Chapter Text
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
It will be okay, even if Dick's racing heartbeat is telling him otherwise. He's still present at the moment, but his consciousness is slowly fading in and out, something he's experienced enough times in his life to know the feeling of intimately.
With Bruce off-world, Clark had asked him to help out with a mission. Clark doesn't usually ask Dick for help, so Dick jumped at the chance. A simple recon mission going into one of Lex Luthor's facilities, a chance to potentially get all of the charges against Luthor to finally stick. Reports of experimentation using Kryptonian DNA on people to try to create super-soldiers—something about how the Kryptonian alpha hormone interacts with the human alpha body. In the reports they found, it doesn't give them powers like a Kryptonian other than super-strength, and even then, it doesn't seem like that strength is comparable to Clark's at all.
Clark gave him as much information as he could, a discomforted look on his face the whole time while he tried to keep his personal feelings at bay, and then made a game plan.
Dick goes in, plants the undetectable bugs that Oracle developed, checks for Kryptonite, and then makes the decision on if Clark needs to get involved or not. If there were captives in bad condition, that would've warranted a call to Clark. If there was solid evidence behind a barrier that Dick could see but couldn't get to, that would warrant a call to Clark.
The first bug connected without a hitch, Dick watching as the built in camoflage does its job and blends in with the wall.
Dick barely got the second bug connected before an aerosolized weapon was released into the air. It was colorless and odorless, but Dick knew he'd inhaled something by the coating on his tongue and the inside of his mouth that it left.
The effect of an aerosol isn't always immediate, though it gets into the bloodstream quickly. He applied his re-breather the moment the gas hit him, but he knows he took a good lungful. It wouldn't be long before his heart pumped the chemical to whatever organ or system it was aimed to affect. Whatever residue was left in his mouth could absorb there if it was formulated for it, but his most pressing concern was to keep himself from breathing in anymore of it.
Clark was in and out, picking him up how he used to as a kid before he got too big. Head pillowed against a firm, broad chest, Dick could almost forget that he was waiting for the effects of an unknown gas to kick in.
From one moment to the next, things changed in ways he couldn't anticipate. And that's how he got here, in the Fortress of Solitude being scanned by a crystalline device with controls Dick's tired mind can't even spare the energy to be curious about. Clark's face blurs before growing sharp, and then blurring again. Dick huffs out a laugh before shooting up in pain, cradling his abdomen.
A strong hand rests on his back, rubbing what should probably be soothing circles into it.
"Dick." Clark's voice sounds like it's coming through water. "Your heart- Calm down." There's a level of panic underneath the steady tone, something Dick has heard before, but never aimed at him. He lets out a whine, a pitiful sound that he would be embarrassed of at any other time, but he's never felt this level of pain before.
It's a ripping sensation burning from his chest, his neck and his abdomen and while he's delirious with pain, he also knows any sort of ripping sensation coming from the body is not good. Through the haze of pain, he registers being moved, his eyes looked into. It doesn't matter. The warmth of someone else's skin on his is almost enough to burn, and though Dick doesn't realize it, his shouts of pain grow louder and louder. They rip from his throat, the only thing his body can do to provide any sort of relief.
The small, sharp pain of teeth in his neck is drowned out by the pain coursing through his entire body.
Clark watches as Dick's whole body goes lax, Dick's eyes rolling into the back of his head before he passes out.
—
When Dick wakes, it's a much gentler experience than he's used to. Normally after blacking out from pain, his first waking moments are spent in a similar state—an aborted yell, sitting up straight until someone pushes him down.
This is not like those times. The memory of pain is still fresh in his mind, but when he takes mental stock of his body, he notices nothing out of the ordinary besides an uncommon restfulness. It's with that thought that he finally opens his eyes, seeing the cave's looming ceiling. It's a sight he's most familiar with, but not when he's feeling this good.
Memories come back, of a pain he can't even imagine anymore crawling under his skin, nestling under his rib cage, and attacking his abdominal area. Just the memory is enough to make him shiver, but before he finishes that thought, Clark and Bruce round the corner. Clark must've heard him wake up, because he isn't connected to any machines that would do so.
Before he can open his mouth to say anything, Bruce asks, "How are you feeling?"
Dick huffs out a laugh. "Hello to you, too." He glances over at Clark, who's looking... guilty. His heart softens—he probably blamed himself for not going in first. It's a great thing he didn't because they don't know what that gas would've done to him, but Clark has always blamed himself for too much. "I'm right as rain. Actually, feeling better than I have in a long time." He rolls his shoulders out, feeling the distinct lack of the click his left one makes ever since he set it poorly years ago. He hums curiously, peering at Clark and Bruce where they watch him.
"Do you remember what happened?" Bruce asks.
Dick rolls his eyes—mostly for fun, since he understands the purpose of a debrief—and hops out of bed. Clark flinches, a move that makes Dick pause. There's something more going on, something that requires more observation than normal and for Superman to flinch.
They definitely notice him pause, but they let him continue with what he was going to say anyway, trying to pretend everything is normal. "I entered the facility and got one bug planted with no complications. When I got to the other side of the room, I went to plant the next and got it connected, but a colorless gas filled the room. There was residue from it in my mouth, and I applied my rebreather. I didn't get the chance to call for Superman before he was coming in, meaning something about my heartbeat or breathing gave away that something was wrong." He pauses, hesitant to tell the rest partially because it's mostly a blur, and the illogical fear that once he says the words, the pain will come back. He pushes past it. "I was brought to the medical bay of the Fortress. The aerosol caused significant brain fog, and then pain." Dick's voice turns clinical, emotionally separating himself from the situation. "The pain started in the abdomen, feeling at first like heat cramps before ramping up. It spread throughout the abdominal cavity, starting to feel like... a ripping sensation."
Dick's gaze had slid away from Clark and Bruce midway through the explanation, imagining he was reading off of a report rather than remembering the feeling. He looks back now, making direct eye contact with Clark. "Then I blacked out, and I feel better than ever."
The question is obvious in the way he looks at the man who took care of him, who he could remember worrying by his bedside and observing him with his own eyes and hands even though the medical bay of the Fortress would have told him everything already.
What was it, and what happened?
Bruce puts his hand up to signal Clark to be silent. Dick bristles at that, but stays quiet when Bruce opens his mouth. Letting Bruce do whatever he has planned usually gives more information than if he tried to beat it out of him. Taking note of the things Bruce leaves out and what he steers away from is a skill Dick has honed since he was eight years old.
"The aerosol was of a similar composition to the experiments being performed. It was designed a bit differently, in such a way that it would immediately trigger rut in any alpha that inhaled it."
Dick waits for the rest of the explanation, raising his eyebrows when it doesn't come. "I'm an omega."
Bruce nods.
Dick throws his hands in the air—patience be damned. "So? What's the verdict? Am I an alpha now? Was the pain I was feeling my fucking ovaries dissolving? What is it?"
Bruce shakes his head, and Clark sighs before opening his mouth. Dick notices how Bruce frowns when he does so. "Kryptonian bonds are stronger than human ones. You influence the person you give your bond to in physical ways as well as mental," Clark says, not answering Dick's question in the slightest. Dick's expression must show something, because Clark holds a hand up and says, "It's not as bad as you're thinking."
Dick isn't thinking anything right now, because the two people in front of him are seemingly speaking in riddles and around the actual things that need saying. He's used to Bruce doing this, learned to read his face and expressions back when he was in elementary school, but Clark's usually rather open with him. Of the two, Dick could usually trust Clark to say what was on his mind. "What are you talking about?"
"Kryptonian bonds also let you share powers, so when you- when you started dying-" Clark stutters in his day-to-day life, but Dick can't recall a time where he's been so unsure of himself—at least not for a long while.
"I was dying?" Dick interrupts.
Clark nods. His expression is strained. "I couldn't move you without hurting you more. I took you to the Fortress before it really set in, and then I couldn't move you."
"The pressure on your body from the hormone caused an aortic dissection," Bruce says. This feels like something Clark and Bruce have rehearsed, but Dick keeps throwing wrenches in the script. Dick doesn't know how long he was out, but he knows an aortic dissection is usually fatal unless treated immediately. He's a healthy young man with none of the issues that would cause something like that, so it had to be the aerosol that caused it.
"How could something that causes rut do that?" There's another question Dick knows he should be asking, but he can't bring himself to think about it.
Clark and Bruce look at each other, Bruce's jaw just a bit more clenched than Clark's. Clark's expression is more... guilty.
Dick feels his heart beating in his chest just a bit faster as he looks at the both of them.
"It was incompatible with a human omega body, which is just different enough from a Kryptonian omega that it started attacking it." Clark says, his mouth twisting into a frown. "We ran some tests at the Fortress and it likely wouldn't have done that to a Kryptonian omega." Dick stays silent for a little bit, seeing if Clark and Bruce will say something else without him asking. When Clark finally meets his eyes, his shoulders drop. "Like I said, when Kryptonians bond, they share a bit of themselves with the person they bite. In that moment, with you there dying in the Fortress, the only thing I could think to do was give you some of my healing. I didn't know if it would work, if it would be fast enough, but it was the only thing I could do in the moment."
Dick's heart is racing, his heartbeat ringing in his ears. Before he can think about it, his hand shoots up to his neck. "How long was I out?" he asks as his fingers trace the newly formed scars on his scent gland. Human omegas and alphas have fangs, alphas for bonding and for fighting, and omegas just for fighting. Dick noticed a long time ago that Clark didn't have any, and he remembers now that Clark told him that all of a Kryptonian's teeth are sharp enough to break skin easily. Instead of two, neat little scars, Dick has two large crescents that show his mate is anything but human.
His mate. Is Clark his mate?
There are other parts of Kryptonian biology they talked about, but they've never brought up mating before.
"How- What happens now?" Dick asks. He walks to stand in front of Clark, looking away from Bruce. This is between them now.
When Bruce opens his mouth, Dick holds his hand up. Bruce must be really shaken up about the whole situation, because he just takes a step back, and starts observing.
Clark opens his mouth then closes it with a pop. Anybody with eyes can tell that Clark is uncomfortable, but Dick isn't going to let him off the hook so easily. Dick doesn't want him to leave, doesn't want him to spend the rest of his night regretting everything he's ever done. Dick can see the guilt written on his face, in the way his flawless skin wrinkles between his eyebrows and how he refuses to meet Dick's eyes again.
"Kryptonian bonds are a two-way thing, unlike here. For it to be a full bond, you would have to bite me, too, and I don't even know if it would take since you're human. And they're permanent." The last sentence is said quietly, under his breath. He clearly meant for Dick to hear it, but it's more than a little obvious that he didn't really want to say that.
Dick frowns. "It's permanent?" The idea of a permanent bond is almost absurd, with human bonds dissolving within a few months if not regularly maintained.
"Since it's a one-way bond, you don't have to worry. You can still find someone else, date other people, and can even accept bonds from other people. A Kryptonian bond has to be two-way to be complete."
"So, that means you can as well?"
Clark sighs, already looking defeated. "We don't need to talk about this."
Dick reaches out to grab his wrist, holding it tight enough that Clark would have to hurt him to break out of the hold. "You've said that I can mate other people, and now I get to ask you a question. If you've given a permanent bite or bond or what-have-you, does that mean you can't bond with anyone else? Or, is it only permanent if the other person gives a reciprocal bite?"
Against all odds, Clark's expression becomes even more uncomfortable. "It doesn't matter."
"Of course it matters!" Dick's voice is becoming dangerously close to a yell, a tone usually reserved for arguments with his family. "Are you telling me you can't bond with anyone else no—"
"No, I can't. My bond belongs to you."
You could hear a pin drop in the cave with how quiet it gets. Dick would be surprised if Bruce was breathing. Dick's eyes scan Clark's face, but he doesn't know what he's looking for.
Dick thinks the only way forward is obvious. If Clark can't mate with anyone else, then solidifying his bond with Dick is the only available option. It's the only way that would be fair.
When his mouth opens to suggest it, though, he hesitates. Clark's whole body is shifting away from Dick, the only reason he's staying here being the hold on his wrist and the fact he owes Dick an explanation. Clark isn't trying to lean into his touch, isn't looking at his lips. He doesn't see any sign of attraction.
Dick drops Clark's wrist like it burns him. He feels nauseated.
Of course Clark would bond with him even if he wasn't attracted to him. It was to save his life, and that's all. Clark gave away a piece of himself he can never get back just to save Dick.
While the rest of his body feels better, while he thinks his senses have grown noticeably stronger and his bite healed much quicker than it should've, he can't help but wish Clark didn't do this.
"I'm sorry," Dick says. He keeps his eyes on Clark, who softens again.
Before Dick knows it, he's swept into a hug. It's a hug that's familiar, and that's only grown more comfortable throughout the years. The way Clark's body can be soft and giving when it can also crush and brutalize has always amazed Dick. The first time he ever hugged him, he expected the other man's skin to be hard as rock and his muscles to feel the same. He was wrong. Clark's body is soft, unless he decides he doesn't want it to be.
In Clark's arms is the most comforted Dick can ever feel. Although, this time is different. This time he knows that something he's wanted since he was a teenager is so close, yet he still can't make the final jump, not when Clark may feel like Dick is pushing a bond he doesn't want onto him.
"No, Dick. Don't apologize." Dick's more aware than ever of Bruce watching both of them, but he tries to ignore it. "I would choose to save you over the potential with someone else one-hundred times over." The statement is enough for Dick to bury his head in Clark's chest, feeling like he's a kid again. He holds back a sob.
What does this mean for them? What does this mean for Clark? He said there was a telepathic nature to the bond, is that only activated when it goes both ways? Dick is pretty sure he's not experiencing that, so is Clark feeling his obvious distress? There are so many questions that he has that he's not sure are appropriate to ask after someone has brought you back from almost certain death.
Dick's been saved from death before on many occasions, and quite a few of those being by Clark, but never at such a great personal cost. Clark could have anyone, and he chose to use his bite to save Dick.
Clark won't understand his feelings on it. Dick's already accepted that from the way Clark's been acting. There are no secret feelings that Dick can trick himself into thinking Clark has. There's nothing, besides a very good man who couldn't watch a friend die.
Dick's body must recognize Clark as its alpha in some capacity, because being this close is enough to make his entire body relax. Though, when Dick thinks about it, Clark's presence has always had that effect on him.
He's able to hold back sobs, but tears still leave his eyes and streak down his face. When Clark finally lets go, he politely doesn't comment on it.
Bruce is still standing in the same spot, watching everything go down with a detached look in his eyes. Dick can't help but look over, hoping that Bruce will decide to let Clark and him talk about things alone for just a little bit.
When their gazes meet, Bruce's eyes widen momentarily before going back to how they were before, and that micro-expression is enough to make Dick regret trying to communicate with him. There will be talks later, Dick is almost certain of it. He doesn't want to know what his red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks revealed to Bruce in that moment.
It doesn't matter if Bruce leaves the cave, anyway. There isn't a greater surveilled area on Earth than the cave, and Bruce is too dismissive of personal boundaries to not watch the conversation as it happens. The thought is enough to bring tears of frustration to his eyes again, and he angrily wipes them away. There isn't much Dick can do to fix this, not when Clark has given him a permanent bite that he won't want returned, but what he can do is make sure their relationship doesn't deteriorate.
But, he doesn't think he can say it seriously in front of Bruce, and he knows Bruce won't give them the privacy they need.
"Clark, can we go somewhere else to talk?" Dick pointedly doesn't look at Bruce. Dick isn't mad at him—Dick almost died. There is not a universe where Bruce wouldn't be hovering at this moment. Unfortunately, it's just not what Dick needs right now.
Clark looks over to Bruce, and the idea that he has to get his permission raises Dick's hackles, but whatever Clark sees gets him to delicately pick Dick up and fly them to the other side of Gotham. Dick's brought back to the flight after the incident, the way his cheek pressed against Clark's chest and how secure he felt in his arms. Clark's not carrying him like that now, opting to go the normal route of putting his hands underneath his arms, his feet dangling down below. It feels like a silly barrier to put between them when Dick has Clark's teeth marks in his neck, but Dick can understand.
Flying is something that feels second nature to Dick, even though he can't do it on his own. He flies between buildings, taunting gravity and concrete with a confidence he's earned from years and years of doing so, but the real thing is something completely different. He looks down, his eyes catching on various buildings and streets he can recognize from above before it's out of sight again.
The flight is short, but exhilarating nonetheless, Dick's adrenaline coursing through him. They fly above the clouds, a protection from any cameras that may be pointed towards them. Dick knows they're getting close to their destination when to start slowing down, descending through the clouds in a way that makes Dick feel like he's in a fairy tale. Clark sets him atop one of the taller buildings in the area, landing next to him. They're safely away from any cameras or prying eyes, and Dick can finally talk.
"Every week," Dick says, providing not a bit of context for what's going through his head.
Clark tilts his head like a curious dog. "Every week?"
"Every week we get together and have lunch, dinner, brunch, or something." Dick closes the distance between them again, poking his finger into Clark's indestructible chest. "I've seen you when you get awkward feelings about something. You avoid it. You're not going to avoid me, and we're putting rules in place to make sure of that, aren't we?" It sounds a little more threatening than he intended, especially when his voice drops a bit lower for the last bit.
The guilt that's been overwhelming all of Clark's features drops for just a moment to show surprised amusement, until confusion replaces that. "Dick, I wouldn't avoid-"
"We're not playing that game," Dick interrupts, his voice hard. "I'm okay with not- with not making this something more, I understand that. What I need to know is that you're not going to avoid me when not in the field. I know you wouldn't put civilians in danger by avoiding me in the field, you're better than that, but our personal relationship needs to stay strong."
Clark stays quiet, looking at Dick like he's speaking a completely different language. Dick nervously swallows, and continues voicing his thoughts. "I couldn't say too much with Bruce looking, you know? Pack omega being bitten by an outside alpha is already probably a lot to handle—"
"My bite doesn't mean anything to you unless it's requited. You get all of the benefits of having a bite without having to give any up. That's how this works." Clark's voice is disconnected, like he's reading facts off of a whiteboard in a classroom. He looks like he has something else to say, though, so Dick gives him a moment.
Clark looks up, making eye contact with him. "I was going to ignore it, the way you said that. But you-" Clark pauses, and Dick can tell he's fighting with himself on what to say. "You said that you're okay with not making this something more. That it's something you understand. Is it something you want?" The last word sounds like it's pried from him.
Instinctively taking a step back, Dick replies a bit too quickly, "I'm not sure you want the answer to that."
Clark, the man he's known since before he hit double digits, since before he was in middle school—he can't possibly want him.
"I asked a question, and I want whatever the answer is." Clark looks at him, really looks at him. It's a look that is begging him to be honest, to tell him what he's really feeling.
Dick's a good actor, the best of the Bats when it comes to lying, but he doesn't think he wants to be that today. He doesn't want to wear the mask of Dick Grayson, the older brother who's okay with everything. He doesn't want to pretend that Clark rejecting him won't hurt. Dick's shoulders slump. "You know I've looked at you with stars in my eyes since I was a kid." Dick shrugs. "That hasn't changed as an adult, either. I admire you."
"Admiration and wanting to... be bonded, are two entirely separate things, Dick." Clark's voice isn't sounding like Clark—it's sounding like Superman. Friendly, but hard and to the point.
"Why do you say you want my answer, but then you immediately bat it down? You're purposefully misunderstanding me." Dick takes a step closer, his hands raised as he talks. "And it's fine that you don't feel that way! We've known each other for a long time." He puts his hands down, and resists the urge to reach out to Clark. "I don't feel... good about you sacrificing your one chance at a bond just to save my life. I want you to be happy, to be in a committed relationship that fulfills you." Dick is a known talker, but when it comes to his feelings, it gets harder and harder to remain articulate about them.
"You feel guilty, and that's alright. You don't have to, because it was my choice, but I see why you would feel that way." Dick narrows his eyes at him in anger, to which Clark lifts his eyebrows. There, that's a Clark response.
Dick's tired of Clark talking like Superman, tired of Clark talking to him like he's a child who doesn't have all the answers. This small ball of indignation in his chest is what gives him the ability to say, "I've been in love with you for years, and that's the reason I feel so bad about it. Shut the hell up about how I supposedly feel."
Dick wonders if the bond would save him from dying if he jumped off of the building to get away from Clark, but he doesn't think the bond is quite the lifesaver in that sense. After that last sentence, he can't bring himself to look at Clark. There are benefits to not being in the Cave, but the biggest con is that he can't disappear to his room when something terribly embarrassing happens.
The gentlest press of a hand on his shoulder is what brings him to look up again. It's so gentle it might as well not even be there.
Clark could tear the world apart if he wanted, if he let go for a little too long. It's amazing the level of control he has, and even more amazing how he can pretend to be clumsy when accidentally hitting the side of a door frame could literally tear it from the wall with no effort for him. Dick's been watching the way he moves since he was a child, and has received many lectures from his mentor about how exactly Clark holds himself back. It's a subject of fascination for Bruce as well as Dick.
That fascination is only human, and Dick has seen it in people's eyes when Superman comes up more times than he could count. Superman is something more than human, something other, but still does everything he can to help. It's something that people can't imagine, especially not with the government and the upper class they have now. Lex Luthor simply can't imagine that an alien with Clark's powers would want to help out humanity in the long term, and Dick thinks that says more about Lex than Superman.
Dick meets Clark's eyes, and he can't tell what he sees in them. There's hesitation in his face, but there are two small wrinkles next to his eyes that only show up when he's holding back a smile.
The words that leave Clark are even and measured. "I... appreciate that, I really do." Dick's heart drops, but he tries his best to keep that from showing on his face. "Why has it not come up before now?"
Dick gawks at him. "You mean when you and Lois were together? Or when I thought you and Bruce were a thing—"
"What?"
"You and him were always together, 'training'. I thought it was a euphemism for something else." Clark huffs out a laugh, but Dick doesn't let him start talking again. "The point is that there was never a good time. This isn't even a good time, because I'm sure you're thinking I'm just saying that so you didn't waste your apparently permanent bond-mark on someone who doesn't love you."
Clark ponders that for a moment, his gaze moving elsewhere as he sinks into his thoughts. Dick can't tear his eyes away from Clark, not when he's lit up by the sunset, his hair slightly a mess from the wind but not nearly as displaced as it should be. While Dick watches, Clark runs his fingers through his hair, pushing back the one curl that had fallen onto his forehead.
"I-" Clark stops himself, the muscles of his shoulder and upper back growing tense with his thoughts. Dick wishes he was free to hold a hand out, touch the muscle that lived underneath the comfortable, over-sized flannel he almost definitely got from Walmart.
Dick takes a step back, and Clark's gaze shoots back to him with an inhuman speed. The attention threatens to bring a blush to his cheeks, but he holds it back.
"If you don't feel the same way, that's fine." Dick steadfastly ignores the way his stomach twists at the idea of being rejected, but pushing himself onto someone else is not something he ever wants to do. He knows how it feels to have your words and wants ignored, and even the mere image of doing something like that to another person is a surefire way to make him nauseous. "I'm not trying to pressure you. It's an offer. If you want me, I'm here." Dick holds his arms out at his sides before dropping them. Clark's face is unreadable, something Dick's only seen a few times, and rarely ever directed at himself.
Dick doesn't exactly have anywhere to go. He could make his way down the building just fine, but not when it's still light out and he has exactly no gear or anyway to hide his face. The safest way to get down would be to get Clark to carry him, but the more time that passes, the more unlikely Dick thinks that is to happen. Clark won't leave him up here, but Dick doesn't know if he'll be able to ask him for help down without feeling like the most troublesome person who's ever lived.
Clark doesn't normally use his speed when he's talking to people. The reminder that he's so much faster, so much more powerful, is scary to most, which is why it's so surprising when suddenly, Clark is in front of him.
Clark takes a deep breath, one Dick knows is entirely for show and not because of an actual need for more oxygen, and speaks, "I would like to try that with you. I can't say what you've said to me, not yet, but-" Clark pauses, and takes Dick's hand. Dick knows his hand is clammy from nerves; he presses down the urge to take his hand from Clark and wipe it off on his pants. Dick doesn't think Clark would respond the best to him just ripping his hand away, no matter the reason. "I wouldn't have done that for just anyone."
Squeezing Clark's hand, Dick allows himself a small smile up at the taller man. Clark is a master of hiding his physique, of hiding his strength, but Dick can always see it. The way he towers over everyone in the street, how his shoulders are wide enough that the thought of being held down by him is—
God, the bite must have done something to Dick's libido, because he has to quickly disregard that thought before his body makes it obvious what he's thinking.
"And you won't avoid me?"
Clark shakes his head. "No." He pauses, then says, "If you see I am, feel free to comment on it. You know where I live."
Dick lets his smile spread across his whole face. Being what Dick is, he knows how he looks when he lets a full smile loose—he looks good. His white teeth glint in the sunlight, his eyes crinkle in just the right way; it's the way he charms the rich people at Bruce's galas, and anyone else who he may need to. This isn't premeditated, though. This is authentic, something he finds he can be with Clark on most days.
It's freeing, and scary, especially after a lifetime of hiding. The hiding won't stop, not with who his family is and what his extracurricular activities entail, but it's nice to let the mask drop down momentarily, no matter for how short a time.