every time I wanted you... It's not appropriate, for a casual relationship."

"Believe me Bruce. I want you an unbelievable amount." Clark can't help but lick his lips as Bruce stares up at him. "I will always say yes, to anything you want from me. Unless it's sending me to Oa. For two months. While you're pregnant."

Bruce scoffs, and wraps his arms around Clark's neck. "I don't want you on Oa. I need you here."

"Then I'm staying here." Clark leans down, and presses his lips to the corner of Bruce's. "Tell me what you want Bruce. I'll give it to you. Anything you want."

Instead of using words, Bruce's hands tangle into Clark's hair, and he pulls him close. Clark brushes his nose against Bruce's, and enters into a firm kiss, wrapping an arm around Bruce's waist, groping his ass. As if that was some kind of signal to spur movement, Bruce spreads his legs and pushes off the bed, flipping Clark onto his back, and straddles his hips, bending down.

Clark licks into Bruce's mouth hungrily. It's been long, so long, fuck, he's missed having Bruce like this. He slips his hand beneath his briefs, and slides one palm up and down Bruce's thigh, brushing his fingers against sensitive skin, restraining himself from fully touching yet.

Bruce moans into him, tugging at the back of Clark's head.

Clark gently runs one hand up Bruce's back, pulling him closer, almost chest-to-chest. In one swift second, Clark rips Bruce's shirt off, and then his own. He hooks a finger under the waistband of-

Wait.

Clark flips them around again, pushing Bruce into the bed, then sits back, staring. Bruce scowls at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking at you."

Bruce has never looked so beautiful. There's the tiniest little belly curving his middle, a softness at his hips where there previously was none. The well-defined ab muscles that Clark has been so used to have melted away completely, replaced by the intriguing, perfect beginnings of a bump.

Bruce sits up, but Clark just gently pushes him down again.

"Clark-"

"Shh."

For once in his life, Bruce follows an order.

Clark drags his fingertip across the plane of Bruce's stomach, already imagining just how much more gorgeous it could be in a few weeks, in a few months. Fuck, he's going to look incredible. That's their baby in there, Bruce is carrying their child's life, keeping them safe, and here's the proof, the most enchanting body he's ever seen.

It's even more than just his little stomach.

Clark tiptoes his fingers up Bruce's torso, dancing them across to his left pectoral. Bruce's pecs have always been so tight, thick muscle just like the rest of him. But now...

Reverent, Clark spreads his hand, and squeezes lightly. The new fat around Bruce's nipple dips at his touch, and wow, that's good. Bruce shivers, and Clark squeezes again. So soft. So hot.

"Look at those tits, B." Clark mumbles. "Fuck. Gonna be making milk for our baby? These could be an A cup, easy. You've been hiding them from me."

He brushes his thumb against Bruce's nipple, earning a gasp.

"Clark. Please."

"Please, what, Bruce?" He lowers his head, and catches a lip of fat between his teeth, letting it go for a second. Bruce squirms beneath him.

"Clark."

"I'm here." He nips again, tongue dancing over Bruce's areola. "Rao. I swear, B, I'm going to fuck your tits once they're big enough."

"God. God, Clark, don't say that, fuck knows how I'll get back to normal if they grow any bigger."

"Bruce, babe." Clark gropes them again. "You're only 13 weeks. I'll bet a month's worth of monitor duty that they'll at least double in size by the time baby's here."

"They better not."

"We'll see." He finally lets up, sitting back and marvelling at Bruce's body again. "I just can't believe how gorgeous you are right now."

"Just hurry up and fuck me." Bruce growls.

"So needy." Clark rolls his eyes dramatically, but tears off his pants, diving to lock Bruce's lips with his as he presses one fingertip to his hole, feeling and hearing Bruce's heart pound as he does. The sudden movement earns a suppressed moan from Bruce, and nails digging into his shoulders.

Pretty Bruce. Perfect Bruce.

Clark makes quick work of prep, desperate to just fucking get inside Bruce after so many weeks of nothing. With two fingers, he scissors enthusiastically, curling in deep up to his knuckles, until Bruce's dick is hard and weeping just from that.

"Clark." Bruce's throat is raw.

"I know. I know. I'm here." He kisses Bruce firmly, deeply, as he slowly inches into him. There's a strained whine in Bruce's throat as Clark rocks his hips, making his movements more tender as he bottoms out. Bruce pulls back to breathe, and Clark runs his hand over his belly once more.

"A bit of me still doesn't fully believe this is real." He says conversationally. "That Batman wants to have my baby."

"Who else's baby would I be having?" Bruce mumbles, voice low. He clenches his thighs, and the squeeze makes Clark's dick twitch, which in turn causes a breathy sigh from Bruce.

"I don't know. You have a lot of sex." Clark hums, and jerks his hips, one sharp thrust. Bruce bites his lip, but a loud groan escapes him anyway. "For a slut like you, you're still so tight. So sensitive."

"I don't bottom." Bruce grunts.

Clark tilts his head, and thrusts again, his dick throbbing for more. "Don't know how to tell you this Brucie, but it looks like you're bottoming right now."

"'S different." He grumbles, and reaches up, grabbing Clark's head and tugging him down for another kiss.

With Bruce's lips on his, Clark starts to actually get to work. Thrusting and thrusting and thrusting, chasing down every little grunt and gasp he can. There's sweat between Bruce's thighs - have they gotten softer? is that a pregnancy thing? - and it just makes fucking into him even smoother, like his whole body is made to be Clark's favourite sex toy.

At the thought, Clark speeds up the rocking of his hips, savouring the way Bruce's muscles quiver around his cock, how Bruce's nails claw at his back, the volume of his moans starting to breach the seal of their lips together. He doesn't let up, even when Bruce pulls away for breath.

"Fuck." Bruce gasps. "Fuck. Oh my - Clark. I... God."

Clark can hear Bruce's heart thumping wildly, and combined with the way he's panting, it's like a special musical performance, just for Clark.

"Please. I'm close." His words are strangled.

Clark takes pity, and kisses him again, saving Bruce from crying out anymore. Almost immediately as he does, Bruce's body shakes, his legs tightening around Bruce, and with a muffled moan, he cums, streaks of white on Clark's skin.

It takes not much longer himself, riding throughout Bruce's orgasm as it helps his own along. With a groan, he releases.

"So good, B." Clark murmurs as they pull apart, cradling Bruce's jaw. "Always so good at taking me."

He dashes to the ensuite and is back in less than a second, equipped with a washcloth.

"I do my best." Bruce replies, voice dry. He stretches as Clark starts to clean-up. "... You're still not pulling me from active League duty."

"Right." Clark hums, dabbing at his skin gently. "You're pulling yourself."

"That's news to me."

"You love our baby." Clark caresses Bruce's stomach with his thumb. "I know you. We can pretend I forced you to, but deep down, you know you don't want to put them at risk."

"My duties as Batman-"

"Are nothing compared to your duties as the man carrying our child."

It was a slight gamble. Clark was only 90% sure he was right.

But Bruce doesn't argue. He just lays back with eyes closed, his own hand resting on his belly.

Things change a little after that. There's still no label on their relationship, they haven't really talked about what exactly they are to each other, but Bruce stops sleeping with other people, although it's uncertain whether that's because he's calling on Clark for all his needs or if he's too conscious of the growing bump to be with anyone else.

The bump. 15 weeks now, and it's surreal.

Clark's been spending more and more time in Gotham, hanging around Bruce - he's never stayed too long in the Batcave before, and now it feels like he's here every night, bidding Bruce farewell at the start of every patrol. And wow.

Seeing him suit up is something Clark has always appreciated, how much stronger Bruce seems with every layer of armour he puts on, but now it's something else entirely.

Bruce has made some sort of specialised gear to wear during his pregnancy; it looks like a sleek black corset, but the material is tough and it's certainly not built for shapewear. In fact, it's kind of padded, and watching Bruce put it on is hypnotic.

When he's not hiding it beneath conspicuously tailored clothing, the bump looks like a cute little paunch, one that Clark can easily cradle in one hand. And getting to see Bruce wrap this corset around his middle, tightening buckles as the padding makes him look even a little rounder, knocking his knuckles against the material before putting his underarmour on...

Such a small thing, and it drives Clark crazy. Not only is it gear built for and dedicated to keeping their little one nice and safe, but it's the way Bruce wears it, the care he puts into testing the resilience of the material each night, the way he cups his own belly and smiles a little when he thinks Clark isn't watching. 

Realistically, Clark knows that Bruce will not be able to keep doing this once he's further along, no matter how much protective equipment he makes for himself. It will be nigh impossible squeezing a fully formed baby bump into a batsuit; even if that wasn't an issue, the pregnancy will no doubt reduce Bruce's stamina, flexibility, strength, or fighting capabilities. Clark has elected not to bring that up; Bruce would already know.

Somehow, the pregnancy is even more distracting now than it was when he first found out. Beyond keeping an ear out on Bruce, and general worry about him during patrolling hours, Clark had managed to keep his head down and focus, whether that be on work, on conversations, or on himself when needed.

It's all gone very much out the window.

At the Planet, Clark spends longer thinking about Bruce than he does writing articles. He daydreams about their baby, about parenthood, about what Bruce might be daydreaming of. His thoughts revolve around what Bruce is doing, what he's eating, if the baby's wriggling, when they might start kicking. He has some sort of extreme lovesickness, even if he is still avoiding using that word in front of Bruce.

"You're staring off into space again." Lois greets him with a smack on the head. "Starting to think you might have caught some sort of airhead STD from him."

"He's not actually an airhead." Clark grumbles, shuffling his deskchair left so Lois can squeeze hers in beside him. "And maybe I just have writer's block."

"Didn't think you could even get writer's block." Lois plonks her lunchbox on the desk. "Spoken to Perry about paternity leave yet?"

"... No." Clark coughs, and sits up straighter, glancing to check if any of their colleagues might have heard her little-too-loud voice. "Shush. I told you not to talk about it here."

"Please, it's the only thing on your mind, what else would we talk about?" Lois says through a bite of her sandwich. "Speaking of! How are things? Planning the wedding yet?"

"Lois." Clark hisses through his teeth. "Be quiet. And no, we're not getting married."

"Last I heard, your grandpa's ring is burning a hole in your bedside table. Plus your ma phoned me to remind you that it might be better to get married before the baby's born."

"We're not dating." Clark looks at his Word document, only 104 words on the screen, including the title. "How am I meant to write any more about sewage updates?"

"It's literal shit, Clark, write whatever you want." She shrugs. "When are you properly introducing me to your baby momma? And I mean the real thing, not the himbo."

His cheeks pink. "What? Momma? Don't ever let him hear you say that."

"You're both gonna be dad then? Or are you going with something dumb and Southern like Pa or Pops or P-Aww-Shucks?"

"We haven't talked about that. And Pa isn't dumb."

"Aren't you coming up to four months? Feels like you should at least discuss it."

"As much as I love you Lois, and deeply appreciate your parenting advice, please stop."

"No, I need to know that you're gonna be Daddy Kent." Lois gasps and drops her voice. "Or Daddy Wayne? Would you take his name?"

"We're not getting married!" Clark pauses. "I'd probably be Kent-Wayne."

"Can I be your best woman?" Her eyes sparkle. "I would make the best speech. And- No, no, you should make me the officiant. I could run your whole wedding."

"Oh my god!" Cat Grant's voice trills, and she practically runs to stand by his desk.

Clark curses the way excitement makes Lois' voice more enrapturing to everyone around her.

"Clark! You're getting married?"

He internally groans, and puts on an abashed smile, but it's too late, Jimmy rolls his chair over, gawping.

"You are? Confirmed? Dude, you didn't tell me! Before or after the baby comes?"

Cat screeches, and smacks her hand to Clark's shoulder. "The baby? Oh my god, Kent, you've got a baby on the way?"

"I-" Clark feels his face heat, and sends Lois a glare out the corner of his eye. She beams back at him, unapologetic.

"Oh shit, I wasn't meant to say that." Jimmy bites his lip. "Uh. I mean..."

Cat ignores him, smacking Clark's arm again.

"Who is it? Do you have any photos of her? Show me! How far along is she?"

"Um." Clark coughs, brain whirring for an excuse of why he wouldn't have any pictures of someone he is allegedly marrying and having a baby with. "Coming up to four months along."

He elects not to address or answer any of the other questions, and Cat sinks her claws into the information anyway.

"Congratulations! We'll have to organise an office baby shower. I'll send a card round! Maybe a collection tin? Lois, what do you think, blue and pink balloons or something more gender neutral?"

"I think blue and pink balloons is a great idea." Lois grins, and looks at Clark. "You need to get your paternity leave sorted, then we can start planning a party for you and your partner before you go off."

"Thanks Lois." He grunts through the fakest smile he can muster. "But my partner's going to be pretty busy up until baby's here. Not sure a party would be the best idea."

"What's her name?" Cat hums, tapping away on her phone. "So I can get both of your names in the card."

"Uh. It's..."

"Grant, get back to your desk!" Perry barks, and Clark has never been so grateful for him. Cat frowns.

"Sorry Mr White! I just wanted to congratulate Clark on his news."

"What news?" Perry looks at him.

This is definitively not how Clark wanted to spend his day. Part of him wants to just fly off, right now, burst through the ceiling and never return. Instead, he twiddles his thumbs as Lois prods him to answer.

"I was going to tell you soon! I - It's still kind of new, wasn't trying to hide it, haha. Uh, I'm going to be father."

"And he's engaged!" Cat adds.

Lois snickers.

"So, I guess I'll be requesting some time off." Clark adds with a mumble. Not how he had planned on doing this, not at all. "In a few months. B - My... The baby's not due until March."

"Well, you have my congratulations. We'll discuss your leave entitlement at a later date. Lane, I told you to take lunch breaks away from your desk."

"I'm not at my desk. I'm at Clark's."

Perry clicks his tongue and leaves with an eye roll, and after another squeeze on the shoulder from Cat, and an apologetic look from Jimmy, Clark is back to staring at his screen with Lois beside him.

"You're so annoying."

"I was dong you a favour! Now Cat knows, so everyone will know, and you don't have to worry about telling people later!"

Clark huffs. "We're not even getting married. We're not even dating."

"Give it a few more months." Lois pats his back, and looks at the screen. "You spelt maintenance wrong."

Clark knows he should be paying attention to what Bruce is saying. It is definitely very important, much like everything he says at League meetings, and Clark should be listening to him read Hal's most recent report from the Oa mission.

But he isn't in his batsuit. He'd been wearing a thick turtleneck and some tailored pants, but must've gotten hot, and taken the sweater off after Arthur had briefed them of an Atlantean incident, and now Clark can't think. Bruce's crisp white shirt is tight. Looks like he hasn't invested in a maternity wardrobe yet, and fuck, there's a part of Clark that never wants him to.

His shirt buttons are straining a little bit against his bump - 16 weeks now, month four - and the linen is almost clinging to his skin, showing off not only the curve but the added softness to his chest. It's clear that Bruce wasn't planning on removing the sweater, but he has been having the occasional hot flush, and it seems one has sprung on him at inopportune time.

Bruce gestures with one hand, as the other subtly slides onto his bump, cradling it. Clark bites his lip, eyes glued to him.

He carries the baby so well. They're definitely getting big, Bruce says they've been moving around too, and honestly, Clark doubts that Brucie Wayne will be able to keep it quiet for much longer. The persona will probably have to make an announcement before month five. And he'll need to invest in some more appropriate clothing - Clark is 80% sure Bruce's hips have gotten wider too. Between that and his growing belly, Bruce may very well end up bursting a seam if he keeps squeezing into his current clothes.

On second thoughts, Clark might like to see that. He'll file that thought away to entertain in private.

Bruce is still talking - something, something, Green Lantern, something something treaty - and as he does, he strokes the left side of his stomach with his fingers, an almost imperceptible motion if Clark wasn't zeroed in on him. Maybe the baby is wriggling. Doing a little tumble, practicing some acrobatics, acting out for some attention from mama.

Shit. Not mama. Lois really screwed him over by putting that in his head. The idea of Bruce being a mommy, nursing their little baby to his chest, softer around the edges... It drives Clark crazy. He should nip that in the bud.

Honestly, everything about Bruce drives him crazy. He's had a string of increased libido over the past few days, demanding Clark fuck him in every room of the Manor, in Clark's shitty apartment, in the Fortress of Solitude. If he weren't Kryptonian, Clark might be having trouble keeping up.

Maybe they'll have more sex after this meeting, hunker down in one of their Watchtower suites and he can splay Bruce's legs, tear that stupid tight shirt off, and cradle the baby bump in his palm while fucking him from behind. And then if Clark is lucky, Bruce might want to cuddle afterwards; rare, but possible. And then maybe Clark will gather his courage, confess his feelings, and kiss him, and Bruce will-

"Superman." Bruce's grunt jolts Clark back to reality. "You're having a double shift on monitor duty."

"What?" Clark straightens and frowns.

"Start listening, or I'm making it triple."

"I am listening." Clark puts on his most dazzling smile, and he knows Bruce doesn't believe him for a second.

"No you're not." Arthur huffs. "You've been eye-fucking him since he took his sweater off."

Ollie snorts, and Bruce rolls his eyes.

"I have not." Clark shakes his head. "I-"

"Kal. You will have plenty of opportunity to ogle me tonight, if you could just focus."

"To be fair, if I was your baby daddy, I'd be ogling you too." Zatanna hums. "You look particularly bountiful today."

"I'm aware I need a few wardrobe alterations." Bruce replies stiffly, his second hand also moving to rest on his bump. "Seems a half-Kryptonian will require more room than I initially thought."

"You pull it off well." Ollie shrugs one shoulder, then grins. "Plus, your tits are looking good."

Dinah smacks him, and Clark squares his jaw.

"I think that's enough of that." He grumbles, narrowing his eyes at Oliver. "Maybe we need to invest in a HR department."

"I don't know if you could make a complaint about someone commenting on my body." Bruce tuts, and puts on a Brucie smile and a higher pitch. "Maybe I want to say Thank you Oliver, that's so kind of you to notice."

"Well I'd like to complain about witnessing that." Dinah pulls a face, as Clark does his best to not feel jealous over a joke.

"Maybe we should get back to talking about Oa." He says, as smoothly as he can.

Bruce smirks at him. "I expect you to pay attention."

Clark does, in fear of witnessing more people play-flirting with Bruce, and to avoid the threat of any more monitor duties.

"You're such an ass." Clark grunts as Bruce joins him in the monitor room for the second half of his double shift. "Were you even feeling that hot?"

"I was." Bruce caresses his bump. "But you were the one who pointed out that being off active duty meant I didn't need to be in costume."

"I didn't realise that meant wearing tight clothes."

"I'm pregnant Clark, all of my wardrobe is tight on me. Even maternity wear won't be able to hide it forever."

"I know." Clark wets his lips at the lips at the thought. "We do need to get you a pregnancy wardrobe."

"We? On your salary?" Bruce lets out a small huff of a laugh, and takes a seat, eyes darting between monitors. He folds his arms, and Clark (with some difficulty) keeps his eyes on his own screens.

"My parents want to know when you'll come over for dinner." Clark pauses. "Also, they think we're dating."

"Have you corrected them?"

"Not successfully." He looks at the monitor for Kansas, quiet and still from any activity flurries. "I did try. It's probably a generational thing."

"Hm."

He doesn't say anything else, so Clark stays quiet too, switching his gaze to Cambodia, then Niger, then Australia, then New Jersey. Nothing unusual on any of them.

"I'll see when I'm free. I can get one of my secretaries to rearrange some meetings if my diary's fully booked." Bruce says after another five minutes of silence.

Clark smiles. "You don't have to."

"I know. But fostering a good relationship with my baby's grandparents seems like a good idea."

"I'd agree." Clark sneaks a glance at Bruce, still cradling his belly, whose attention is still given in full to the monitors. "I'll try and explain the whole casual thing to them again."

"Don't worry. I have plenty of experience pretending to be dating people." Bruce shrugs. "After Wayne Enterprises makes the pregnancy announcement, I won't be in any PR relationships for a bit. Once the baby's a bit older we can stage a break-up for your parents, and be amicable co-parents."

That sounds awful, and Clark hates it.

"Sounds good to me." And now to steer the topic away from their fictional break-up. "You're announcing it soon?"

"I'm not going to have much of a choice." Bruce scoffs. "I don't think baby has any plans to stop growing. We'll put out a statement alluding to some sort of extraordinary encounter via connections to the Justice League and that due to that, I'm pregnant, et cetera, et cetera. Make a point of there not being any danger, that it is surprising but pleasant."

"If they ask about the father?"

"I'll bluff something about magic." Bruce pauses. "Maybe I'll say it's Batman. To explain any patrols I might miss."

Clark snorts. "I hate to break it to you, but I think that might make Bruce Wayne an even bigger target for Gotham rogues."

"... True."

Another moment of comfortable silence. Clark watches Bruce out the corner of his eye, itching to hold him, press a palm to his stomach and cradle their baby.

Really, it's only fair that Clark should get to cup the bump for a little bit. Bruce did flirt with their colleagues, jokingly or not, that's still flirting. And sure, maybe they're not dating, but it feels a tad mean for Bruce to do that while the father of his child is sitting and watching. Completely different from hook-ups with strangers when Clark isn't around.

It's his baby too. He may not be carrying them, or dealing with the shitty symptoms, or having both his public life and his heroism impacted by them, or... 

Okay, whatever, maybe Bruce can do whatever he wants. Clark should count himself lucky that Bruce invites him to be part of it.

Beside him, Bruce lets out a quiet grunt, and leans back in his chair, running his hand over his bump. Immediately, Clark tenses. Bruce doesn't grunt for no reason.

"You okay?"

"Fine. They're just moving a lot." He clears his throat. "Leslie told me that it's normal. That maybe it's just a little more discomforting because their dad's Superman. Probably inherited your strength."

The joy that Clark would usually feel at the thought of parenthood is dampened. "... You've had another appointment with Dr Thompkins?"

"No." Bruce's tone is almost flat, almost the same low gravel, but there's a hint of offense taken in there. "She's a family friend. Alfred invited her for dinner."

"Oh. Right." Clark hesitates. "Not that - It wouldn't be a problem, if you had one and didn't invite me. It's, uh - I mean, I know you don't have to involve me, you totally have a right to not want me there -"

"Clark." Bruce looks at him, not even half an eye on the monitors. Full attention. "I want you there for every single step."

"Every one?"

"Yes." He turns back to the screens.

"... Please can I touch them? I haven't all day."

Wordlessly, Bruce unbuttons the lower part his shirt, and Clark is on his knees in front of him faster than he can blink. He brushes his thumb over one of the new stretch marks creeping across Bruce's bump, then trails his fingers across his skin, drawing a heart.

"Have you been reading the leaflets Leslie gave us?" Bruce's grunt is softer than usual, his hand carding through Clark's hair.

"I have."

"Did you see that human babies are usually able to hear voices outside the womb by 14 weeks?"

"... I did." Clark's heart catches in his throat. He's wanted it, ever since he read that sentence.

"And I'm 16 weeks. With a baby that might well have superhearing."

"I didn't want to presume you'd be okay with me talking to them."

"You're their father, Clark." Bruce hums. "You can talk to and touch my bump as much as you want, whenever you want, as long as you stop if I tell you to."

Such blanket permission is almost unheard of from Bruce. Clark would stupid to question it, and risk getting it taken away.

Instead, he just smiles, and presses his lips to the bump.

"Hi baby. It's daddy. I love you. Sorry I haven't told you that yet. But don't worry, I'll tell you every day from now on. I love you so much. I'm so excited to meet you."

Clark feels a shift in Bruce's position, and knows his attention is back on monitor duty, but his fingers are still in Clark's curls.

It's weird, reading an article about the man carrying his baby, especially when that article is literally about the baby.

Cat had already complained in the office group chat that she never got to print exclusives when Lois had sent the link from the Gotham Gazette, Alice had used several shocked emojis, Jimmy made a joke about impregnating Lex Luthor, and Perry had ignored it.

Clark simply sent We live in a crazy world now :O, and then started to really analyse every single sentence, partly ready to pulverise someone if even one harsh word was written.

GAZETTE EXCLUSIVE!

SHOCKING News From Wayne Enterprises: Gotham's Prince PREGNANT

In an exclusive press release to Gotham Gazette, WE has stated that Bruce Wayne, 31, is pregnant.
reporting by V. Vale

Yes reader, you saw that title and summary correctly. I was also sure that my ears were deceiving me when I sat at my desk, in a scheduled call with Lucius Fox, the operational director of Wayne Enterprises, only for him to tell me that not only does he have an exclusive, but that it's practically the news equivalent of an atomic bomb.

Maybe those weren't his exact words. But even with that level of preparation, nothing could have prepared me for the document he sent over, with their exact wording for the press release, quoted below.

It is with great surprise and greater pleasure that Wayne Enterprises announces that CEO Bruce Wayne is expecting a child. This is the result of a low-level incident wherein Wayne was involved in metahuman action due to his role as one of the financiers of the Justice League.
The culprit has been apprehended, and it is near certain that there will be no further instances of male biology being tampered with. Bruce Wayne would like it to be known that while this is a great shock, he is overjoyed with his impending parenthood, and is looking forward to meeting the new branch on the Wayne family tree.

First off: WHAT!!

I thought it was some kind of practical joke, and so of course I began grilling Mr Fox. But he was certain! He stated that the pregnancy had been confirmed by medical professionals (and we all know Bruce Wayne can afford the best of the best), and that the higher-ups in the company have known about it for a while.

This explains the recent pictures snapped by my colleague Joey Day last week, wherein Bruce Wayne seemed to be sporting a bit of a belly [pictured below]. So that explains the mystery of how Gotham's Prince might have let himself go, but asks a whole new batch of questions!

While I would have loved to get all the juicy details on how far along he is, whether there's a baby daddy out there, or whether it's a boy or girl, I have a duty to the citizens of Gotham. How did this happen? Could it happen again? Are our husbands and our fathers safe? Our brothers and sons?

Mr Fox explained that while he could not give me all the details, it is almost impossible for someone else to befall the same fate. Bruce Wayne had been held hostage by a now-captive metahuman, until rescued by undisclosed members of the Justice League. He alluded to the use of extra-terrestrial powers, or "[something] resembling magic, of all things", as opposed to a method closer to traditional procreation, if you catch my drift.

It has been confirmed that the Justice League have checked up on Bruce Wayne following this incident, and are confident that the culprit will not be able to bring any further chaos to the lives of innocents.

I asked if I could speak to Bruce himself, and clarify his thoughts on what it's like to be the first (and hopefully last) pregnant male, but he was unavailable. Mr Fox declined to give any comments regarding more specific aspects of the pregnancy.

While that's the official version, I'm sure many of you dear readers are on the same page as me - is this truly a random work of magic on a hostage? Or, perhaps more likely, Bruce Wayne's well-known promiscuity has finally caught up to him, with a spurned metahuman perhaps teaching him a lesson?

We at the Gotham Gazette will be keeping a close eye out for any updates.

Clark doesn't like the article. At all.

He in fact hates it and wants it to burn. He hates the way Vicki Vale writes anyway, but for her to suggest that Bruce's pregnancy is some kind of punishment for lack of monogamy? It makes him want to scream.

Unfortunately, it's all anyone in the office wants to talk about, which is a great motivator for him to just tune everyone out, keep his head down and actually do some work, inputting nothing beyond an occasional hum or nod.

"I don't like what they're saying about you."

Bruce doesn't look up from his computer, but raises an eyebrow. "Mm?"

"There's been another gossip map saying that you got knocked up as revenge."

"Okay."

"They called you a manwhore." Clark frowns. "And that you're not fit to be a parent."

"Nothing new then." Bruce clicks his tongue, and reaches for one of his casefiles. "Get me a pen, would you?"

Clark does, and watches Bruce start scribbling some notes, one hand clasped around a plastic baggie of shrapnel, found on last night's patrol. It's beginning to reach a point where Clark is concerned Bruce won't pause his vigilantism until Clark begs him to; he'd figured that at a certain stage, Bruce's bump would limit his ability to even fit in the batsuit, but unfortunately Bruce is a genius, and keeps adjusting the dimensions. The suit is bulkier than ever, there's no way it accommodates the more agile moves in Bruce's arsenal of fighting styles, but then again, Bruce's own belly is getting in the way of that. Clark has watched him train; his high kicks are middling at best, his dodging and weaving more sloppy, and he certainly hasn't been swinging around on grapples.

In an ideal world, this would have been a sign for Bruce to step back and let Clark wear the batsuit for a bit. In reality, it has just led to more defence rather than offence, and an increased number of batarangs.

"I heard someone at the Planet say you're a freak."

Bruce snorts.

"It's not funny, Bruce. I don't like it. I wish I told him to kick rocks." Clark floats around the cave, clenching and unclenching his fists. "Superman should tell them to shut up."

"That's a terrible idea. Superman should have nothing to say about this. Clark Kent shouldn't have anything to say either, not beyond a journalistic capacity."

"But maybe people would stop saying such awful things about you."

"It doesn't matter." Bruce is still scrawling away. He's so good at multitasking, sometimes even more so than Clark. Bruce is so talented and perfect, and no one should say a single bad word about him. "A lot of it's true. I am promiscuous. My suitability for parenting is debatable. And being a pregnant male is abnormal."

"None of that matters though. You give so much to Gotham, and they treat you so badly."

"I'm a billionaire in a city known for it's outrageous wealth divide." Bruce tuts, and starts tapping at his computer again. "It doesn't matter what the tabloids are printing, or what people are saying. I don't understand why you're so aggrieved about this."

Clark doesn't have a good excuse for that, beyond I love you. And he will be taking that one to his grave, so he just doesn't respond, just does a few more laps around the cave.

"I think Scarecrow's building another gas bomb." Bruce says, in the same way normal people would remark on the weather. "If my deductions are correct, he's planning on releasing it Wednesday in the city centre. I'll be back late that night."

Clark stills in the air, then slowly drifts down to Bruce, glancing at his bump. He puts on his most stern look.

"You want to go and diffuse a bomb?"

"I've diffused many before. They're not too complicated." Either Bruce is avoiding Clark's eye on purpose, or he is genuinely obtuse.

"Sorry. Let me clarify - You, a human, who does not have a vulnerability to bombs, explosive or gaseous, are deliberately going to wait until it is about to be set off, then disarm it?"

"Correct." Bruce bristles, lips pulling thin. "As I said, this won't be the first. It won't even be the first Scarecrow bomb."

"Oh, that's fine then." Clark rolls his eyes. "Except, my mistake, I nearly forgot, silly me - You have a baby inside you."

Bruce huffs, and folds his arms. "I'm aware, Clark. I'd argue this is less dangerous than patrolling every night. I'll be stealthy, won't even be attacked."

"If the bomb goes off-"

"It won't."

"It could. And even if it doesn't, Scarecrow could have a trick up his sleeve."

"My batsuit is very heavily armoured, you have seen me equip it with the most resilient materials in the world, an explosive will break a few bones at most. And that's unlikely."

Electing to ignore Bruce's insane acceptance of broken bones, Clark pushes on. "And the gas?"

"What about it?"

"The gas, Bruce. Toxins, poisons, all sorts of dangerous compounds you could breathe in."

"You know I've built up resistance to almost all of my rogues' chemicals. That's a non-issue."

There it is. Clark's way in, nice and easy. "You've also built up a resistance to alcohol."

Bruce furrows his brow. "What of it?"

"Last time I checked, that resistance doesn't carry though to our baby."

Silence.

Clark places his palm over the bump, caressing it. "Please, B. Let me do it."

"You don't know how to diffuse bombs." Bruce grunts.

"I'll have an ear piece in, you can watch me the whole time, coach me through it. I'll put the batsuit on, no one will know it's actually Superman. Then we can swap over, and you can patrol like normal, just... No going near bombs, please. Or inhaling any gas."

Bruce leans back with a sigh, drumming his fingers on his belly. "Fine. Fine. But no more complaining about news articles, you have to get used to it. I can't stand your whining."

"We have a deal." Clark sticks his hand out, and Bruce looks at it reproachfully.

"And you have to get me more of those pastries."

"... The ones I made the other week?" Clark raises a brow, and Bruce flushes.

"The baby likes them."

"I can get some more of my ma's pie too."

Bruce goes pinker. "No. That's too much. I shouldn't."

"If you're not going to indulge when you're pregnant, you never will." Clark tuts, and Bruce shakes his still-outstretched hand. "You should've told me you wanted more."

"You're a busy man, there's only so much time, you need to prioritise-"

"Bruce. You and the baby are my biggest priority. The world could be about to end, and I'd still try and find time to make you something."

"That's an issue, neglecting your hero duties." Bruce turns back to his casefile. "You should work on that."

"I'm going to make you a gazillion pies."

"You are also going to make losing any baby weight a nightmare."

Clark hums, and drops to his knees, pressing a kiss to Bruce's bump. "You look good with a bump, I bet you'd look good chubby too."

Bruce grunts. "Are you done? If you're going to be dealing with this bomb for me, I want you to pay attention."

"Sir, yes, sir."

The bomb does go off, but not before Clark can get civilians to safety, and he thinks he made a very convincing show of how Batman would react to that; that is to say, not at all. He coughed twice, then (using the minimal amount of his strength), beat Scarecrow up.

Bruce was in his ear barking orders the whole time, it was worse than being on a League mission. But he did it! And the man carrying his baby is nice and safe at home.

He dropped Scarecrow back at Arkham, putting on his best gravelly voice for talking to one of guards, and grappled away into the night.

"I should play Batman more often." Clark hums. "That was fun!"

"Stay still." Bruce pushes him back onto the bed. "We don't know what the effects of the gas were."

"I just told you I feel fine." Clark rolls his eyes. "Don't say-"

"We should check your reflexes again." Bruce frowns at him. "Stay there."

Clark watches him cross over to his wardrobe, and press down on a wooden panel, revealing a few secret drawers. Bruce squats down to access them, and Clark realises the issue milliseconds before it happens; his centre of gravity is all off, his 18 week belly is much too large for that shirt, and Bruce has not been in a squatting position since before he got pregnant.

Bruce tips back, one of his shirt buttons pings off, and he is sat on the floor.

Clark zips over to him, but Bruce bats his hands away.

"I can get up myself." He growls. "I told you to stay on the bed."

"I can just-" Clark leans down, ready to swoop him up, but Bruce glares at him, teeth gritted.

"I said I can do it."

So Clark steps back, eyes drifting to the button on the floor. Bruce really fucking needs maternity clothes, this is the final straw; Clark's not an idiot, he knows it's some sort of pride issue, Bruce doesn't want to admit to himself that he has gotten to the point where his wardrobe needs a size-up. No matter how much he dismisses it, Clark knows him. Clark has seen the faces Bruce pulls at his own reflection, has seen the frustration when he couldn't fit into his jeans.

Bruce doesn't like the changes in his body, and Clark's sprinklings of worship aren't working to make him feel any better. There's not a doubt in his mind that what the media has been saying isn't helping.

"For fuck's sake."

He's still struggling to get up from the floor, grunting and heaving at himself.

Clark's heart pangs.

"Kal, I fucking told you-"

Clark ignores the protests, and lifts Bruce gently, hand slipping to the gap in his shirt from where the button has sprung away. He sets Bruce back on his feet.

"You are-"

"Bruce." Clark shakes his head. "You're pregnant."

"I'm aware." He clenches his fists and squares his jaw. "But that does not mean I'm incapable of-"

"What it means," Clark steps closer, taking Bruce's wrist. "Is that you have a man in front of you, who is willing to do anything for you and the baby right now. And you need to utilise him."

"That man should know me well enough by now to know that I don't need to utilise anyone." 

"Well, I'm telling you that you should." Clark plucks at the waistband of Bruce's pants, peering at a red line where the seam is cutting into his belly. "And I'm going to buy you some maternity clothes."

Whatever retort Bruce was going to give to his first comment gives way to revulsion at his second. "No. You shouldn't have to do that, you can't afford it."

"Well you're not buying yourself any."

"I don't need-" Bruce cuts himself off - even he couldn't argue that point, there's too much evidence against him. "I'll get Alfred to buy me some."

"You said that last week. And the week before that."

"Just get on the bed and let me finish examining you." Bruce growls.

Clark does so, but not before fetching the eye torch and stethoscope from that bottom drawer. He sits patiently as Bruce shines the light in his pupils, and rests his palm on Bruce's stomach as he presses the stethoscope to Clark's chest.

"Both seem normal." Bruce mumbles.

"Because I'm fine Bruce." Clark tugs his wrist, and pulls him close. "Let me take care of you."

"I don't need you to."

"But I want to."

"It's too much." Bruce grumbles. "You don't owe me anything."

"It's not about owing you." Clark shakes his head. "Is it really so hard to believe that I just want look after you?"

"Yes. It is. You're not getting anything out of it."

"Right, it's not like you're carrying our baby or anything." Clark rolls his eyes, and bites his tongue before he goes any further. Why wouldn't I look after you? I love you. I would spend the rest of my life taking care of you if you let me. Please let me. I love you so much.

Bruce looks at him for a minute, brows knitted, before sighing and slumping into his arms. "Fine. Get me my laptop. We'll look at maternity clothes."

Clark moves fast enough to be back before he finishes his sentence.

"- And we're looking forward to seeing you on your scan tomorrow! You've gotten so big, I'm so excited to see what you look like now, I promised I wouldn't peek in at you, but it's been really hard." Clark coos at Bruce's belly, on his knees in the Watchtower's communication room as Bruce taps away at various bits of tech that Clark doesn't understand or care to learn. He's doing something or other to try and open up a line with Hal, one of the satellites between here and Oa having been knocked out of orbit by a space fight. Whatever it is, Clark gets to coo over the bump while the team wait.

He's finally in something more appropriate, a floaty top and pants combination that cost ten times as much as a week's paycheck. It's a little bit jarring in combination with the cowl on, but Bruce is strict with keeping costumes on during correspondence over any networks, let alone a non-League one. Each piece of maternity wear that Bruce had bought was worth more than Clark's entire wardrobe, which was an unsettling insight into the very likely future of having a two-year old kitted out in Prada. Clark will not be able to compete with buying the best for their child, but maybe he can make up for it in exciting (but careful) flights around the world and homecooked meals? He's trying not to think about it, how likely it is that the baby will favour Bruce.

"Can the baby understand what you're saying?" Arthur asks, looking up from sharpening his trident.

Bruce clicks his tongue. "Don't be stupid."

"They're a baby, Arthur. And not even born yet." Clark shakes his head, then speaks again to the bump. "Is Uncle Arthur an idiot? Wiggle if yes. Bruce, are they wiggling?"

"It would be deeply unwise for our child to have a connection to the League." Bruce grunts. "Bruce Wayne and Arthur Currie have never met."

"I hate to point out issues, but it's not like Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are especially close." Ollie slumps across the table. "How's that going to work?"

Clark tenses, and looks up at Bruce. He can't say he hasn't thought about it, but the thought of Bruce's potential 'solution' scares him too much.

"Completely different. Bruce Wayne has a preferred list of journalists, Clark being one of those. Once the baby's born, he can get an exclusive interview where Brucie opens up about life as a new parent, and their previous status as acquaintances can progress to close friends."

"It's really weird when you talk about yourself in third person." Arthur pipes in. "You should stop that."

Bruce doesn't reply to him, just keeps typing away.

Clark coos again to the bump. "Did you hear that? You have to call me Mr Clark the Close Friend in public."

Dinah snorts at that, and Bruce audibly rolls his eyes.

"Hello? Hello?"

Hal's voice comes through, and Clark bumps his head on the table as he stands, looking at the feed Bruce has gotten working. The monitor displays mostly Hal's forehead.

"Woah, Superman on his knees for Bats? In front of the team? That's crazy, can't believe I missed the public blowjob." Barry says offscreen.

"It wasn't a blowjob!" Clark feels his face burn.

"It was actually." Olly makes a lewd gesture. "It was crazy. Batman came everywhere."

"I hope you cleaned up." Diana says drily, and Clark buries his face in his hands.

"That's enough fooling around." Bruce grunts. "Have you discovered who may have sabotaged our comms?"

"Well, the Sinestro Corps are obvious suspects." J'onn replies. Hal backs away from the camera, and now all four of their colleagues in Oa are in frame.

"Tracking on Arkillo has gone dark. Could be him." Hal folds his arms. "Or - Occam's Razor - maybe it was a stray asteroid?"

"Why would you suggest that when you just said that one of the Yellow Lanterns is under the radar now?" Arthur scoffs.

"Because, idiot, they could be unrelated. It's not like our comms satellite is linked to - Wait, Spooky, is our satellite linked to tracking Arkillo?"

"No." Bruce clicks his tongue. "But I also don't believe in coincidences."

"Arkillo's one of the loser ones, right? Like, he's no Mogul." Barry mimes throwing a punch. "Let's just find and detain him, screw the tracker."

"I'm not sure his teammates would be peaceful with that arrangement." Diana pats Barry's shoulders. "We're focusing on the Oa rebuild right now. We can fight later."

"How are the Lantern Corps feeling about relations with the League right now? Did we reach an agreement?"

Bruce nods in approval at Dinah's question, and Clark feels a surge of envy. Instead of listening to Hal's answer, he starts scheming his own contribution that will make Bruce nod at him. Maybe he would even get a hum of agreement.

Aha.

He waits for Hal to stop talking, something about treaties and partnerships and trusting Superman. Oh that's good, Clark is a trustworthy guy. He nods along.

"To formalise anything, I think... Uh, well, they want Superman to visit."

Clark stops nodding along.

Hal looks sheepish. "I said I'd try and arrange something. But - Like you said, Bats, we haven't mentioned anything about the baby, I'm sure if I explained, Supes wouldn't have to... It might not be a time-limited thing! Like, in a few months, or next year maybe."

"Didn't that Kilowog guy say he wanted to see Supes sooner rather than later?" Barry must see the distraught look on Clark's face. "Or! Or, I might have misheard. It - Yeah, I don't think he said that."

"A formal alliance with the Lantern Corps would be huge." Bruce hums and clasps his hands together. "It would be best if Kal-El joined you then."

"B." Clark shakes his head, reaching out and putting a hand on his thigh. "We're not having another argument about this."

"Batman could come too?" Diana offers.

Clark bites his lip, half terrified of Bruce's answer.

But for once is his life, Batman is sensible.

"I don't think that's wise, given my current condition." Bruce pauses. "And as we've established previously, I'm not on active duty. If I were to go, and something happened, I'm not sure Superman would make the wisest decisions."

"I don't think I'd make any wise decisions if I was in Oa." Clark grips Bruce's leg a bit tighter. "I can't go."

"Kal." Bruce's voice goes soft, far softer than it has ever been in front of the League. "It would be okay."

"While the Lanterns' aid would be appreciated against a larger threat, it's not as if postponing an agreement would lead to any consequences." J'onn points out. "They're peacekeepers, not warlords. There's no reason we can't delay it."

"Delaying it would reflect kinda poorly on us, no?" Arthur glances at Clark. "Obviously we know it's exceptional circumstances, but to not even show up? That wouldn't go down well in Atlantis."

"Arthur's got a point." Dinah frowns. "It would be good if you went, Supes."

"We'd look after Bats." Ollie adds, sincere for once in his life.

Clark looks at Bruce, grimacing.

"We'd be alright." Bruce puts a hand on his bump. "And we could open a communication channel daily."

"Br - Batman." Clark swallows a lump in his throat. "I don't know how I'd cope."

"It's your call." Bruce pauses. "I trust you."

The words are too tender. They're raw. Sound just like they do in bed, on late nights when Clark gets to hold Bruce in his arms after the best sex in the world and pretend that they're a proper family.

They sound like the night after the first time they discussed Oa.

I don't want you on Oa. I need you here.

"I'm not going." Clark shakes his head. "Please tell the Lanterns that I have family matters to attend to, and that I won't be coming. But I'm happy to endorse Diana of Themyscira to speak on my behalf."

All eyes flick to Bruce, who regards Clark carefully, but doesn't say anything. He gives a small nod.

"Okay." Hal clears his throat. "Alright. I'll pass that on. Uh, we'll look into the potential sabotage - but I really don't think it's anything. Just focusing on an official alliance, right?"

"Correct." Bruce runs his hands along his bump beneath the table. "Are you sure it can be settled without Kal?"

"We'll make sure." Diana smiles reassuringly, with that fierce sparkle in her eyes that makes Clark believe everything she says.

"Good. To catch you up on Earth matters then. Arthur?"

"Right. So, there was an Atlantean mob..."

Clark sits back with a stretch, looking at the words on his screen. This may be his most well-written article, the golden standard that all future submissions will be compared to, what some may consider to be his magnum opus.

It is an article about cabbages.

And sure, it was interesting to delve into the how cabbage prices have rocketed sky high since a new grocery brand opened (a subsidiary of Lexcorp, how shocking), but really, Clark can't help but feel like he's being punished for something. Why else is Perry giving him these lame assignments? Last week, Lois got to go to Star City and write an expose on an illegal gambling ring.

He picks up the framed photo on his desk, and runs his fingertip across it.

The 20 week ultrasound was beautiful. The baby is really, properly becoming a little person, with a cute teeny nose, perfectly adorable limbs, someone so tiny and gorgeous and the most important thing in the world.

Their little boy.

Clark is going to have a son. A baby boy. They're going to play catch, and he's going to teach the tyke how to fly and jump and use his powers for good. Bruce will get him crisp suits and violin lessons, show him bravery and strength and selflessness.

He caresses his baby's cheek. Clark's never really been one for personal items on his desk, but Cat had interrogated him about the lack of photos with 'Future Mrs Kent', so this was a careful way to sidestep those questions. And it's certainly wonderful to have a reminder of everything Clark fights for, easily within reach.

Maybe the lack of engaging tasks is linked to the baby. Perry's keeping him 'out of trouble' so to speak. He is probably trying to be accommodating.

It's not like Clark has a leg to stand on to push for something more exciting. He's played into this clumsy persona - made his bed - and now he has to live with the consequences. No action for this soon-to-be father.

He sets the photo back down, and extends his ears to check on Bruce and the baby. He's at some cushy board meeting, his pulse steady and the baby's heartbeat thrumming healthily, as he speaks in his Brucie tone, laughing inanely at something.

"Please, gentleman, if any League member was going to be my baby daddy, it would be Superman. I aim high, you know. Gothamite or not, I'm not sure Batman's penchant for violence would bode well for a parent! Besides, imagine walking into a gala with Superman on my arm."

There's more laughter from everyone, but Clark hears the tiniest twitch in Bruce's body, lining up with the derisive comment about Batman.

Clark would be lying if he said he hadn't had concerns about the Bruce's potential parenting skills. He's seen Bruce berate League members for far longer than necessary, knows that the childhood trauma of losing his own parents at such a young age is bound to seep into his own actions, he has heard Dinah, in a hushed whisper, ask Ollie if he thinks Bruce is suitable for raising a baby.

But he has also watched Bruce buy and read a hundred different parenting guides, begin a 127-step plan to ensure both Wayne Manor and the Batcave are entirely babyproofed, investigate every room in his house and draw up a comprehensive spreadsheet to decide which would be best for a nursery, and cradle his bump whenever he has an opportunity. He's heard Bruce coo to his belly when Clark pretends to be asleep, practicing piano versions of nursery rhymes, and mumbling various name combinations to himself. Bruce has disengaged from fights when he deems them too risky, has let Clark don the batsuit for more dangerous patrol nights, and gives his stomach special attention when giving himself a medical analysis.

Bruce is going to be the perfect parent. Clark can't imagine anyone better to be carrying his son.

"Kent! Stop staring into space. Get back to work." Perry barks.

With an exaggerated fluster, Clark sets the photo frame back down.

"Right, yes, sorry Mr White."

Bruce looks exhausted.

Clark watches him over his mug of coffee, as Bruce strides through the Watchtower kitchen, palm on his belly. There's a slight sag to his shoulders, and his eyes seem more dimmed than usual. His sweater is slightly crumpled around his waist, and it looks like he doesn't even care that much.

No one else seems to react, so maybe Clark has just gotten too addicted to analysing every aspect of Bruce. He tunes into his heartbeat, and the pace is the same as ever, controlled and calm.

"I'm not saying you should name your baby after me..." Ollie says, bringing Clark's focus back to the conversation he's having. "But! Oliver is a really good name for boys. Popular, but not too popular."

"In your dreams, Queen." Bruce grunts, beating Clark to it. "Baby is going to have a good, respectable name."

"The real question is what's his last name gonna be?" Dinah hums, looking between them. "Wayne? Kent? Kent-Wayne, Wayne-Kent? Or are you gonna throw an El at the end too."

Bruce takes a seat, and Clark sees the way his elbows rest on the table, and the jealous glance he gives to Arthur's espresso. "It depends what context."

"Does it?" Clark furrows his brow, and Bruce frowns at him.

"Obviously. To the media, he'll be just Wayne. Legally, he'll be Wayne-Kent. And then he'll also have his Kryptonian name, which won't be anywhere officially, but we'll know."

"Oh." Clark's mouth goes dry. "I - I thought he'd just be a Wayne. That you wouldn't want the possibility of-"

"You're his father, Clark. I'm not going to take that away from you, or him." Bruce's hand rests on his belly. "Many in the upper echelon of society are able to hide real birth certificates under a dozen fake ones."

It sends a warmth through Clark's heart, and he doesn't say anything, just takes Bruce's hand and squeezes it tightly.

"Now." Bruce pauses, and it's almost like he's muffling a yawn. "We need to plan for the possibility of a large threat while Diana, Hal, Barry and J'onn are on their way back from Oa. I believe the destroyed satellite was a deliberate act of sabotage, and could be a sign of something coming."

"I respect you Bruce. You know that. However - and I mean this with love - do you not think you're being insanely fucking paranoid?"

"My insane fucking paranoia has averted multiple crises before. It never hurts to be prepared." He clicks his tongue, and Ollie slumps in his chair. "I have a list of known enemies who are possible culprits, and sorted potential unknown assailants into power-based categories..."

So that's what Bruce was doing instead of sleeping last night. Clark had tried to coerce him, pulling out all the stops that usually got Bruce into bed after a patrol (such as getting naked, touching Bruce's thighs, and saying he gets better 'connection' talking to the baby lying down), but the Bat had remained stubborn. No wonder he's so tired.

Clark looks at the sheets of paper Bruce spreads across the breakfast table, each densely packed with scrawls and diagrams and analysis. With his perfect memory, it won't be hard to keep track of, but he feels a pang of pity for Dinah, Ollie and Arthur as they groan at the detail. Bruce doesn't acknowledge it, continuing on.

"As for the Sinestro Corps, I believe a counter attack should be based on..."

Clark admires Bruce a lot. He has a great work ethic, he is so knowledgeable, he's honestly a prodigy. And yes, he's secretly in love with him or whatever, so he's biased, but sill.

All of those wonderful qualities are so true, and so real, but it does not negate the fact that even Clark can agree that four hours of planning for an attack that might not even occur is a little bit too much. Ollie is half-asleep, Dinah is practically pulling her hair out, and Arthur looks almost murderous.

Bruce has ignored all of this, and continued.

"If it is to be an energy-based lifeform as opposed to a cellular one, then we should begin with a Black Canary scream-"

Clark is getting tired too, if he's honest. It doesn't help that he's already finished reading the notes five times over, and has every tactical minutia stored in his brain forever now; maybe if he asks nicely then Bruce will let him go.

Not that he wants anything bad to happen, but a volcanic explosion to save people from would be really ideal right now.

"Darkseid is an unlikely but still credible threat, and with our restricted team, he could be very difficult to counter. An evacuation and planned re- Kh."

Clark's concentration and focus snaps back into effect at the sharp, sudden inhale of Bruce's breath. It seems to have revitalised the others too, each wearing matching concern.

"You okay?" Clark darts to Bruce's side, a hand on his shoulder. He gives Bruce a quick scan, but can't see any injuries or muscle spasms. The baby looks okay... Bruce's heartrate is slightly elevated.

"I'm fine." Bruce shakes his head, but he takes a deliberate deep breath and smooths one of the wrinkles in his sweater. "It's fine. As I was-"

"B, seriously, tell me. Is it the baby? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Clark." Bruce pauses, and his cheeks pinken. "He's just a strong kicker, that's all. It was just a mistake, I've been sloppy today, I won't let it affect - Don't look at me like that."

Clark is agape. "He's - He's kicking?"

Bruce nods, and Clark's palms jump to his belly, sliding beneath fabric. Holding Bruce's belly never fails to feel magical, but if he gets to feel the baby, gets to finally feel his son's movement...

"I wanna feel." Ollie whines. "Bruce. Let me feel."

"No." Clark grumbles. "I haven't even felt him yet. Wait your turn."

"No one else is feeling my bump." Bruce grumbles, and folds his arms. "I'm trying to run through battleplans, if you could all return to your seats."

"Fuck the plans, they're so boring. Is he really kicking?"

"I haven't felt it yet." Clark leans closer. "Hey baby boy. It's daddy. Is it true you just did your first kick? Do you wanna try again? Daddy would love to have a little high five. Or a high foot! C'mon baby, say hi to pa."

"Clark." Bruce grunts, but doesn't push him away. "My strategies..."

"We can do it later, promise! I just - Let me feel him, Bruce."

Bruce doesn't reply, but runs his fingers through Clark's curls.

"Hey baby." Clark coos again. "Baby boy. Just one, please? I love you, please give me a little kick."

He pecks a kiss to Bruce's stomach, but still no movement.

"I'm going to continue." Bruce clears his throat. "You can stay there. As for the rest of you; I'm recapping what we've covered so far, because it looks like you've all gotten distracted. Arthur, what was the last enemy I covered?"

Clark stays on his knees as Arthur guesses incorrectly, letting Bruce's voice flow over him as he caresses Bruce's bump, tracing stretch marks and doodling with his fingertip. He'll sit here all day and all night if he has to, just to feel a single wriggle.

He waits, and he waits, giving the bump a few more kisses when it won't interrupt Bruce's gestures.

And then Bruce's voice catches in his throat again, and Clark feels a slam against his palm, followed by two more.

"Rao." He whispers.

"Did it happen? Did you feel it?" Ollie bends over to make eye contact with Clark. "Is it my turn?"

"You're not touching me." Bruce shakes his head, and runs his thumb over the crest of his belly, a slight wince on his face.

Oh.

Clark hadn't considered that it might hurt. Maybe for a normal pregnancy, with a human baby, it wouldn't. This is likely the fault of Kryptonian genes.

"Sorry. I didn't think it would-"

"Why are you sorry?" Bruce huffs. "You didn't do anything."

"But it hurt you."

Bruce rolls his eyes. "It's nothing, Clark. I'm just not used to it. Once he's done it a few more times, it'll be fine."

"I didn't know baby kicks hurt." Dinah frowns. "Maybe I don't want kids."

"Probably just the superpowers." Arthur claps her on the back. "Don't let Bruce scare you and Ollie off making a little Green Canary. Or Black Arrow."

Ollie snorts at that, while Bruce tuts.

"You're all clearly not paying attention."

"Bruce, my man, I have not been listening for the last hour."

"So your plan if Earth gets invaded by a tentacled alien?"

"Uh, shoot it." Ollie snaps his finger with a wink. "We'd just figure it out. But it's not actually happening. Our satellite got taken out by an asteroid, and you're being overly cautious."

"Being overly cautious is Bruce's speciality. And it has helped us before." Clark pats Bruce's stomach as he speaks, hoping for a little more movement.

"Yeah, yeah, defend your man, whatever."

"We'll adjourn for today." Bruce grunts. "And we'll meet again Friday, where you will all explain to the rest of the team what we discussed here, once they recover from their trip to Oa."

"Finally! God, I need to stretch my legs, they are killing me."

As Ollie, Dinah and Arthur stand up and leave, Clark stays by Bruce.

"You should get some sleep tonight." He mumbles. "I'll do your patrol."

"... Fine."

"Did it really hurt?" Clark brushes his thumb beside Bruce's belly button. "I don't want him to make your pregnancy any more difficult than it already is."

"I'm fine, Clark." Bruce scoffs. "And my pregnancy is fine too."

"You look exhausted."

"He's getting heavy, that's all." Bruce stretches. "It's normal. Promise. I'd tell you if something was wrong."

"Mkay." Clark lowers his head, speaking to the baby once more. "Okay little man. You're gonna behave tonight, okay? Be a bit more gentle with yout kicks, please, your mommy-"

The word slips out without permission and Bruce chokes.

"What?"

"I mean - I mean. I don't..." Clark swallows a lump in his throat, feeling his face burn. "I don't know. Sorry. Sorry. I know - You're not - Ugh, it's stupid, it's this whole thing, and - I am really sorry, it won't happen again-"

Bruce stands up, and Clark follows suit, shifting his cape between his fingers under Bruce's silent gaze.

"It's - All the papers are saying it, and so that's what people call it at the Planet, and - And they know I'm going to be a dad so people ask about my baby mama, and Lois - It got in my head. Sorry. That's my fault."

"Okay." Bruce says, a little hesitant.

Clark smiles nervously. "Really, I didn't mean it. You're going to be a wonderful father to our baby."

"No." Bruce tuts. "As in, okay, you're right, the media are calling it motherhood, we wouldn't want to confuse him, and as the one actually carrying our baby, I shouldn't have to share a title. So... Maybe."

"Maybe?" Clark's heart stutters.

"We'll try it out. You can keep using it, for now, and I'll tell you if it's okay." Bruce pauses. "But not in front of anyone."

"Yes sir." Clark mock salutes. "You're gonna be such a good mommy."

"Hm." Bruce pulls a face. "We'll see."

Clark feels a growl in his throat as Bruce lays naked on the bed, bump round and enticing, chest bountiful and soft, thighs thick and fuckable, and face absolutely perfect as always.

Clark is so lucky. He is so fucking lucky that he gets to be the one to see this. That out of all the people Bruce has slept with, he's the one who got to father his child.

"You're so fucking gorgeous." Clark mumbles as he wraps a hand around his cock. "Bruce, you're literally the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen."

"I'm glad you seem to think so." Bruce cradles his bump. "Today I had one of my board members tell me I'm getting fat and losing my looks."

"That board member is an idiot and I hate them." Clark frowns; Bruce's voice had been light and jovial, but there was a waver in there, a pinch of self-doubt. "You're pregnant and you're sexy."

"One of my assistants was directed to give me an exercise programme for after I give birth." Bruce pinches a lip of chub at his waist. "I have been indulging too much. There's only so far the excuse of pregnancy will take me."

"You have been making sure your body gets the nourishment you need to grow our little boy." Clark runs a hand along Bruce's hips, stroking the roundest part of him. "And anyone who doesn't think you look amazingly hot right now is blind. Or stupid. Or both."

Bruce hums, and looks at himself, then at Clark. "I hope you know I'm grateful that you still find me attractive like this."

"And I'm grateful that you're still letting me fuck you even after I got you pregnant." Clark walks his fingers up to Bruce's chest. "Nice pecs."

"Ugh."

"I told you they'd double in size. Didn't realise it would happen this early though. Fuck, B, you're 23 weeks. That's 17 more weeks to go. Our baby's gonna be so well fed."

"Fuck, Clark." Bruce's voice is strangled, and Clark trails a finger around his nipple, before squeezing one breast gently. No milk leaks out, but it's bound to only be a matter of time.

"You just look so perfect. So full with our baby, carrying him so well. Never thought pregnancy could look so good." Clark leans down, and presses a kiss to Bruce's lips, leering over him. "Imagine this change to you is permanent. And you'll just get pregnant again. And again."

"Didn't peg you as someone with a pregnancy kink." Bruce grunts. "There will be no more after this."

Clark elects to ignore the kink accusation, probably because there's an element of truth to it. He kisses Bruce again instead, and drags his hands down to his ass, fingers playing at his hole. 

Bruce flexes into his touch as best as he can, the bump restricting his movement a little. It makes Clark harder.

Maybe he does have a pregnancy kink. 29 feels too old to realise this for the first time.

"Can't believe you still want more." Clark mumbles, drawing circles with his thumb, Bruce shivering as he does. "I think you have addiction to sex, Bruce."

"Mostly just sex with you." Bruce grunts, and the phrase goes straight to Clark's dick, twitching.

Carefully, he inserts a finger, then a second, Bruce tightening around him. Clark scissors, and Bruce pulls him into a kiss, whimpering into his mouth. With his lips still on Bruce's, Clark tests something out.

He's never used his superpowers on Bruce, not while they have sex.

But...

He speeds up the swirling of his fingers, just a little bit beyond human, so that they'd be a little blurry.

It has the intended effect. Bruce moans, a shudder flowing through his entire body, and Clark grins. He stills his fingers, and Bruce is still panting.

"Oh my god." He groans when he pulls off for air, chest heaving. "Why have you never done that before? Fuck. Do it again, Clark."

"You like it? You like getting fucked by Superman rather than Clark Kent?"

"Kal." Bruce attempts to buck his hips into Clark's fingers, but the movement is a little pathetic. "God."

"No God." Clark shakes his head and licks his lips. "Just Superman."

He pulls out his fingers, and lines up his cock with Bruce's ass.

"Fuck me, Superman." Bruce murmurs, eyes wide.

"Yes, Mr Wayne." Clark grins, and sinks in. Bruce starts to moan, but Clark cuts him off with a kiss, rewarded for this with a gentle squeeze on his bicep.

He starts slow, like normal. Rocking into Bruce gently, with Bruce's own cock twitching against him, upright and leaking pre-cum. Then he holds Bruce tighter, and tunes in to his inner Superman.

Strong. Steady. Virile. He's Superman, who impregnated Bruce with a half-Kryptonian baby, and he is going to fuck Bruce so hard that he cums into next week.

He thrusts, faster and faster, gripping the bedframe to keep himself in the right position (he'd die if this accidentally ends up hurting Bruce), and starts channelling as much energy as he can.

Bruce is writhing, moaning, gasping between kisses, and in the brief moments he's able to draw enough breath, he whispers.

"Don't stop."

So Clark doesn't stop. He feels his own dick aching as Bruce clenches around him, cumming all over himself, and still Bruce tells him to continue, kisses sloppy, panting raw.

Clark chases his own orgasm, the speed of his movements making Bruce's hole slick with his own pre-cum.

"Clark." Bruce murmurs, throat raw. "You feel so good."

That's the final straw. Clark cums with a shout, hips stuttering to a stop, and wow he feels so good. He breathes heavily, and steadies himself against the bedframe, looking down at Bruce.

Bruce stares up at him, pupils blown.

"I'll clean up in a sec." Clark mumbles, voice low. "Just... One second."

Bruce hesitates, then reaches his arms out, and loops them around Clark's shoulders. Clark leans into the touch, wrapping his own arms around Bruce's waist, easing out of Bruce slowly.

"You're perfect." Clark whispers. "I think you're perfect. So good at taking me. So strong."

"I can't believe you've never fucked me like that before." Bruce mumbles. "You might have ruined sex for me, forever."

Clark furrows his brow as Bruce lays his head on Clark's chest, eyes closed. "What?"

"No one else could ever compare to you."

"Oh." Clark hopes Bruce doesn't feel just how hard his heart is hammering. If he does, he doesn't comment on it.

Eventually, he rolls out of bed, which makes Bruce huff (and Clark's heart ache). Clark cleans himself and Bruce with as much care as he can muster, and when he flops back under the covers, Bruce cosies up to him again, and Clark rests his hand on the bump, feeling the baby kick against him.

If this is the most Clark can get from Bruce, if this is the closest he has to a family, he'll treasure every second.

One of the best things about Batman is that he tends to be able to predict things, to the point that sometimes Clark wonders if he has some secret clairvoyance power. It's saved the League's asses multiple times, with Bruce's plans coming through for them time and time again.

The downside of this is that his more paranoid predictions have a way of coming true, even if everyone disregards them.

Just one day after Hal, Diana, Barry and J'onn return from Oa, the Sinestro Corps have a ship in the Earth's atmosphere. And they brought a colossal monster with them. One with teeth that light up Bruce's Kryptonite radars. And if Clark's exhaustion means anything, that laser blast from the monster's mouth has similar effects to a red sun.

So. Not great.

"Why do your enemies have a creature that's designed to screw me?" Clark grumbles over the communicator as he crashes into a building, thrown back by a yellow dynamite construct.

"Maybe they heard the Lanterns wanted to team up with you, and wanted to send a message." Hal retorts.

In the skyline, Clark can see flashes of green and yellow together, sparks flying. There's an explosion near Diana, and over the comm she takes a shaky breath.

Clark looks at the wrecked building he's smashed into, scanning the rubble for any sign of life. Ah.

He swoops a large pillar up and tosses it aside, lifting a young woman into his arms.

"I'm going to need to evacuate you ma'am." He says, and flies her carefully to Green Arrow, who's taken on civilian management duties.

"My son!" She screams. "My boy. He - Superman, please, he went to play before this started, please, my boy, I can't, I can't leave my - Let me get him, let me -"

"Easy, miss." Clark swallows the dread in his stomach. "I'll find him. What's his name?"

"Charlie." She whimpers, tears flowing, and it's like she doesn't even care about her broken ribs.

"Don't worry. I'll find Charlie. If you could follow my colleague here, he'll lead you to the nearest medbay. I'll be back with Charlie in no time."

She sobs again, and Clark zips off, scouring through buildings with his x-ray vision.

"Update?" Bruce's voice comes in crisp.

"It's not looking great." Barry says, words fast, breathing jittery. "I - Hyah! - I'm - Gh! - still dealing with these - Fuck off! - annoying little imps."

"Canary's throat is sounding dry." Diana reports, stoic. "She's received a few wounds to her arms. I'm holding up okay. Maybe a bruised ego, Arkillo got a few hits on me. He has retreated to the ship after I broke his arm. "

"Speaking of the ship. They have a lot of artillery." J'onn adds. "And... a discomforting usage of fire."

"No sign of Mongul." Dinah rasps, indeed sounding worn out. "Might be an Arkillo headed mission. There's a lot of his kind here."

"Sinestro's not around either." Hal says. "I'm - Oh my god, actually die, you're so fucking annoying - about to absolutely own one of these little bitches. But, uh... Not loads of progress on that Supe-killing Monster. I genuinely don't know what we're gonna do, for things that big and strong, Supes is usually the go to."

"... Kal?" Bruce's voice is almost neutral, but Clark knows better. A hint of fear.

"I'm here, B. Just - Just gotta find a civ, then I'll be back in the game."

"Green Arrow's on civilian duty." Bruce clicks his tongue. "You should be focusing on the ship."

"I know. I know. Don't worry, it'll be fine. Promise. You don't need to keep checking in."

"None of you read my plan for this exact scenario, of course I need to keep checking in." Bruce grunts. "Just be thankful I'm not there."

"I am thankful, I just think you need to be -" Clark smashes a stray yellow robot with one swift punch as he keeps scanning, "- relaxing, and not stressing out."

"I'll bear that advice in mind. Green Arrow, why is Superman doing your role?"

"He's looking for a kid, Bats." Ollie says quietly. "We've got an injured mom over here."

Perhaps if Bruce wasn't pregnant, if they weren't expecting a child, he'd tell Clark to focus on the plan.

"Ah." He says instead. "Did you need help?"

"If you come anywhere near this battlefield, I will hold you prisoner." It's a mostly joking threat. Mostly.

Bruce tuts, and leaves the comm line.

Clark dodges another blast from the evil fucking red-sun-laser-monster, and his muscles ache a little just from being near it. Life must suck for people who don't have invulnerability. How does anyone do it?

In a terrifying moment, his x-ray vision flickers, but whatever residual effect the beam left in the air, it dissipates, and Clark can see through walls again.

There, hiding in an alleyway! A little boy, maybe 8 or 9, with the same mousy brown eyes and hair as his mother. Clark jets towards him.

At his approach, the child flinches, only for his eyes to widen when he sees the sigil on Clark's chest.

"Superman?"

"Hi. Charlie?" Clark squats down, and the boy runs to him, hurtling into his arms, tears all over his face. "Your mom sent me. You've been very brave out here. I'm so proud of you, I'm sure your mom will be too. But you have to get to safety now. Are you happy for me to fly?"

The boy's nods, whimpering, and Clark cradles him in his arms, making sure to keep the journey nice and gentle. It doesn't look like he's injured at all, successfully hidden from the Sinestro Corps, but his heart is running at an almost dangerous pace.

"Were you playing anything fun in the park, scamp?" Clark coaxes, shielding him from a nearby explosion with his arm as they fly carefully.

"Lookin' at bugs." He mumbles, sniffling. "Where's my mommy?"

"That's fun. Your mom is okay, don't worry, she's with Green Arrow. He's one of the Justice League, he's helping everyone stay safe. And he's going to make sure you stay safe too, alright?"

"What if you don't win?" Charlie sobs.

"We will. We always win." Clark ruffles the kid's hair, and sets him down in front of Ollie. "Here we go. Look after this one, okay Green Arrow?"

"Of course." Ollie says softly, and offers his hand. "Come with me kid, your mom's just this way."

Clark gives Charlie a little wave, before zipping back to the fray.

Things really aren't looking great. Sure, the majority of the Sinestro Corps are either dead or unconscious, but that ship is still up there shooting rockets down, and the monster hasn't even got a scratch on it. The same cannot be said for the Justice League.

Dinah's passed out, and healing in the medbay with the civilians. Barry's got far too many bruises and bleeds to be anywhere close to healthy, Hal's struggling against various fear constructs, J'onn's having trouble keeping up with the gunfire, Arthur's trident can only do so much against gory aliens, and Diana has tried to attack the monster, but instead just got badly seared and thwacked around.

Clark isn't in good shape either. His healing factor has slowed down a lot by virtue of catching a few bursts from the laser, he's got a gnash in his arm that isn't healing, and he's gotten dangerously close to getting bitten in half every time he flies up to try and burn the monster's eyes out.

He has one plan. But he doesn't like it. And he doesn't think Bruce will either.

But his team aren't holding up great, if they continue at the pace they're at now, run ragged and wounded and weakened, there's only so much time before they get overrun. As long as that ship is up there firing at them, and that monster is terrorising the city, there is no winning.

The solution, then, is to get rid of both in one go, then clean-up stragglers. The Sinestro Corps' ship keeps shooting down their own planes and jets (RIP the League repair budget), but the monster's skin has been impervious to any misaimed fire.

"I have an idea." Clark announces over the comm. "It's risky."

"We can do risky." Diana says.

"Hell, we need risky." Barry pants.

"Mm." Clark checks who's on the line. Batman's still there, silent, ready to pass judgement. "Everyone pull back, regroup here."

He clicks his communicator off, and waits for the League. His stomach churns.

Fuck, Clark must be stupid. He might actually be an idiot.

"You got something, Supes?" Hal asks on approach, voice a little shaky. There's sweat all over his face.

"Tell us what we should do." Diana cracks her knuckles. "I'm happy to do whatever's needed." The burns along her side are bright red and weeping, it's a miracle she's not crying in pain.

"I don't know how much longer I can keep up." Barry huffs, hands on his knees.

J'onn looks at Clark, and his face is grim. "... I don't think this is wise."

"Do you have a better plan?"

J'onn bows his head, glum.

"What's up?" Hal's heart is hammering so loud, Clark's not even sure he needs superhearing for it. "What - What's the plan?"

"Comms off first."

With hesitance, they turn comms off, each member of the team looking wary.

"I'm going to fly that monster into the ship."

A pause.

"What the fuck?" Barry stares at him. "What? No, seriously, Kal, what's the plan?"

"That is the plan." Clark stands tall. "It's been destroying all of the bombs, jets and rockets we've aimed at it. But it can't penetrate the monster's skin. And I'm willing to bet that the monster can't survive both space and the explosion of the ship getting destroyed. Even if it does, it would be weakened enough for further attacks to actually harm it. So... Yeah. That's the idea."

"I hate to point out problems." Hal swallows a gulp. "But if you get hit with that red-sun beam, or it bites you?"

"Then I work my ass off to complete the mission, and we go from there."

"You could die." Diana clutches Clark's arm. "It's dangerous."

"I know."

"You're having a kid." Barry's voice strains. "There's - No, c'mon, surely one of us has something else?"

"I know." Clark squeezes Barry's shoulder. "I know. But it might be okay."

"Kal-El, this is a terrible idea." Diana shakes her head. "You're a fool if you think we're going to let you do this."

"It will be alright. I promise." Clark offers his bravest smile, the most Superman grin he can have. "We have a duty to this world. We have a duty to each other as team mates. We're all struggling, and people are dying. This way, casualties are minimised. This is the job. I wouldn't be able to stop any of you from making this decision."

"Bats will kill us." Hal mumbles. "He'll kill us if we let you go on a suicide mission."

"You'd be surprised how many times Superman sacrifices himself for the world comes up in his contingencies." Clark smiles fondly. "It might be okay. But if it's not... Look after him. And look after the baby."

"Supes, please, there - there should be something else..." Barry trails off as another blast of fire from the ship erupts, yet another building collapsing.

"We'll keep them distracted." Diana mumbles, and she slaps Clark on the back. "I'll see you after."

"You better be the most careful you can be." Hal huffs, and soars off to fight another herd of Sinestro creatures.

"You got this Supes." Barry looks tearful. "I - I'll make sure I run and catch you if you need it."

Clark looks at J'onn, who regards him quietly for a few seconds.

"I'll speak to him over comm, don't worry." Clark whispers. "Wish me luck."

"You'll probably need it."

He's not sure whether J'onn is referring to his Throw-Self-And-Kryptonite-Monster-Into-Space plan, or the speaking to Bruce. Either way, he's right.

Clark takes a deep breath, and flicks his communicator on.

"Hey B."

"Kal, if you don't tell me what's happening right fucking now, I swear I will get over there and-"

"Easy." Clark tries to keep his voice light as he flies up, and dodges a few mini droids. "We were just having a battle meeting."

"You cut me out." Bruce growls. "What's the plan?"

"You worry too much." Clark does a loop-de-loop, in an effort to draw the monster's attention. "I want to talk to you."

"And I want you to tell me-"

"Would you have wanted me if I wasn't Superman?"

"What?"

Clark spins in the air, and the beast looks at him. "If I wasn't Superman, would you have even looked at me?"

"That's a ridiculous question. I can't answer this hypothetical." Bruce grunts. "What are you even- Tell me what your plan is."

"Please. If you were still you, but I was just that kid from Kansas..."

"I don't know Kal. Realistically, no, I wouldn't know who you were, and if I did, that would probably a bad thing. But - we're not just... You're more than Superman. I -"

"I know." Clark floats backwards, leading the monster to a correct line up. The monster does not want to obey, and shoots another beam at him; Clark dives to avoid it. "But! I am Superman, and that's why we... are what we are."

"Kal-"

"And, uh. Part of being Superman - being a hero - is the whole selfless thing. Putting others before yourself. Taking a hit for someone else."

"You need to stop what you're doing and come up with a better plan, you-"

"I've tried, B. But you write all the best plans. I read all your strat sheets. Page 309 of Threat S03NUY."

"That's out of date." Bruce says, voice a little panicked. "That's over six months old, practically irrelevant, you - And you need to look at the 308 pages before that anyway, there's no way you need that much of a contingency."

"It's okay."

"It is not okay."

"Bats." Clark hesitates on his words as he stays confident in his actions, firing a few lasers from his eyes to lure the monster closer. "I should tell you something."

"It can wait for afterwards." Bruce says firmly. "Wait there, don't do anything stupid, I'm getting in the Batwing-"

"Don't do that." Clark huffs. "You're off active duty."

"Unless there's a world-ending threat." Bruce grumbles back. "I'm coming, don't you dare move-"

"Batman. Please." Clark shoots a few more lasers from his eyes. "The Last Son of Krypton needs you."

Bruce's breath wavers.

"Just in case the worst happens-"

"Don't fucking say that."

"Just in case!" Clark hears Bruce take another shaky breath, and he again flies into the monster's eyeline, dipping below a beam. Nearly lined up, only a little more to go. And then even if Clark gets injured, hopefully the momentum keeps them both hurtling towards the ship. "I want to say that I hope the baby arrives safely."

"Kal-"

"And I want you to tell him that daddy loves him. So, so much. Make sure he knows that, okay B? He has to know."

"You can tell him yourself." Bruce's voice is raw. Almost teary.

"Tell him about Krypton, when he's old enough. Take him to the Fortress. Ma and Pa will teach him how to use any powers he might have. But make sure he knows that daddy's proud of him, even if he never gets any!"

"Stop it."

Clark dives down as the monster spews another laser at him. Time seems to slow a little bit, as Clark flies beneath it, rocketing towards it's chest. Nearly all done.

"And B?"

"Don't."

"This one's really important." Clark collides with scales, and puts all his energy into manoeuvring up. Every ounce of strength he can muster, he sinks it all into flying up, with as much speed as he can. For a few seconds, the monster just flails. "Tell him that I'm completely, utterly, maddeningly in love with his mom."

"Kal." Bruce rasps, and Clark is grateful that the last things he hears may very well be Bruce calling his name.

"You tell him that the most stupid thing his daddy ever did was not telling mom just how in love he is. It's important for kids to know their parents love each other. And his daddy has been head over heels since their first kiss."

"Clark." It's a full on sob, something he would never, ever expect to hear from Bruce, not over comm, not when they're in costume.

"Woah, B." Clark and the monster are in space. The monster is writhing, and rearing its head back, jaws gnashing. Only a little further. "No names while in costume. That's your rule."

Juuust a bit further. He can still hear Bruce crying.

"I'm sorry B. Sorry I've left it so late. But Rao, I love you."

A sniffle. Clark thinks he can hear engines roar, but he's not sure if that's the ship he's about to crash and explode into, or if it's coming through Bruce's comm.

It better fucking not be coming through Bruce's comm.

Clark is about to tell him off, when sharp teeth slice into him. Pain fires throughout his entire body, and he has never felt so weak in his life, and - fuck he's bleeding, fuck it hurts, fuck, he's going to die. Clark can only scream, and his trajectory continues as planned.

The monster crashes into the ship, fire is everywhere, there's an awful hot beam of red in his eyes and fuck, Clark can't breathe, he's bleeding, his eyes feel like they're going to pop out of his sockets.

Clark reaches out towards Earth, fingertips outstretched like maybe if he just thinks hard enough he'll get there. He knows he won't. Clark coughs, but no sound comes out. His body convulses.

But the ship is in tatters, the monster's split in two, and Clark did it.

Earth is okay. The League is okay. Bruce is okay. And in around three-four months, the most beautiful little boy is going to be born, one who hopefully looks just like his mother, and he's going to be okay too.

Clark tries again to breathe, sight flickering. He just takes it in, the Earth. So wonderful. Such a wonderful place, Clark is so grateful he could protect it.

The Earth, spaceship debris, alien corpses, the Batwing, a black-clad spaceman, monster guts, potentially Clark's own guts (maybe?), the satellites -

Hold on. The Batwing? A spaceman?

Clark is probably hallucinating in his last moments alive. He shuts his eyes as he feels a hand on his chest, and a mask of some kind on his face. Dying feels weird.

Before his consciousness gives way, he pictures Bruce holding a baby, safe and sound. Yeah. This was worth it.

Emptiness.

Darkness.

Nothing.

... Beeping.

Voices.

Pain.

Darkness.

Sleep.

The first thing Clark notices when he wakes up is the dim glow of a diagnostic screen beside his bed. The second thing he notices is that his head hurts. The third thing he notices is that he's alive.

Interesting. Last time he checked, he had been dying in space, and the League were all on Earth, without airship access. Apart from Bruce, in the Batcave, with the Batwing. But Clark had specifically requested he not get involved.

Suspiciously, Clark is still alive. And... hm, he had indeed seen a glimpse of a dark black spaceship.

Bruce never fucking listens to him.

Clark closes his eyes again, listening to the quiet beeping of his own vitals being monitored. What kind of idiot zooms into space while pregnant, to save someone who may very well have died before he got there?

Probably the same kind of idiot who goes to space with a monster that can kill him, and blows up a spaceship.

He concentrates on how his body's feeling. It's not too bad, all things considered. He's definitely felt worse, just a few pangs in his side, and a general soreness of his muscles, the usuals after a bit of kryptonite and red sun combo exposure. A little nauseous too, but the headache has faded, as typical when he comes to after being knocked out. Given the extent of his injuries compared to how he feels now, he was maybe out cold for a few days while his body healed. Not too long.

Hopefully someone called in sick to work on his behalf. Perry will be pissed otherwise.

He opens his eyes again, the Watchtower medbay ceiling looking down at him. Clark rolls onto his side, and reads his health diagnostics on the screen. A good pulse, his oxygen levels look good, a broken bones that have already healed (thank you, regeneration factor), looks like he's still dealing with a few left over effects from the kryptonite bites he'd suffered, but looking -

Did Clark tell Bruce he's in love with him?

He watches the pulse on the screen ratchet up as the thought hits him.

Holy shit, he did. Clark fucking told Bruce about the love he has been hiding for years. Why would he do that? What the fuck? Does past-Clark have no consideration for present-Clark? How the hell is he going to look at Bruce ever again?

The screen beeps as his heartrate climbs faster, and almost immediately afterwards, the medbay doors slide open, Diana rushing in, rubbing bleary eyes.

She seems to have recovered from her burn - skin is nearly as good as new.

Clark waves to her awkwardly, heartrate slowing, and she beams.

"Kal!" She hurries to his side, and rests a hand on his arm. "You're awake! How are you feeling?"

"Fine." Clark says, instead of Bruce is never going to kiss me ever again, I'm going to die. "A little sore. Did - Did it all work out?"

"Of course it did." Diana smiles softly, and glances at his vitals. "Your plan worked. However, never do it again. Do you have any idea how terrifying it is to see Superman hooked up to an oxygen mask?"

"I imagine it's not the most inspiring." Clark pauses. "... I told Bruce to stay at the Manor."

"You're an idiot if you think he was just going to sit still while you fly headfirst into a suicide mission." Diana rolls her eyes, and fluffs his pillow. "He's very angry."

Clark nods, sighing.

"Hal reported the incident to the Lantern Corps the moment the fight ended. They've sent their apologies for getting us wrapped up in their mess. Clean-up was finished after a week, and-"

"Hold on." Clark blinks. "A week? I've been out for a week?"

Diana pats his arm and frowns sympathetically. "Closer to three, actually."

"Three weeks?" Clark bolts upright, ignoring the slight groan of his muscles as he does. "What?"

"Easy now. You're still not at full strength, don't strain yourself." Diana pushes him back down, with far too much ease compared to normal. "Yes. Three weeks. We told the Planet that Clark Kent had a personal emergency. Your parents know you're safe. And your month's rent has been paid on time."

"Bruce? How's..?"

"He's okay. As I said, very angry. But he and the baby are alright, physically unharmed." Diana pauses. "He's been sitting in with you almost every hour. It's very difficult forcing him to sleep, you've gotten unlucky missing him. Or maybe lucky. You're in for a long telling off, if it's anything close to what he gave the rest of us."

"It was his plan." Clark mumbles. "I read it. What To Do If An Anti-Superman Godzilla Attacks Earth."

"Is that real?"

"Yeah." Clark sighs and closes his eyes. "He has one for an Anti-Wonder-Woman Godzilla too, don't worry, it's not favouritism."

"That man's paranoia is alarming."

"Mm." He breathes deeply. The nausea is quickly fading. "Will he forgive me?"

"Of course, Kal. He always does."

Over the course of the next few hours, as midnight turns to daytime, Clark is visited in his bed by almost his whole team. He'd flown across to greet Barry, only to be forced back into resting, Hal had brought him a weird and frankly ugly plant, Dinah and Ollie regaled him with stories about clean-up, J'onn played chess with him, and Arthur provided a comprehensive summary of an Atlantean soap opera.

It's not until mid-afternoon that Bruce shows up.

He looks, frankly, terrible. There are deep dark circles beneath his eyes, a gaunt expression on his face, and it looks as though he put only 60% effort into getting dressed, which is like the Bruce equivalent of throwing himself down the stairs.

The moment he steps into the medbay, the chatter in the room stops, all eyes swivelling to him.

Clark wants to bury his head in his hands. He's about to rejected in front of the entire League, by the man pregnant with their child. This is going to be humiliating. Speaking of pregnant, Bruce must be about 28 weeks now. Fuck. It hurts to think about how much he might have missed in the past three weeks. More kicking, a finalised baby name, shopping for the nursery...

Rather than curling in on himself and weeping from embarrassment, Clark smiles at Bruce, in what he hopes to be a reassuring, sorry-for-confessing-my-love-for-you-when-I-was-about-to-die look that single-handedly fixes everything Bruce may have been feeling while Clark was unconscious.

Bruce scowls at the smile, and stalks to his bedside.

"Hi-"

Slap.

Clark raises a hand to his cheek, furrowing his brow. It's not like it hurt, he's recovered enough to not feel the sting of Bruce's palm, but still.

"Um-"

"You stupid, stupid, fucking idiot." Bruce growls.

"I-"

And then Bruce grabs him by the collar, and pulls him into a kiss. Clark's brain lags.

Bruce only kisses him for sex. Are they about to have hate-sex in front of the League? That's so weird. He should push Bruce away and tell him that sex in front of colleagues is unprofessional, but unfortunately he loves kissing Bruce, so he just winds his arms around him instead, melting into his mouth.

Bruce's fingers run through his hair, and they're still just kissing. Lips on lips, licking into each other, and Bruce is burying himself deeper in Clark's arms.

"I feel like I should cover my eyes." Barry mumbles, and Clark only faintly registers it.

Bruce pulls away, and rests his forehead against Clark's, thumb brushing along his jawline.

"Don't ever do that again." It sounds far softer than Clark expects it to.

"It was in your plans." Clark mumbles, as if he lacks any braincells. Bruce glares in response.

"I refuse to believe you considered the multitude of other options for S03NUY."

"... I kind of blanked." Clark pauses, and Bruce takes that moment to kiss him again.

All things considered, this is a very strange reaction to Clark's confession of love and ensuing sacrifice.

"We should leave." Diana murmurs, and turns to head out.

"Maybe I wanna experiment with voyeurism, don't tell me what to do." Hal gripes in response, earning a splutter from Barry.

Clark is not able to input, because Bruce seems invested in making out with him so hard that his mouth might fall off. Which honestly, Clark can live with. He is happy to give up his mouth in favour of Bruce.

Vaguely, Clark registers the League leaving one by one. It's not until a few seconds after that Clark leans back, still holding Bruce.

"I'm sorry. For... All of it."

"I know." Bruce hums. "I get it. I think any of us would have done the same."

"Right. Yeah." Clark runs his hands down Bruce's back.

”But seriously. Never do anything like that again." Bruce glares at him. "Ever. Don't you fucking dare even think about it."

"Yes sir." Clark says, but deep down, he can't quite bring himself to mean it. Bruce would understand. Self-sacrifice is a fundamental principle of saving the world. Even if it means leaving the people you love behind.

Bruce glances at Clark's diagnostics, running a hand along his arm. "Feeling okay?"

"Before or after you slapped me?"

Bruce frowns. "If it actually hurt you, then that's a concern, and we should-"

"I'm joking. I'm joking, B. Promise." Clark squeezes his hand. "I'm alright. Had a few waves of weakness but I'm fine, really."

"Mm. Still. You should stay here for at least another day."

"You never let me keep you in the medbay."

"I've never needed to."

"You have walked out of here with so many injuries that you're lucky I haven't wrapped you in bubble wrap by now." Clark frowns at the thought. "Speaking of you being out of danger - What the hell were you doing in the Batwing? You were meant to be away from the battle."

"I was observing from the Watchtower, you know that."

"That's completely different from you getting involved."

Bruce folds his arms. "I didn't get involved. I saved your life, once you'd destroyed the enemy."

"There were still some -"

"Clark." Bruce's jaw squares. "How could you expect me to sit back and watch you die?"

"I know, I get that, I just - Bruce, what if something had happened to you, or the baby, or -"

"Something was happening to you!" Bruce grits his teeth. "What if it had been the other way around?"

"You're pregnant, it is not the same -"

"You said you love me."

Clark swallows his nerves as Bruce's gorgeous grey eyes pierce into him. "I did. I do."

"There isn't a world where you say that, and I don't risk everything to save you." Bruce breaks eye contact. "You're a fool if you think I'd let you go without a fight."

"But our baby-"

"Clark." Bruce scoffs, and rests a hand on his stomach. "If I didn't think he'd be alright, I wouldn't have acted, or I would have pulled back. He'd have been all I had left of you. Maybe I'm reckless, or impulsive, but it's calculated."

"I am sorry." Clark bites his lip. "For telling you."

"I know." Bruce cups Clark's cheek, looking at him again. "I'm sorry too."

Here it is, the rejection. The man pregnant with Clark's baby is about to reject him, and now Clark will only have custody on the weekends. He tenses, every fibre of his being desperate to hide. Sure, he can speed headfirst into the possibility of dying in space, but the fear of losing his nights with Bruce is enough to make him tremble.

Maybe he just won't have to hear it.

"It's okay, B." Clark pats his shoulder in a normal and platonic way. "You don't have to apologise. They're my feelings, you don't have to-"

"You are a terrible investigative journalist, sometimes I'm not even sure you have brain cells." Bruce tuts. "You know I'm in love with you."

Okay. What?

Clark scrunches his brow. He would know if he knew about Bruce loving him. That's something so fundamental to Clark's entire being, he would have treasured that information forever. He would - They would be dating, if Clark knew something like that.

"Come again?"

"Stupid." Bruce growls. "I told you. Three and a half years ago."

...

Hm. That definitely seems like something Clark would remember. That's life-changing information.

"Remind me?"

"I gave you the code to my kryptonite storeroom."

Clark waits for a second part to the story. It doesn't come.

"Bruce, how the fuck is that you telling me you're in love?"

"The code was 111100661573546244036267565."

"Uh huh?"

"That's - That's binary for I love you converted into an octal number."

"Why - Bruce."

"And then you asked me how me and Selena were, which showed you were uninterested, so I dropped it, then we began our casual hook-ups a few weeks later, and I brought up the kryptonite again, and you-"

"I asked if you thought us having sex was a good idea, and you said I could just open my kryptonite storage, how is that-"

"- And then you got all timid-"

"You were threatening me!"

"- And... I stopped trying after that, and decided casual sex was an acceptable arrangement."

"Rao, Bruce." Clark rolls his eyes. "You're a whole other level of insane."

"But you like it."

"But I like it." Clark nods, and rests his forehead to Bruce's. "You're ridiculous. Only you would think confessing through fucking octal numbers is a good idea."

"It was." Bruce pauses. "And it's not like you even made any attempts."

"Maybe I knew you would get pregnant, and be benched, and then I'd have to make a heroic sacrifice, and that would be the most climactic time to confess my love."

"You were scared."

"So fucking scared." Clark snorts, and rests his hand on Bruce's bump. "I didn't want to lose you."

"You could never." Bruce brushes their noses together. "And I won't lose you either. So you're banned from make any more heroic sacrifices."

"Fine. You're banned from getting in the Batwing until our baby is 12 years old."

"Kal-El."

"I'm joking." Clark presses his lips to Bruce's. "... He has to be 13."

Bruce smacks his shoulder.

"I'm cancelling my work. And your work. We'll just lay in bed all day."

"You've been off work for 2 and a half weeks, there's only so many excuses I can make for you." Bruce mumbles, but he makes no attempt to disentangle himself from Clark's arms.

"'S fine. Just tell Perry that I'm now Bruce Wayne's personal butler."

"If you really wanted to-"

"'M joking, B." Clark holds Bruce closer, hand sliding down to rest on the bump, eyes closed. "Baby. Give daddy a kick if you think I should get up. And give me two kicks if you want me to stay and cuddle with you and mommy a bit longer."

There's a few seconds of nothing, and then Clark receives a swift kick to the palm. Just the one.

"Ugh." He doesn't move. "It doesn't count because he probably didn't even hear me, I'm too far away."

"He might have super hearing."

"... Still." Clark rests his chin on Bruce's shoulder. "It is so rude that I can't just snuggle you a bit longer."

"Don't say snuggle."

"Well, we are snuggling." Clark presses a kiss to Bruce's neck. "Me and my boyfriend, snuggling."

"Ugh. I'm in my 30s, I'm too old to have a boyfriend."

"You're 31, B." Clark rolls his eyes.

"We're partners, not boyfriends."

"I want you to be my boyfriend." Clark holds Bruce tighter. "My boyfriend. If someone tries to flirt with me, I get to say, 'no thanks, I have a boyfriend'."

"Everyone at your work thinks you have a female fiancée, so don't let them hear you say that." Bruce props himself up on an elbow, and Clark begrudgingly sits up too.

"Technically, I never confirmed it was a woman. If I told everyone that it's actually you-"

"Clark." Bruce brushes his fingers through his hair. "I thought we agreed that it wouldn't be wise to go public."

"I know. I know we did." Clark frowns, and leans to put his hand on the bump. "But that was before we started dating. When it would have been 'yes, this is the man I had casual sex with after being hit with a spell'. Now? Now it's... Bruce, how am I meant to pretend he's not my son?"

"Mm."

"Mm?"

"Let me think about it. I just don't think you entirely understand the ramifications. Your journalistic integrity would come under fire, for starters. And-"

"I don't care, Bruce."

"Linking us together makes keeping our identities harder. If one of us was to have our alter ego revealed, it wouldn't take long for the other."

"Bruce." Clark shakes his head. "You think too much."

"Our son could start shooting lasers from his eyes, that's a massive giveaway-"

"He was conceived because of a magic spell, that's almost a given."

Bruce grunts, and Clark's alarm buzzes, rudely interrupting. Clark sighs and flops back onto the pillow.

"You need to get up and go to work."

"I don't need to, you could just be my sugar daddy."

"I could. But you wouldn't let me. So get up."

"Five more minutes."

Bruce doesn't reply, but he doesn't try to wrangle himself out of Clark's arms either, so that's definitely a win.

Clark runs his hands over Bruce's bump, resting his chin on his shoulder. He's never had Bruce sat in his lap before, and wow, he's really been missing out. He gets to hold Bruce in his arms forever, his back pressed against Clark's chest, and it gives him infinitely better access to cradle his belly. Clark rarely gets to treasure Bruce from behind, probably some sort of issue with how vulnerable he is with his back turned, and the opportunity to indulge in it is not wasted.

It's so wonderfully easy to cup the bump with both his hands and marvel at the size of it, how round it is, how it can't be concealed beneath Bruce's and Clark's hands put together. Their baby boy is growing perfectly, Bruce is growing him perfectly, and his gorgeous bump is proof.

Clark sneaks a kiss to Bruce's nape, earning a pinch to the arm.

"Do we have a confirmed kill on Arkillo?" Bruce asks, in tandem with Clark brushing his knuckles to Bruce's own.

"No. No trace." Hal replies, then pauses. "Is this how League meetings are going to be from now on?"

"Absolutely not."

"Yes, 100%." Clark speaks at the same time as Bruce, earning a glare. He returns it with a grin. "Me and B are gonna be glued at the hip."

"I don't think so." Bruce rolls his eyes. "He's just still in the honeymoon phase, let him work it out of his system."

"Not to point fingers, but you're the one sitting in his lap." Diana says, a slight smirk on her face.

"Yeah, honeymoon phase is a two-way street!" Ollie hollers. "Me and Dinah were never this bad."

"Maybe it's baby hormones." Barry pitches. "No way would Bats let himself get cuddled in front of us otherwise. Bruce, is it baby hormones? Are you hormonal?"

"We need an HR department." Bruce grumbles. "Don't ask me about my hormones."

"That's a yes." Arthur jabs a finger. "Definitely hormonal."

"Whether or not Bruce is hormonal-"

"That's enough of that." Bruce cuts Clark off. "If we could get back to the topic at hand. We haven't had a proper post-battle debrief, and there is a lot to debrief on. Now that Kal is recovered, there are no excuses for postponing it."

"It was like three weeks ago." Hal folds his arms. "There hasn't been a second wave."

"Maybe. And maybe there won't be. But that doesn't change the fact that civilian death count was 17, and that the fight went so badly that you all had to resort to a suicide mission." Bruce clicks his tongue. "You were sloppy."

"Counterpoint." Arthur scoffs. "We were one man down."

"I know for a fact that the League have won fights without this full roster." Bruce snaps back. "You're slacking. All of you. I can count on one hand the number of times you've had a full-team training session."

"That's not true, maybe you just weren't around for the others." Barry grumbles.

"Even if I wasn't, Kal would have told me."

"... Maybe we had some without him."

"Then that would be idiotic." Bruce twists around and looks at Clark. "And don't think you're getting away with this either. You and Diana should know better. I'll take some accountability that I haven't taken measures myself to address this sooner, but you should have addressed and identified it too."

"I know. I know. I've been distracted. I'm sorry."

"Sorry does not fix anything." Bruce grumbles. "And this distraction is not going to go away, Clark."

"You're not gonna be pregnant forever." Hal pauses. "... Wait. Are you? How is the baby coming out?"

"C-Section." Bruce rolls his eyes. "But if he's distracted by my pregnancy, I doubt he'll be any less distracted by having a son."

"I don't think this is fair." Clark frowns, drawing a swirl on Bruce's bump with his finger. "You can't ask me to not prioritise you. And certainly not our baby."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm telling you that you should have noticed that slack, and picked it up. Me and the baby will be fine with even 1% less constant consideration."

"... Diana's not having a baby, she forgot too." Clark mumbles, a tad childish.

"That's true. This is a failing on my part." Diana accepts easily, and it makes Clark feel a bit bad. "We can only correct by implementing a regimen from now. There's no use berating ourselves, we can't go back into the past."

"Fine." Bruce's tone is snippy. "We won't dwell on the training much longer. What we do need is a thorough analysis of the battle, the mistakes you made, and why any of you even entertained the thought of letting Kal nearly kill himself."

"Ugh." Hal buries his face in his hands. "Is that what this is about? You're punishing us for going along with your boyfriend's stupid plan?"

"Yes." Bruce's jaw squares. "If a sacrifice was necessary - which it wasn't - someone else should have done it."

A brief silence.

"Okay, what the fuck?" Dinah spreads her hands. "You're mad none of us wanted to die? Just because you're not dating me, and I'm not having a kid, my life is not less valuable than-"

"No." Bruce holds up a hand. "Kal can try to sacrifice himself against any other threat whenever he wants. But when the plan relies on the strength, power, and flight, in order to get the enemy not only into space but to collide with a spaceship - Why would you send the one person whose abilities are weakened or entirely nullified by the enemy's moveset?"

"Oh." Ollie hesitates. "... Oh."

"Be fair, Bruce, it was me who suggested it." Clark rubs Bruce's shoulders. "I wasn't about to ask someone to die on my behalf."

"It is ridiculous that no one pointed out the flaw and volunteered in your place. That's why your sacrifice is the final step in the plan for Threat S03NUY." Bruce scowls. "What would any of you have done, if it hadn't worked?"

No one answers.

"And this is why you shouldn't have turned off your communicators. I could have easily given you a thousand different ideas, but you-" Bruce pokes Clark. "- Are an idiot."

"There was a lot of pressure." J'onn says smoothly. "It's not like Clark wanted to make the suggestion. But the stakes were high, and time was low."

Bruce flinches, so subtly that Clark almost misses it.

Oh.

"B." Clark cradles the bump. "It wasn't easy."

"I didn't say it was." Bruce bats Clark's hand away and clears his throat. "But fine. Fine. We'll make schedule a seminar on how to respond when your team mate threatens to sacrifice themself, and Kal and Diana can draft a schedule for various combat practice, and then we will revert to my structure once my pregnancy concludes. Are we clear?"

"We're clear." Hal sighs.

"I have a follow-up question." Barry raises his hand. "It's not super related or anything. But... What if you get pregnant again?"

"Follow-up to that follow-up." Ollie straightens in his seat. "Can you get pregnant again?"

"Oh my god." Dinah buries her face in her hands. "I can't deal with a permanently pregnant Batman, or a permanently fussing Superman."

Bruce doesn't reply to any of those questions, and Clark holds him tighter.

"You didn't warn me you were going to be so tough in today's meeting." Clark says lightly as he sticks another glow-in-the-dark star to the ceiling in one of the seven designated rooms for their baby's nursery (or nurseries, rather).

"It wouldn't have been effective if you knew what I wanted to say."

"Mm. True." Clark twists the star to a different angle, and puts a second one beside it. "I don't think it's fair for you to blame them for my plan though."

Bruce doesn't reply to that, instead looking between two stuffed animals, a bat and a dog. He puts the dog into this nursery's crib, and sets the bat on the window sill.

"I mean it, B. You should've spoken to me. You know, communication is supposedly very important in a relationship."

"We communicate." Bruce grumbles, and takes a deep breath, hand moving to his belly. Clark tenses.

"You okay?"

"Fine. He's just heavy."

"... You sure? Pre-mature labour could be a concern -"

"- From 30 weeks, I know." Bruce moves back to the rocking chair, and sits slowly. "I was there talking to Leslie with you."

"Just checking." Clark sets down on the floor again, kneeling in front of Bruce, resting his own palm to the bump. "You've been struggling more often lately."

"I haven't been struggling."

"Fine. You've been handling your increased breathlessness and restrained movement with astonishing ease."

"There's a human being constantly leaning on my diaphragm, and I have a stomach the size of a beachball, so I would say I'm handling those things quite well."

"Your bump is not the size of a beachball." Clark tuts, and presses a kiss below his belly button. "Maybe a particularly round pumpkin."

"Your reassurance is appreciated." Bruce says drily.

The baby kicks against Clark's palm, and he zeroes in on it, cooing.

"Hey, baby boy. Me and mommy were just talking about you! You've been getting big in there, haven't you mister? I hope you're not making things too hard for your mama, he's working very hard to keep you nice and safe in there. Making sure you're growing healthy, taking all those vitamins to help you get big and strong. But not too strong. We don't want your kicks to hurt mommy, do we?"

"The stars, Clark. You've got over 40 left to put up."

"We're having a break." Clark huffs. "Me and my boy have some catching up to do, I haven't spoken to him in years."

"You spoke to him before the League meeting."

"Years!" Clark kisses the bump again, right where he feels another kick. "Speaking of League meeting; baby boy. Did you know that mommy was going to be so harsh? If you did, you should have warned me. I sat there, cuddling you and cuddling mama, while he was being very critical of all your aunts and uncles."

"It was his idea." Bruce hums, that brilliant glint of humour shining through his tone. "He told me to."

"Baby! Is this true?" Clark gasps, and there's another kick to his hand. "I think that means yes. That's very naughty. You weren't even there, little one. You couldn't hear what was going on."

"He was so angry at the thought of losing his father, he started puppeteering me." Bruce says, drier this time. "... He was hurt, that you would do that to him."

Clark has had many 'emotional' conversations with Bruce by strange means; usually through apprehending a criminal, or using fighting techniques as an analogy, or (one time) through a series of movie recommendations. It's difficult to get Bruce to open up - talking via the baby is one of the more grounded, direct ideas.

"I'm really sorry, sweetheart." Clark says to the bump. "I never, ever meant to hurt you. That's the last thing I would ever want to do, you and mommy are my whole world. And Rao, baby boy, the idea that I would never get to hold mama's hand as he brings you into the world, or that I would never meet you, and see just how beautiful you're going to be... It's horrible. I hate it. If I had had a single, other idea, I would never, ever have sacrificed myself. But me and mom have this job. This awful, horrible job, that means sometimes we have to make tricky decisions. Even if we don't like them. The worst part about it, sweetie? Daddy's not even that good at it. If I had been able to get you and mom somewhere safe, if I could have guaranteed that our little family would survive, I might have run."

"I wouldn't have let you." Bruce mumbles.

"I know. You've always been more selfless than me." 

Bruce shakes his head. "I - The baby was scared of living without you."

"You and the baby would have done brilliantly. You have each other." Clark runs his finger along one of Bruce's stretch marks. "I was scared of dying without meeting him."

"But you didn't die."

"But I didn't die." Clark nods, and rises from his knees, bent at the waist as he kisses Bruce. "I hope the baby knows I'd never leave unless I had to."

"I think he does." Bruce moves to stand too, but Clark pushes him back down.

"Rest, B. As adorable as your pregnancy waddle is, you shouldn't be straining yourself." He takes the packet of stars again, and flies back up to the ceiling.

"... I have a pregnancy waddle?"

Clark is not quite sure how he ended up here.

If someone had told his 22 year old self that he would be attending a Wayne Christmas gala in 7 years time, he would have assumed that he'd been put on a boring society column assignment.

If that person had then told his 24 year old self that he'd be attending with Bruce Wayne, he would have assumed it was for an undercover League mission.

If they'd then told him earlier this year that he would be attending a Wayne Christmas gala, with a pregnant Bruce Wayne, to formally announce their relationship and publicly name Clark as the father of Bruce's baby... Yeah. He might have died on the spot.

Clark adjusts his suit. It's more form-fitting than his work wear, but he'd been resolute on having it not reveal his exact musculature; revealing his love to Bruce is one thing, but revealing Superman is another.

He and Bruce have matching ties and cufflinks. It's cute. Really cute, actually, Clark can hardly believe Bruce suggested it.

Clark tugs at his tie as the limo cruises towards Gotham City Hall, until Bruce leans over and adjusts it for him.

"You okay? We don't have to do this."

"I know. I want to. I do. I - I suggested it, I just didn't think it'd be so... big."

"Bruce Wayne is not one to announce settling down through a paper, Clark." Bruce squeezes his hand. "If we're going to be public, you need to get used to this. Being with me brings scrutiny, attention. That's why it was so easy to get PR relationships with models, they'd be guaranteed a successful career."

"I know." Clark brushes their knuckles together. "... Cat Grant's covering the gala."

"Then you'll have at least one familiar face."

"I should've told my colleagues first." Clark sighs. "I'm gonna get so much shit when I go in Monday."

"They'll be fine, say it was my idea to hide it." Bruce takes a deep breath, and rubs his bump.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. I just think I'll be doing more sitting than dancing this year. I'm surprised I haven't got any bruises, with how hard he's been kicking."

Clark frowns. "Might be best for both of us if we leave early tonight."

"Only once we get a million in donations. Not a dollar sooner."

Clark sticks to Bruce's side like glue after giving a bewildered Cat a wave. It felt like all eyes were on them, that everyone was whispering about them, and to be honest, they probably were.

Clark has never been very good at schmoozing. It's one of the biggest reasons he's not cut out for gossip columns, he can't charm his way into rich people's lives (except Bruce, somehow he's managed that one, but being Superman was probably doing some heavy lifting there). So he smiles politely, and never strays more than five steps away from Bruce, what with the crowd of socialites looking ready to descend upon him the moment he's out of Bruce's earshot.

"Well, the official line is that it was the magic that got me pregnant. However, between you and me... It just gave me the right insides, if you catch my drift." Bruce laughs heartily as some random guy hangs on to his every word. "Don't be surprised if in a few years time, the baby's looking the spit of Clark."

Random Guy looks at Clark, a glint in his eyes. Clark smiles at him. He looks vaguely familiar.

"If I recall correctly, you're the owner of some news company? Did I get that right?"

"Haha, you flatter me." Clark glances at Bruce, who squeezes his hand. "I'm just a journalist."

Random Guy furrows his brow. "You're a journalist?"

"Yeah." Clark squirms. "Me and B met when I interviewed him."

"And now you do far more than just interview me." Bruce winks. "Believe me, Lionel, Clark's always been one of my favourite reporters. I was just desperate to lock him down, and wouldn't you know it, our baby came along just in time."

"You must be quite something, Clark, if you've got Bruce Wayne wanting to be tied down."

"More than quite! Have you seen him?" Bruce makes a show of caressing Clark's arm. "Such a charmer behind those glasses."

Clark smiles awkwardly, and Lionel raises a brow.

"Well gentlemen, I'm headed to the bar. Can I interest you in anything?"

"I'm off the drink at the moment." Bruce pats his bump. "And I believe Clark is currently sober in solidarity. But it's been so good to catch up Lionel, I hope you'll be donating this year. Might help some of the more... negative press that Zetz Inc. has had this year."

Oh. That's why he looks familiar. Lionel Zetz, currently embroiled in a scandal for his labour practices. Lois is writing an expose on him.

"I think one of my colleagues is looking into that at the moment." Clark clears his throat. "I could ask her to add a line or two to her article."

Lionel nods his head slowly. "That'd be appreciated... Clark."

He slinks off, and before he heads to the bar, he writes out a cheque. Clark will keep his side of the bargain of course, but if Lois happens to write something along the lines of "Zetz's charitable donations to the Martha Wayne Foundation have done little to counteract his neglectful workplace environments"... Well that's none of his business.

"Very good." Bruce murmurs under his breath, taking Clark's arm. "Perfect work."

"Thank you."

"I can't wait to introduce you to Melissa Shawford."

"From Shawford mines? With the deaths?"

"The very one." Bruce grins, shark-toothed.

He follows Bruce as he does the rounds, and eventually they reach the stage of talking to press. It is frankly insane to be on this side of the questions, but he's been lucky enough to escape anything directly. A lot of these reporters are ones he's familiar with, and they all offer quiet congratulations or smiles. 

And then they reach Cat.

"Hi. Cat Grant, Daily Planet. Do you have time for a few questions?"

"Please, Miss Grant, we have plenty of time for you."

"Great." Cat almost entirely ignores Bruce, eyes locked to Clark. "So first off - What would you say to the colleagues you've been lying to for the past few months?"

"Cat, c'mon." Clark frowns. "I haven't lied. I just, uh, didn't correct you when you assumed it was a woman. Or that we were engaged."

"And would you say that you're prioritising your relationship over your obligations as a reporter? For example, not disclosing a potential conflict of interest, or not allowing your colleagues to have an article ready to publish for your first outing as a public couple?"

"I would say that I'm not... not prioritising my relationship? I - I don't do the society beat, so I don't think it's a conflict of interest. And I am sorry I didn't tell anyone."

"That's my fault." Bruce cuts in, smile plastered on his face. "I asked him to keep it quiet."

"Hm." Cat looks to him. "And out of interest, Mr Wayne, I don't suppose you anything to gain from Clark's employment at the Planet?"

"Many things." Bruce laughs. "I don't want him snooping around Wayne Industries the way he and Lane snoop around everyone else's companies."

"B." Clark glares at him as Cat writes that down.

"Could you possibly confirm whether the baby you're carrying is Clark's?" Cat pauses. "He has an ultrasound on his desk, and we know he's expecting a child, in case you're trying to figure out whether to carry on with this magical lie."

"Officially, it's a magic baby. Was not made with the birds and the bees." Bruce shrugs. "You're free to reach your own conclusions."

Cat purses her lips and looks to Clark again. "Is it your baby?"

"We're raising the baby together. It's part of the deal, we're dating."

Bruce pecks a kiss to his cheek, and wiggles his left hand. "Although darling, if you're happy for people to think we're engaged, I'm not opposed to someone putting a ring on my finger."

"You'd hate to have engagement photos with your bump in them."

"Hm. True." Bruce raises a brow. "Are you saying you'll propose after I give birth?"

"We'll see. Not all of us are billionaires, not sure I could get you the same calibre of ring as your... compatriots." Clark considers his grandfather's ring, hidden away in his apartment. Bruce probably already knows about it, World's Greatest Detective and all that. He hasn't mentioned getting engaged when they're in private, so he must not actually want to, not yet at least.

"I can lower my standards a little bit. To what... $250,000? That's within budget?"

"In ten years time, sure."

"You can give up your health insurance for that, no biggie." Cat says, amusement in her tone. She's relaxed a little.

"Health insurance?" Bruce pouts, and Clark knows that Bruce finds playing stupid to be hilarious. He is an alarmingly good actor. "Why would you need health insurance? Just pay it like the rest of us, Clark."

"Okay, B." Clark rolls his eyes, and gives Cat his most apologetic look. "It's good to see you Cat. Again, I am sorry I didn't tell anyone. It's just... with the baby as well, it's so precarious."

"I know." Cat looks between them. "You make a cute couple. I'll let you read over my draft before I submit it for editing."

"That means a lot, thank you." Clark smiles at her warmly, and Bruce grabs his hand, leading him over to the other side of the room to speak to some other random rich guy.

They're definitely over a million dollars in donations now, probably at least half a billion in all honestly, and Bruce looks like he's starting to flag. The longer they've been here - coming up to four hours - the more comfortable Clark has felt, so he wouldn't be opposed to staying, but Bruce's big smiles have dimmed, and the gaps in between being seated are getting smaller and smaller.

Clark leans over and presses his lips to Bruce's ear, one hand cradling the bump.

"Did you want to think about leaving soon?"

"It's my party, I'm fine." Bruce mumbles back. "We haven't done any dancing."

"You're pretty heavily pregnant, B, I don't think anyone's expecting us to dance." Clark glances at the dance floor, watching the crowd groove to some upbeat Christmas song. "I don't think anyone will notice anyway. And again, I don't know how to state this enough, you're pregnant. You need to rest."

"Mm." Bruce clicks his tongue. "But I've never seen you dance."

"That can't be true." Clark rolls his eyes.

"It is." Bruce rests his head on Clark's shoulder, and pecks a kiss to his cheek. "Cameras on us. Look at me like you love me."

"I do love you, idiot."

"If you love me, you'll dance with me."

"Am I speaking to Bruce or Brucie right now?" Clark scoffs, sliding his hand across Bruce's bump.

"Sometimes they're one and the same. Please?" Bruce's eyes run along Clark's body. "Indulge me. Do you know how many dreams I've had, where I get to show off that you're mine?"

"I didn't know you slept enough to be able to dream." Clark pauses. "We can dance. But only on a slow song. And then we're going, your ankles must be killing you, you've had too many laps of this hall. It's really the size of a ballroom, honestly, the wealth disparity in Gotham is insane."

"I agree to those terms."  Bruce stretches. "And yes. The divide is ugly. Sometimes I fear that even if I dedicated my whole life to fixing it, the gap would still be too wide."

"Maybe baby boy will continue that work." Clark pats Bruce's belly gently. "If we raise him right."

"If we don't, he'll end up putting on a cape and calling himself Superbatman." Bruce mumbles, so quiet it must only be perceptible because of Clark's hearing.

Clark snorts.

And then the upbeat music fades out, and some violin fades in. Again, Clark is left to consider if maybe this whole time Bruce has had secret powers, because why else would the music switch from fast to slow so quickly?

"May I have this dance?" Bruce offers a hand, and Clark accepts, rising slowly, then helping Bruce stand too.

They move to the dance floor, and oh shit, Clark is about to dance in front of rich people. He doesn't know how to do it properly. Panic must show somewhere on his face, because Bruce's pulls him close, and places Clark's hand on his waist.

"Just follow my lead. Hold here. And then this arm here."

Is this a waltz? What even is a waltz?

Bruce steps back, then forward, then turns them in a circle, Clark following his moves closely.

"Doing great. But maybe we'll get you some dance lessons before the next gala." Bruce lays his head on Clark's shoulder. "I'm usually much more adventurous when I have people watching me. But someone put a baby in me."

"Whoops." Clark watches another couple wind their arms around each other, so he copies them, Bruce humming approval. It's wonderful, having Bruce pressed against him like this, especially so publicly. People know. People know Bruce loves him, wants him, they know that Clark is the one lucky enough to have a serious relationship with the Bruce Wayne.

They spin.

"Thank you." Bruce whispers.

"For what?"

"... It worried me. When you said I should abort. You didn't have to stay. For a moment, I thought maybe-"

"Never, Bruce." Clark shakes his head, holding Bruce tighter. The bump presses against him, and Clark cannot imagine this any other way. "I'd never leave you. Or the baby. I love him, so much. I was just worried about what could happen to him once he's born."

"You're not still worried?"

"I'm terrified, B." Clark mumbles, and trails his fingertips along Bruce's belly. "The thought of losing him... Losing you..."

"I know." Bruce says softly, and kisses Clark's cheek. "We'll be okay."

"I'll burn the world down otherwise."

"Would you?"

"I'm telling you, I'd enter a villain arc, I'm serious."

Bruce chuckles, and rests his head again. "You should dip me in a minute."

"Babe, I adore you, but I'm not sure you're in condition to be dipped right now. I don't think your bump would let me."

"Annoying." Bruce tuts. "This is the biggest I've been in my life."

"Obviously." Clark rolls his eyes. "You've never had even a little bit of fat on you."

"When I was a baby-"

"That doesn't count."

"Fine." Bruce scoffs. "... Losing it all is going to be such a pain in the ass."

"You'll probably manage to shake it all off within a month, be serious." Clark caresses Bruce's hip. "But if you don't, no need to stress. I think you look gorgeous. My ma always said you could stand to eat more, ever since she met you."

"She's just mad I didn't eat any of her cookies the first time I visited. And you have a pregnancy kink, so your judgement is skewed."

"I do not have - Stop saying that."

Bruce chuckles, and Clark shuts him up with a kiss.

BRUCE'S BRAND-NEW BEAU
reporting by Cat Grant

On Saturday's annual Martha Wayne Foundation Christmas Gala, Bruce Wayne shocked attendees by attending with a new man on his arm. Usually, this would hardly be anything to bat an eye at; Wayne is notorious for his revolving door of lovers, both male and female models or starlets familiar on his arm.  Even with his magically-induced pregnancy, following involvement with the Justice League, it's expected for Gotham's Prince to philander with the rich and gorgeous, and ditch them the next day.

It was a surprise when he entered Gotham City Hall with one Clark Kent on his arm - a name that may be familiar to regular readers of The Daily Planet. Mr Kent, 29, is a prize-winning journalist who is known for his investigative columns in this very paper. Not Bruce Wayne's usual type. And it's more than casual - Wayne was heard publicly claiming that Clark Kent will be raising his baby with him, referring to Mr Kent as the father despite the magical conception.

This sudden serious relationship has the public raising brows. The two have never been seen together prior to this, aside from at the occasional press event, and Clark's own colleagues - myself included - were completely unaware that he had been seeing one of the richest men on the planet. When pressed, Bruce Wayne claimed that they have been together for a few years now, and that his previous public flings were all for PR.

Bruce was also heard suggesting that he's looking to get married, something that no one would have believed a year ago. It sounds like he's seeking to get engaged after the baby is born, Mr Kent joking that Bruce would "hate to have engagement photos with [his] bump [in frame]."

While both men were unable to answer everyone's questions at the event, I caught up with Clark afterwards in hopes of an on-the-record conversation, and he agreed to speak with me - as he should, considering he's been keeping this a secret!

At the Planet, we did know about Clark's impending fatherhood - he keeps a framed ultrasound on his desk, and he's been saving up his PTO for the baby's arrival, due in March. He has always been a private person, so it was unsurprising that we didn't know much about the person carrying the child, or that we'd never met them. This secrecy of course now makes more sense, as Clark explained that Bruce had requested to keep their relationship private.

Clark stated that he and Mr Wayne had first met when Clark was assigned to attend a press conference approximately 6 years ago, wherein Mr Wayne spoke about funding Arkham Asylum's Rehabilitation Programme. Avid readers of the Planet may recall the article Clark wrote about this, titled The Intentions Behind Arkham's Rehabilitation - Ex-Convicts Paid Lower Salaries. This article was very critical of Bruce, levying accusations about enabling the systemic issues of Gotham City. Reflecting on it now, Clark states that he was "harsh" in this article, and that he had been "biased" against Mr Wayne due to his public image. He had been invited to a one-on-one interview a week after publishing the allegation, in which Bruce Wanye outlined his stance on equal pay across all staff within his company, and that he could not be accountable for the business practices of his competitors.

Clark explained to me that he and Bruce kept "bumping into each other" after that, and while he is firm that nothing happened in their one-to-one interview, he does not deny that, quote, "there was definitely chemistry [between them]". He revealed that his and Bruce's relationship began a year later, after they had spent some time together as friends, beginning as "something casual" but soon "spiralling into something more".

When Bruce was magically impregnated earlier this year, Clark says that he was the first person Bruce told, and that he could hardly believe it, until one of Wayne's private medical staff confirmed it a few weeks later. Clark had "imagined a domestic life with Bruce would be impossible" prior to the pregnancy, and was overjoyed when Bruce asked if Clark would want to raise the baby together.

"I was so excited." Clark told me. "I've always wanted to be a father. There have been some ups and downs throughout Bruce's pregnancy so far, but I still get so amazed at how lucky I got. When Bruce said he was ready to go public with me... I don't remember ever being this happy. Getting to call him my boyfriend, getting to say we're having a baby, it's incredible."

We at The Daily Planet would like to publicly congratulate the two of them on their relationship, and Editor-In-Chief Perry White would like to clarify that Clark Kent's involvement with Bruce Wayne will not lead to any conflicts of interest, and that the Planet will not change its reporting style.

Clark rests his chin on his palm, eyes glued to Bruce.

He is so handsome, and perfect, and wonderful, and so fucking hot. He's wearing a tight sweater and it looks incredible on him. If they weren't in the middle of a League meeting, Clark would fuck him against the wall. Or the table. Or maybe just make out gently for a long time, in case the baby got hurt.

He's nearing the end of his pregnancy now - the rest of January, then February, then mid-March, and Clark will have a family. He's looking really, truly, heavily pregnant now, and the sweater is doing little to hide this fact. His belly is almost spherical, the baby must have plenty of room in there, and it seems Bruce can't stand without cradling it, one hand cupped to the underside of his bump at all times.

The baby's impending arrival has also boosted Bruce's milk production - a few weeks ago, Clark was more than pleasantly surprised to find a bra hiding underneath his shirt supporting his soft chest. And if he got hard when Bruce's tits started leaking milk, that's no one's business but his and Bruce's. It's probably super normal to get horny seeing the man you're in love with look so fucking gorgeous and full of the little life they've made.

Bruce just looks astounding. Between the bump and the breasts, he's like the pinnacle of fertility. Just so, so fucking good at being pregnant.

Clark would be sad that it's ending soon, but he has a cute little baby to think about, and a soft, domestic life awaiting him.

"Kal. Pay attention." Bruce snaps at him, jolting him out of his ogling.

"I am!" Clark lies, and he knows the entire League can see through it.

"You're not." Barry mumbles. "You're eye-fucking Bruce in front of all of us."

Clark splutters at the accusation. "Uh, no. No. I - I'm not-"

"Most obvious lie of all time award... They're announcing the winner now... Oh my god, in a landslide victory, it's Clark just now!" Hal constructs a little trophy with his ring.

J'onn offers a round of applause.

"Enough." Bruce clicks his tongue, and he rubs his hand across his bump in a hypnotic circle.

"He's doing it again." Arthur grunts. "Clark, stop eye-fucking."

"All I did was look at my boyfriend's bump! At my baby! How is that eye-fucking?"

"It's that glint in your eyes." Diana contributes. "You look like you're going to devour him."

"Really? You're stooping to their level?" Bruce sighs at her, and then looks at Clark. "It is literally my last League meeting, all you need to do is concentrate for an hour, and then we can go to your suite, just keep it in your pants for a little bit longer."

Clark flushes as Ollie hollers and Barry chokes on a loud laugh.

"As I was saying." Bruce continues on. "I have written up a comprehensive 6-month plan for you all to follow in my absence. Assuming that there are no changes to the birth plan, Kal should be okay to remain on active duty until 13th March, so I have left him in on all rotas until that date. In the instance that it turns out I am able to give birth naturally, and the baby decides to arrive earlier than planned, you may have to cover his scheduled monitor duties and patrols. Diana has agreed to oversee Gotham and Metropolis while Batman and Superman are offworld. However unlikely it may be, if I decide that I'd like to take a longer break from the cowl, I will of course send out additional month's plans as necessary, and-"

"Will you bring the baby to the Watchtower?"

Clark frowns at Barry. "This is not a safe place for a baby."

"I meant so we could meet him." He gestures to himself. "Barry Allen is not going to be able to just stroll in to Wayne Manor."

"I suppose so." Bruce glances at his bump. "If he can travel safely over zeta, yes, we'll bring him here to meet you."

"Sick." Hal beams. "I'm gonna be his favourite."

"Absolutely not." Diana smacks his arm. "I am."

"I don't mean to burst your guys' bubble, but me and Ollie will be able to see him as civilians and here. So..." Dinah spreads her hands as Ollie nods.

"I'll be the favourite, thank you." Bruce folds his arms.

"You will. He's going to love you." Clark nods.

"You can be second favourite." Bruce says, softer, cradling his stomach. Clark beams.

"I'm honoured."

"Get a room." Hal groans.

"... Clark."

His shoulders tense as he hears Bruce's strained call for him. Almost immediately, he's rushing out the office, and rocketing towards the Manor. Bruce has never sounded like that. He's been nearly-dying, and still his voice was steady when it called for Superman to give him a hand, he's fallen through the air from miles up without a parachute and there hadn't even been a shake in his breath... For Bruce to sound so weak, so shaky-

Clark can't think about it. What might be happening to him, what a rogue might be doing to Bruce.

But when he lands on the balcony and rushes in, Bruce is just on their bed, no danger. Clark scours the room, then the hallways, then the gardens, but nothing.

"B? What's-?"

"God." Bruce reaches a hand out for him, and he sounds breathless. "God, Clark, I-"

"What's wrong? I'm here, I'm here babe, I've got you." Clark gives Bruce a quick scan, but can't find any immediate injuries. He entwines his fingers with Bruce's. "I'm here, tell me what's wrong."

"The baby." Bruce groans, and alarms ring in Clark's head.

"The baby? The - Fuck, what's wrong with him? We'll get you to a doctor, you'll be fine, I'm sure he's fine, he'll be... He'll be okay, just tell me what happened, I can't see any injuries, I-"

"No. Clark." Bruce grips his hand. "I think... Fuck, oh my god, I think - Contractions."

Clark blinks. "What?"

"I think he's coming." Bruce screws up his face. "I can - I can feel... Fuck. Clark. I-"

"... You're in labour?" Clark feels his own heart start thumping. "But - But we're meant to have a c-section. We didn't think you could naturally... It's not time yet. It's only January."

"I don't think he cares." Bruce takes another shaky breath. "He's... God. I - It... Shit."

"It's not time yet." Clark repeats, tongue too big for his mouth. Bruce just clutches him. It would probably hurt if Clark was human.

And then Bruce screams. It's terrifying. Bruce doesn't scream. Batman doesn't scream. Clark feels himself shake as he holds Bruce, mind scrambling as the strongest man he knows sobs into him.

Okay. Fine. Fine, they're having a baby, two months early. Maybe it's the Kryptonian in him. Maybe it's just like any other premature labour. Bruce is going to give birth.

Clark takes a deep breath, and runs his fingers through Bruce's hair, pressing a kiss to his temple.

"It's okay babe. I've got you. I'm here. Scream it out, it's okay."

Bruce weeps into him, clutching him.

"I'm gonna call Leslie, okay? Just... Just keep breathing. Breathe, sweetheart." Clark rubs Bruce's back, and hopes he is radiating calm, hopes he can be an anchor, and pretend it isn't terrifying to hear the Batman sobbing in pain.

"You're doing so well, B." Clark whispers, squeezing Bruce's hand. "Only a little bit longer."

"I can't fucking take this anymore." Bruce's throat sounds raw, and it's hardly surprising. He's been labouring for nearly 10 hours now, and Leslie says he's still not ready to start pushing, the birth canal 'not wide enough'. Clark is trying not to think about how insane it is that Bruce even has a birth canal, that a natural birth is possible.

"I know babe." Clark glances at the bump, sitting much lower than it had been. "But you've got to. And you will. You're so tough, Bruce, so strong, so brave. Just a bit more."

"I hate this." Bruce chokes on tears. "I hate this."

Clark wipes Bruce's eyes, and cradles him in his arms. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Just fucking laser him out."

"I'm not gonna do that, I can't do that. Could hurt you. Could hurt him." Clark kisses Bruce's cheek. "You're nearly there. And then he'll be here. Our little boy."

"I'm so tired." Bruce weeps.

"I know." Clark looks at Leslie. "How much longer, do you think?"

"It's hard to say. At least an hour."

Bruce groans.

And screams.

And cries.

14 hours in.

Then 15. More sobbing.

Clark hates himself for doing this to Bruce by hour 18. Hates that their little miracle is the reason for all his pain.

Bruce threatens to chop Clark's dick off at hour 19.

And then at hour 21, Bruce is allowed to start pushing.

Clark is a mess as Bruce lets out one final scream, and a second scream starts up. Clark can hardly see from how blurry his eyes are, thick with tears, as he watches the tiniest little person he has ever seen wail and writhe in Leslie's gloved hands.

"Gimme him." Bruce mumbles, words slurred as he reaches out, and their beautiful baby boy is laid in his arms. Clark can't breathe.

He's wonderful. Absolutely perfect, face screwed up and flushed, covered in blood and amniotic fluid, with balled fists and tiny toes.

Clark's shoulders shake as he cuts the cord, and Bruce is holding their son so tightly, looking at him with the biggest beam on his face, still breathing heavily. Clark didn't even know Bruce could smile like that.

"Hi." Bruce caresses the baby boy's cheek, voice shaking. "Hi."

The little cries turn to smaller sniffles, and his wiggling eases up. Clark reaches out with a trembling finger, and brushes his knuckle to his son's hand, teeny fingers twitching reflexively.

"I brought towels." Alfred says to Leslie, but Clark doesn't really register it, because the baby blinks, and he's amazing.

"You're perfect, sweetheart." Clark breathes. "My son. You're perfect. I love you."

The Kryptonian falls from his tongue with ease, and it makes Clark's heart hammer. He isn't alone anymore. He has a son. Krypton will live, as long as his son is alive.

"I love you." Bruce echoes, in English. He cradles their baby, and his face is sweaty and teary and red. He's never looked prettier.

Clark kisses Bruce's cheek. "You did amazing. You did so well. You're crazy, you're brilliant, you - Look at him, B."

"I'm never going to stop looking." Bruce sniffs. "He's here."

"He's here." Clark beams. "We have a son. We're parents."

"Our boy." Bruce coos, and Rao, Clark did not think he would ever hear Bruce this soft, or see him so blatantly smitten. All his walls are down.

"I need to check his vitals." Leslie says quietly. "He's two months early."

"Just... Just a bit longer." Bruce whispers, and she nods.

Clark wraps Bruce in a tight embrace, chin on his shoulder, stroking their baby's wispy hair.

Bruce names him Richard. Richard Grayson Wayne-Kent. He is the most perfect person in the entire world, and he's only been alive for three days.

Clark is still terrified every time he holds him. Richard is just so small, so fragile, Clark would never forgive himself if he accidentally crushed his son from cradling him too hard. Realistically, he won't, but still.

Looking at him is still just as magical as it was the moment he was born. It might not ever stop being that magical. This is his son. His baby, the baby Bruce grew for them, their little angel. How could Clark ever get used to that? There isn't a world where it's not astounding.

Little Dickie blinks up at him, yawning, and Clark smiles back.

"Hi sweetheart." Clark slowly steps towards his and Bruce's bed. "Mealtime."

Dickie sniffles as Clark passes him to Bruce, fussing until he sees Bruce's face, tears fading almost as quickly as they came in.

"Already getting a bit of a weight on you." Bruce coos to him. "Good boy. I want you in the top percentile next time Leslie visits."

While Richard was mostly okay after being born so early, he's a little underweight. Leslie had given them a strict feeding schedule to remedy it, and Bruce has been following it to the minute, a million alarms on his phone.

"Top percentile might be a bit of a hard goal." Clark mumbles as he winds an arm around Bruce's waist. "Maybe top 50%."

"Top 25." Bruce negotiates, and nurses Richard to his chest. Clark listens closely to every little gulp and breath their baby takes, watching his eyes flutter closed again as he suckles.

"Do you think it will ever get less amazing?" Clark caresses Dickie's cheek as he drinks. "Like we'll just get used to him being here?"

"We got used to my pregnancy." Bruce shrugs one shoulder.

"I never got used to how amazing your pregnancy was." Clark scoffs. "Even if you'd gone full term, I would have been amazed until the very last day."

"Mm. We'll never know." Bruce gently touches his fingertip to Dickie's little hand. "Did your parents say they were coming?"

"Not til next week. Wanted to give us some time." Clark pecks his lips to Bruce's. "Didn't realise you were so quickly becoming a family man."

Bruce rolls his eyes, and they lapse into a peaceful silence, until Richard finishes feeding, pulling away from Bruce's nipple with milk dribbling from his lips.

"Good boy." Clark coos. "Nice big meal. Say thank you, mommy."

Richard drools some more, and Bruce burps him gently.

He looks so wonderfully domestic. There's a lightness to Bruce's expression that wasn't there when Clark met him. It wasn't even there last year.

"Motherhood looks good on you." Clark whispers, and it earns a smile.

"And you're already an incredible father." Bruce looks at Dickie, kissing his forehead. "Mm, we'll give you back to daddy in a minute. Just a few more minutes with me."

Bruce gets a burble in response, and Bruce repeats the sound back to him.

It's frankly adorable. Who could have ever imagined Batman as adorable?

"B."

"Mm?"

"... I'll be right back." Clark stands, and Bruce furrows his brow.

"What? You're off-duty, we agreed-"

"Not a Superman thing. Promise. I'll literally only be a few seconds, I just realised I left something in my apartment."

"You need to move in fully." Bruce clicks his tongue. "Be back in one minute or I'm going to gatekeep Dickie from you."

"Feel free to time me." Clark bounces on his toes, and zips off, heart thumping.

He's crazy to do this.

Clark is in his bedroom, though it doesn't feel like it belongs to him anymore, and rifles in his bedside drawer.

Bruce might not even want to actually get married, that might just be something he said for the press.

Unless. Unless.

Clark's fingers scrabble over the ring box, and he grips it tightly.

Maybe Bruce would want a prettier ring. Or a fancier one. Or one that's not been already used.

Clark's flying back, and he practically crashes back into the room. Bruce looks up from his watch.

"15 seconds. Fatherhood slowing you down already it seems."

Clark scoffs. "That's only a little longer than my average. And I had to find something, so..."

"What could possibly be more important than laying in bed with me and our baby?" Bruce looks at Richard. "I know sweetheart. Daddy's prioritising objects over you, I will tell him off, don't worry, I-"

Clark gets down on one knee, box in hand, and Bruce stares at him.

"... What are you doing?"

"Well, World's Greatest Detective, I'm so glad you asked. I'm fighting a bear." Clark opens the box, and takes a shaky breath. "What do you think I'm doing?"

"Clark. This isn't fair." Bruce clears his throat a few times. "I'm- I'm still hormonal. If I cry, I'm not responsible for that."

"I won't tell anyone if you do." Clark hesitates. "I know the ring isn't flashy, it's my grandfather's, I can try and get you a new-"

"It's perfect." Bruce sniffs. Dickie burbles a bit in his arm, and Bruce rocks him gently.

"I love you so much Bruce. So much. I think you're amazing and-"

"Yes, Clark." Bruce smiles at him. "It was always going to be."

Clark swallows the lump in his throat, and slides the ring onto Bruce's finger. It's not the best fit, but still Bruce marvels at it. He passes Richard into Clark's arms, and examines the ring closer.

Richard nuzzles closer to Clark, little hand gripping at his t-shirt, and Bruce places his hands on Clark's cheeks, pressing a firm kiss to his lips.

This is the most superhuman he has ever felt.