Chapter Text
“Master Bruce, you’re packing for a weekend, not a month-long mission in the jungle.”
What Alfred witnessed upon entering Bruce’s bedroom was quite a sight. No wonder he made such a comment.
Dick laid on his belly on top of the comforter, legs waving behind him lazily as he read the comic book, Bruce’s various clothes scattered all around him. More were thrown around on all the furniture, the walk-in closet wide open and in a state of chaos.
On the floor, just by the bed, an open suitcase laid - empty apart from some underwear and socks packed neatly inside. Because those were the only things Bruce was sure of.
And in the middle of all of this conundrum, was Bruce himself, feeling utterly helpless as he eyed two shirts he was holding.
“He’s panicking,” Dick said from his position on the bed, not even lifting his eyes from the comic book, so he couldn’t see Bruce glaring at him.
“I’m not,” he denied.
He was simply considering all the options.
Dick lifted his gaze, one eyebrow raised. “Then why are you so inefficient?”
Bruce felt a little squeeze in his chest. “Just… don’t want to make a mistake,” he explained and threw both shirts on a pile of clothes he deemed ‘not suitable’.
Alfred mimicked Dick’s expression perfectly. “With clothes?”
Sighing with frustration, Bruce ran a hand through his messy hair. “I need to impress them, Alfred.”
“You’re Bruce Wayne, you can’t go better than that,” Dick noticed, returning to his comic book.
“You can absolutely go better than that,” Bruce argued. “I know. I have known me my whole life.”
Alfred rolled his eyes at him before turning his attention to Dick.
“Master Dick, are you packed already?” he asked.
“Sure thing, Alfie,” the boy answered with a proud smile and nodded at Bruce. “It’s Mr. Grump here who is sluggish.”
“I’m gonna leave you here,” Bruce threatened, a bit of Batman slipping into his voice.
“You can’t, I was invited too!” Dick protested. “I want to see the cows and chickens!”
He’s been talking about cows and chicken nonstop since they were invited to the Kents. Bruce couldn’t understand that fascination.
“How is that more exciting than elephants and wild cats in the circus?” he asked and picked another piece of clothing to examine.
“Well, I never saw a cow up close," the kid explained simply.
Bruce hummed in acknowledgment, staring at another shirt in his hands. “Maybe I should go shopping.”
Alfred walked to him and took the shirt from him. He started to fold it quickly and efficiently. “Nonsense, you have everything you need here.”
He pointed around, at more clothes than some stores were selling.
“Except plaid.”
“You look terrible in plaid, sir,” Alfred said and put the shirt away from where Bruce took it earlier.
“Everyone looks terrible in plaid.”
“That’s not what you said to Clark last weekend when he picked you up for a date,” Dick teased with an annoying grin and a singing tone.
Bruce scowled, arms folded over his chest. “No Robin for a month.”
Dick gasped. “You can’t ground me for teasing you!”
“I can,” he said with a smirk.
“Children,” Alfred scolded, taking their attention from each other. He looked at Bruce. “Master Bruce, go call Master Clark while I pack you.”
“I’m not a child, I can pack myself,” he grumbled, despite all the evidence around him telling otherwise.
“I’m a child and packed myself just fine,” Dick pointed out smugly. “You're just scared.”
“Go before you decide to do something stupid,” Alfred urged him before Bruce could add another month to Dick’s punishment. “Like cancel.”
Bruce huffed. He wouldn’t cancel, Clark would be heartbroken.
With one last glare at smirking Dick, Bruce left the bedroom and headed to his study, phone already in hand. Once he entered and closed the door behind him, he picked Clark’s number and called.
Clark answered the moment the first signal rang in Bruce’s ear.
“Hi, honey, how are you?” Clark’s sweet voice reached him in greeting. He had no doubt the other man was grinning right now. “I just got back from work and I'm making something to eat.”
Bruce could imagine Clark as clear as if seeing him now. Moving his huge body around the tiny kitchen, still dressed in work clothes, phone balanced between his ear and shoulder while he cooked.
He wished he could be there and really see it.
“I'm fine,” Bruce answered the question, a small smile of his own appearing on his lips. He felt the stress of the packing leaving him slowly. “What are you making?”
He heard Clark stirring whatever he had on the stove. “Just some pasta with chicken and sauce,” he replied. “I didn't get big groceries since I'll be gone for the weekend. Are you excited for tomorrow?”
“I am.”
Despite being a little… anxious, he was excited to officially meet Clark’s parents. It was a big step, one he never thought he would reach in any relationship he ever had. Not that any relationship ever lasted as long as the one with Clark - nine months and still going strong.
But none of his previous partners were Clark.
“Me too,” Clark said giddily. “I'm so excited, you have no idea!”
“So excited that you're floating right now?” Bruce teased, smile growing.
There was silence on Clark’s end for a few seconds. “Do you have a camera in my apartment?”
“Don't need to.”
“Yeah, I'm floating,” Clark admitted with a chuckle and made a little slurping sound as he tasted his dinner. “But I'm really excited, Bruce. My parents will finally meet you in person instead of through a phone,” he babbled. “They gonna love you, and you gonna love them. I'll show you around Smallville, all the places I've been to as a kid, and it's going to be the best weekend, I just know it!”
Clark already had everything planned and probably went through the whole weekend in his head, how it was going to play out. He had a lot of faith in ending only with a positive outcome to this whole trip.
Unlike Bruce, who went through every terrible scenario possible. He tried not to, but it was stronger than him.
When caught in the storm, Bruce always saw just rain and cold. To Clark, it was a chance for a rainbow.
“I hope so,” he murmured, leaning against the desk.
“You hope so?” Clark questioned.
“That they'll love me,” he elaborated. Because he had no doubts otherwise, that he was going to have a great time in Smallville with Clark. It’s Clark’s parents he was worried about.
Everyone knows parents want the best for their children, especially when that child was someone like Clark - a gift to humanity. And Bruce was anything but perfect. He had more issues than he had cars in his possession.
“Of course they gonna love you, Bruce,” Clark assured him softly. “I gush to them about you so much they practically know you already. And there is not a single thing about you that ain't likable.”
Bruce rolled his eyes at the last sentence. Clark was so biased. “I could name a few.”
“I have no doubt about that.” There were more sounds of Clark working on his dinner. “Are you packed already?”
“I took a break to call you,” he replied quickly. It wasn’t really a lie.
“Missed me that much?” Clark purred to the phone.
Goosebumps prickled Bruce's forearm. “Always.”
“I could come over if you want?” Clark offered eagerly. “I could be there in… three seconds?”
As tempting as it was, Bruce didn’t want Clark to see what a helpless fool he was being right now, needing his butler to pack him.
“We will see each other tomorrow,” Bruce reminded him.
“There's never enough of seeing you.”
He almost said ‘yes’.
“Stay,” he said instead. He swore he could hear Clark pouting on the other side. “I have a few things to deal with before I'll go no contact with everyone for a weekend.”
Clark sighed, disappointed. “Alright, if you're sure,” he let go. “Go be a good CEO and I'll finish my dinner. I'm starving.”
“See you tomorrow, love.”
He didn’t miss the way Clark’s breath got stuck in his chest because of the pet name. It made heat flutter in Bruce's chest.
“You got it,” he replied. “Bye, B. Love you.”
Bruce's heart started beating a little faster. “Love you too.”
“And don't panic, you'll do alright,” Clark added quickly before he disconnected.
Bruce felt his face getting warm. “I'm not panici-...” The call ended. Bruce glared at the phone where Clark’s smiling photo looked back at him before the screen went dark. “Damnit.”
He wasn't panicking.
He put the phone back in the pocket of his pants and left the study, returning to his bedroom. Dick was gone, so were the clothes, already back in their place. Alfred was just in the process of putting the last ones in the dresser.
“Did you have a nice conversation with Master Clark?” he asked, looking at Bruce’s reflection in the mirror. “You look calmer, so I assume yes.”
“I'm still nervous,” Bruce admitted, rubbing his palms together. “I have never met the parents before.”
Alfred turned to him. “I know you are. But you'll do alright, sir. Just be yourself.”
“Which one?”
“Which one of you worked on Master Clark?”
Wasn’t that a good question.
“I wish I knew,” he said with a sigh and sat at the edge of the bed. “He doesn't seem to have a favorite. He loves when Brucie flirts with him shamelessly. He loves patrolling with Batman.”
“And he loves you. Bruce Wayne,” Alfred pointed out with a small smile. “A kind, caring, sensitive young man that tries to help people however he can. Who took in an orphan to save him from reliving your own story. A man that loves Clark Kent and Superman equally. I think Kents are going to like this one.”
The knot in Bruce's chest lessened a tad. He returned the smile before looking down at his joined hands. They didn’t shake only because he trained himself not to do that in stressful situations.
Alfred was right. Being himself was the best option. Although sometimes Bruce wasn’t sure which one of his personalities was the real him. Clark loved all, so maybe he was all three, just switching between each of them when needed.
He wasn’t going to attend a gala with snobbish people, he didn’t need to be Brucie, the dumb playboy. And he wasn’t going on a patrol to beat up criminals, he didn’t need to be The Dark Knight.
He needed to be Bruce Wayne - someone only a few people in his life saw. Clark being one of them. His parents deserved to know that part of him too. The one that spent the most time with their son. He didn’t have to hide this part of himself from them. They were safe.
“Thanks, Alfred.”
Alfred bowed his head slightly. “Any time, Master Bruce. Any time.” He pointed at the suitcase by the door. “I packed your suitcase. You'll find everything you may need on your trip. Casual, something formal, something cozy for a stargazing in the field. I heard the stars are lovely in rural Kansas.”
Bruce spent almost an hour trying to pack himself. Meanwhile Alfred did it in less than ten minutes.
“What would've I had done without you, Alfred?” he asked.
“Perished, no doubt.”
Bruce chuckled. “No doubt.”
It wasn’t even an exaggeration.
While they were waiting for Clark the next morning, Bruce used that opportunity to write a few more emails to various departments of his company.
Their bags were already packed in the trunk of the black Mercedes Bruce was leaning against, and which would take them to the airport.
Dick was still by the main door, chatting with Alfred about cows and chickens again. The butler was telling him one of the special ops stories where cows were involved. Whether it was true or not, Dick was entertained enough to not ask when Clark would be there.
Unless some emergency was involved, Clark was usually punctual, so there was no reason to ask that question. Dick was just impatient.
Just like Bruce predicted, right at 8AM, there was a boom above their heads and Clark appeared in the sky.
His blinding smile was well visible even before he started descending to join them on the ground.
Even in civilian clothes, with a duffle bag in hand and no cape fluttering behind him, he looked like the epitome of a god coming down from heaven, and didn't fail to steal Bruce's breath away.
“Hi, guys!” Clark greeted, waving at them. He landed next to Bruce and gave him a quick kiss on the smiling lips. “You ready to go?”
“Just put your bag in the car and we can go,” Bruce told him, and Clark complied.
“Bye, Alfred!” Dick gave the man a big hug before running down the stairs to the car. “Have a nice free weekend!”
“God knows I deserve one,” Alfred commented with a smile.
Clark closed the trunk of the car. “You sure you don't want to come?” he asked Alfred. “Ma and Pa won't mind.”
“I'm sure, Master Clark,” Alfred replied. “Thank you for your offer, but I need some time for myself. Maybe for Christmas.”
Clark grinned. “I'm counting on it.”
“Alright, get in,” Bruce urged his boyfriend. Dick was already inside and strapped in. “We have a plane to catch.”
“It's your private jet, it won’t fly away without you,” Clark pointed out with an eye roll, but obediently got into the car on the passenger side.
“I'll take pics for you, Alfred,” Dick promised from the back seat, sticking out through the window. “We'll watch them when we come back.”
“I can't wait to see them, Master Dick. I shall prepare a new photo album.”
Dick started waving at the butler. Bruce got behind the wheel and closed the window on the boy’s side, forcing him back inside.
Bruce and Clark gave Alfred their own little waves, and then Bruce finally drove away. The car slithered through the long driveway leading to the main gate that opened with one click of the remote.
Soon after they were speeding away from Wayne Manor, and Bruce felt Clark grab his hand.
“How does it feel to leave Gotham for so long?” Clark asked, entwining their fingers together.
“Surprisingly easy,” Bruce replied, eyes on the road. “I just hope no one will escape Arkham while I'm away.”
“It’s just three days, it'll be fine,” Clark assured him with a comforting squeeze to his palm. “Once we're back, the city will still be standing.”
“Hmm.”
He saw Clark tilt his head. “I can always check at night.”
“No,” he refused immediately. “It's our weekend off, no coming back unless it's absolutely necessary.”
He glanced at Clark and saw the man smiling.
“What's the emergency that would cause us to return?” he asked curiously.
“Alien invasion,” he stated without hesitation.
Clark whistled. “That's a big one. And if it's anything less?”
“Gotham PD can deal with it.”
Metahuman wrecking havoc, Joker escaping Arkham, Freeze turning Gotham into Antarctica - nothing was going to ruin this weekend for them.
Clark and his parents were way too important. They would probably understand, but it didn't matter. Unless it was really something Jim Gordon couldn't handle, Bruce was going to stay in Smallville until Sunday.
Clark said nothing at first, and when Bruce stopped at the red light, he looked at him and saw the softest expression on his boyfriend's face, just looking at him.
“I'm proud of you,” Clark said eventually, voice raw with emotions.
Bruce smiled at him and squeezed his hand.
He was proud of himself too.
Around an hour after leaving the manor, they reached the airport. Bruce left the car in his private spot, close to the just as private entrance to the building.
With no commercial flight formalities, the boarding went smoothly and quickly. The pilot greeted them during it and wished them a good flight.
Ten minutes later they were in the air, enjoying the comforts the jet had to offer. Bruce helped himself to a glass of scotch to calm his growing nerves a little.
Clark tried to help in his own way, leaning into Bruce so he wouldn't forget he wasn't alone in this.
Both were helping keep his nerves at bay.
“Flying inside a jet must be boring to you, huh?” Dick asked from his single seat across from them.
He got himself comfortable there with a book the moment they reached the required altitude and could unlock the seatbelts.
“A little bit,” Clark admitted, looking longingly through the window. “Nothing better than the feeling of air in my hair and on my face when I fly among the clouds.”
“I for one enjoy the comfort of a jet,” Bruce chimed in and sipped on his drink. “Or the Batwing.”
“My arms are comfortable too,” Clark pointed out with a gentle nudge.
“I can't steer you,” Bruce deadpanned in response.
“So it comes down to you being a control freak,” Clark concluded.
“Like with everything,” Dick muttered from behind his book.
Bruce glared at him.
“But he didn't deny my arms are comfortable.”
He glared at Clark too, blushing.
The flight was uneventful and calm. Dick, engrossed in his book and with headphones blasting music, kept to himself through all of it.
Bruce and Clark passed the time talking and just being in each other's company.
That and Clark's arm around his shoulder helped Bruce stay calm, but the moment they landed in Kansas, and he put his foot on its soil, the nerves returned twice as strong now that they were in the same state as the Kents.
He hid it, of course he did, his face the perfect mask of composure. His heart was betraying him though, beating faster than normal.
He didn't bother to try to calm it. Clark already heard it, and Dick knew him well enough to notice Bruce was nervous even without obvious signs and super hearing. So there was no point.
Bruce rented them a car. It waited in the airport’s parking lot. He unlocked it with his phone and went to the driver's side, when Clark beat him to it, zapping to the door with super speed.
“I'm driving,” he announced, one leg already inside the Lexus. “I know these roads.”
“GPS exists,” Bruce said, eyeing the screen inside the car.
Clark smiled at him. “Yeah, but GPS doesn't know all the shortcuts that I do,” he said with a wink, and climbed all the way behind the wheel.
Huffing, but with a warm smile, Bruce put their baggage in the trunk and joined Clark and Dick in the car.
It took them almost three hours to reach Smallville, but instead of driving through it, Clark took them around it, declaring it was quicker.
“So, this is Smallville?” Dick asked, watching the town through the window.
“Yeah,” Clark confirmed proudly. “I'll show you the town more tomorrow. A fair is starting today and will last all weekend. Farmer's market, lots of stalls with homemade goodies and craft. And games.”
Dick leaned forward between their seats. “I like games! What kind of games?”
“Horseshoe tossing for example.”
They couldn't go more Kansas than that, Bruce couldn't help but think to himself.
“I'm gonna win all of the games,” Dick announced with a competitive glint in his eyes.
“We'll be cheering you on, champ,” Bruce promised with a smile.
“You better!”
Once they left Smallville behind them, after some more driving, a lone farm appeared on the horizon.
Bruce's blood roared in his ears. This was it, no turning back.
Clark was already holding Bruce's hand, but he squeezed it tighter in encouragement before speeding up a bit, eager to see his parents.
By the time they stopped in front of the old family house, there was a heavy pressure on Bruce's chest and gnawing anxiety twisting his guts into knots.
It was fine, he talked with the Kents before. Only through a phone, but he did. They already knew him to some extent, this was just a formality.
Trying to convince himself didn't ease his nerves. He was surprised he was able to stand steadily after leaving the car.
In comparison, Dick and Clark practically jumped out of it.
“Ma! Pa!” Clark shouted, shutting the car door behind him. “We're here!”
A moment later, Martha and Jonathan Kent walked through the door and quickly stepped down from the porch, smiling at all of them.
But mostly at Clark, who rushed to them with a big grin.
“My sweet boy!” Martha exclaimed with a cheerful laugh when Clark swept her off her feet and into a big hug. She looked so small and fragile in his broad arms, but he held her so gently yet so fiercely, swirling her a little. “I missed you so much!”
“I missed you too, Ma,” Clark said into her greying hair before setting her back on the ground.
Jonathan came close to them. “Welcome back, son.”
“Pa!”
Jonathan was the one to start the hug, but Clark quickly took over, lifting his dad up just like he did with his mother.
They both hugged for dear life, sporting big smiles. Such an easy display of love between the parents and their precious son.
Bruce watched it with a smile, his heart filling up with warmth. When the tiniest ache started to grow underneath it, he shoved it away, ashamed of even feeling it.
When a small hand slipped into his, he squeezed it and tugged Dick closer, glad for comfort the boy offered - consciously or not, it didn't matter.
They lingered by the car until all three Kents were done with greeting each other.
When they were, Clark walked back to Bruce and Dick with a wide smile, and after wrapping his arm around Bruce's waist, he brought them closer to his parents.
“Ma, Pa, this is my boyfriend Bruce and his ward Dick,” he introduced them proudly and with love, his smile not faltering even for a moment.
Before Bruce could respond in any way, Dick dropped his hand and moved forward, halting right in front of the Kents and extending his arm.
“Nice to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Kent!”
Martha shook his hand with a chuckle. “Aren't you a polite boy.”
Jonathan copied his wife's gesture, shaking Dick's hand firmly. “You sure you're not his biological kid?” he asked the boy, eyeing both him and Bruce. “You look so alike.”
When it came to hair and face, Bruce and Dick were scarily alike. If Dick's skin weren't much darker than his, Bruce would've wondered if he didn't meet the boy's mother ten years ago.
“He's too pale,” Dick pointed out with a giggle.
He stepped aside then, letting Bruce greet Clark's parents as well.
Usually, Bruce had no problem meeting people, talking to them. But his mouth felt awfully dry right now and unable to produce words. Even with Clark and Dick giving him their silent support.
Thankfully, Martha, probably sensing how nervous he was - which only made Bruce embarrassed - spoke first.
“It's nice to finally meet you in person, Bruce,” she said gently and took his hand in hers. “I know you from so many stories already but now I see you in the flesh.”
Jonathan stood next to his wife, watching Bruce with kind eyes and an easy smile. “You look bigger than in the pictures in the papers.”
The comment made Bruce chuckle, easing some of the tension from his dry throat.
“It's good to meet you too,” he said finally, satisfied his voice wasn't shaking or wasn't too rough. “I could say the same about knowing you, Clark speaks a lot about you.”
“Our boy sure loves his parents,” Jonathan noticed fondly and looked at Clark over Bruce's shoulder.
When Bruce glanced back, Clark looked sheepish but happy.
“Clark, get your bags and put them in the right rooms,” Martha told her son and moved to stand right next to Bruce, hooking their arms together.
He was a little surprised with her action.
“On it, Ma,” Clark replied and went to work.
Martha patted Bruce's forearm, smiling up at him. “You two, come with me.” With her free hand, she reached towards Dick who eagerly grabbed her palm. They headed to the house. “You must be tired after the flight, how about something to drink? Tea, coffee? Lemonade? Freshly pressed.”
“I will take lemonade, please!” Dick answered, excited.
“Good choice,” Jonathan praised the boy, walking to the house with them. “What about you, Bruce?”
“Water is fine, Mr. Kent.”
He was afraid anything with a taste would make him sick.
“Just call me Jonathan,” Clark's father prompted.
Bruce gave him a nod. Was this a good sign they were on the first name basis? Or was this how Jonathan just was?
“Alright,” he agreed.
They entered the house, and Martha led them straight to the kitchen. Only then she let go of both of them, and Jonathan pointed at the chairs so they could sit down.
Bruce sat down stiffly, feeling a little out of his depth, suddenly aware how much confidence Clark was bringing him with his presence. He saw his boyfriend briefly when he entered the house, but he quickly disappeared upstairs with their bags.
“Wow, the kitchen looks so homey!” Dick exclaimed, drawing Bruce's attention from how awkward he was feeling. He clearly didn't share Bruce's feelings.
The boy was looking around, so Bruce did so as well, although much more discretely.
Dick was right, the kitchen looked really nice, different from what they had in the manor. It was warmer, with yellow, green, and brown everywhere.
Potted plants were placed in sunny spots, and photos hung from the walls, showing various moments from Kents’ life.
The fridge was covered with magnets from all around the world, no doubt brought there by Clark.
There was a plate of cookies in front of Bruce on the table, and he was tempted to grab one, already feeling chocolate chips melting on his tongue.
But it looked so perfect and added to the charm of the room, he couldn't make himself disturb it.
The whole kitchen smelled like food, herbs and, without a better word - life.
“That's where we spend most of the day,” Martha explained, throwing them a smile over her shoulder while pulling out a jug of lemonade from the fridge. Next to her, Jonathan collected glasses for their guests. “The kitchen is the heart of a home, I always say.”
Jonathan put the glasses in front of Bruce and Dick, one already filled with water Bruce requested.
Bruce wrapped his finger around the cool glass, letting the new sensation distract him from his nerves.
Martha poured Dick his lemonade and the boy attached his mouth to the glass instantly, taking a big gulp. He sighed at the taste and smiled at Bruce.
Bruce smiled back, taking the sip of his water while Jonathan joined them at the table, pouring himself his own drink.
Just then, Clark entered the kitchen, and even though it was pretty big, somehow, he still took most of the space with his frame.
“I put the bags in the rooms,” he informed them with a relaxed smile. He hasn't stopped smiling since they arrived. “Dick, you'll stay in my old room, Bruce and I will take the guest bedroom.”
Dick perked up. “Cool. I wonder what Superman's childhood bedroom looks like!”
Clark chuckled, stepping further into the kitchen. “I'm afraid it's not that different from yours.”
“Do you want something to drink, sugarcube?” Martha asked her son. She stood by the stove, stirring in one of the pots.
Clark's eyes scanned the kitchen and landed on the jug of lemonade still on the table.
“We have lemonade!” he cheered and went to grab the glass for himself.
Clark was very relaxed and moved with familiarity when in the manor or at his own apartment, feeling at home in both places.
But here, it was just more. Clark spent most of his life in this space, making the same steps every single day, moving around his parents like in a dance.
It was enchanting to watch, like meeting a new Clark.
Clark poured himself his drink, and sensing that he was watched, he met Bruce's gaze with his. The eye contact lingered, and Clark's smile grew, lighting up the room even brighter than the sun rays falling through one of the windows were already doing.
The air escaped Bruce's lungs with a tremble.
The spell was broken with Martha's voice cutting through it. “Do you want some snacks?” she asked both Bruce and Dick. “Dinner won't be ready for another hour or two.”
“I wouldn't mind eating,” Clark answered before either of them could.
Ma Kent gave him an amused look. “You know where the fridge is, dear.”
Clark finished his lemonade in one gulp and moved to the fridge, having to bend to search through it.
Bruce respectfully kept his gaze away from that sight.
“Leave something for us, son,” Jonathan told him and then looked at Bruce, waiting.
Oh, right, they were asked a question.
“I'm fine,” Bruce finally replied to Martha, feeling a blush rising to his face. “I'm not hungry yet.”
He probably wouldn't be able to stomach anything right now.
“Me neither,” Dick repeated. Now that was new. He was almost always hungry. “I'm so excited to meet the animals.”
“I can show you our livestock once you're done with your drink,” Pa Kent offered.
Dick almost started vibrating in his spot. “Can I, Bruce?”
Bruce nodded. “Sure.”
Dick fist pumped with joy and took another sip. The glass was tall, and the lemonade was cold, so he couldn't drink as fast as he wanted.
Clark was done searching the fridge, leaning against it now, ankles crossed. He got himself what looked like stuffing, spooning and eating it straight from the bowl.
It shouldn't be attractive. But it was.
Bruce caught himself being mesmerized once again.
“How was your flight?” Martha asked, standing with her side to the table so she could see all of them, but still keep an eye on the dinner in the making.
“Bruce made us use his private jet, so it was smooth,” Clark answered in between bites.
“I don't trust commercial planes,” Bruce explained unprompted, turning the glass in his hold. It felt rude to not speak often.
“Well, you have it, so why not use it, right?” Jonathan made a light joke.
Bruce smiled shyly at him.
“I'm done!” Dick announced, placing the now empty glass on the table with a loud bang. A shiver ran through him - consequences of drinking the cold lemonade too fast. “I’m ready to see the cows now!”
Pa Kent pushed back his chair and stood up. “Alright, boy, then let's go.” Dick quickly joined him, already glued to his side. “I'll introduce you to the livestock.”
Bruce watched Dick leave with Clark's father. Usually, he didn't like Dick being away from him or Alfred. Clark was obviously an exception. Nowhere on Earth was Dick safer than with Superman.
But Jonathan was safe too. He raised Clark, protected him. Bruce didn't need any other proof.
“If you're done too, I can show you the house,” Clark offered Bruce, quickly washing the empty bowl in the sink.
“Great idea,” Martha said with a smile. “I'll finish dinner in the meantime.”
Clark walked to her, placing a kiss on her cheek. “Once we're done, we'll come help you, Ma.”
Martha shooed him away from her. “Don't worry about that, I can handle it. Go show Bruce around.”
Clark didn't argue, he stepped away and turned to Bruce, watching him finish the rest of his water. When he did, he offered his hand.
Bruce slid his palm into Clark's warm and steady one, letting himself be pulled up gently to his feet, and led around the house.
After a quick tour downstairs, Clark took him upstairs, past another series of photos archiving Clark's life growing up. It reminded Bruce of his own collection of childhood family photos, although his came to a sudden end far too early.
Clark pointed out which room was theirs during their stay, where his parents slept and where the bathroom was.
The last door on the left was their final destination. Clark opened the door and let Bruce in.
“This is my room.”
Bruce looked around, taking in the space his boyfriend grew up in like a lesson in history.
The room was an average size, with a nice but old light blue wallpaper, decorated by Clark with posters of his favorite bands and memorabilia of the Smallville High football team.
A few trophies stood on a shelf, and when Bruce took a closer look, he noticed they were for both sport and science achievements.
Underneath was a desk with an old computer, and Bruce briefly wondered if it was still working.
The single bed, looking too small for Clark now, had fresh sheets draped over it, with Dick's bag placed on top.
A vase of fresh tulips stood on the dresser in the corner, making the room more welcoming.
While he was assessing the room, Bruce could feel Clark watching him nervously, waiting for a verdict. As if Bruce was going to break up with him if his childhood bedroom wasn't up to his standards.
“Not what I expected,” Bruce said eventually, turning to the other man.
Clark tilted his head curiously. “What did you expect?”
“More chaos.”
Clark snorted, walking closer to him and bumping their hips together. “Well, it was chaos while I still lived here,” he explained, a hint of blush on his cheeks. “Books and papers everywhere, empty plates and glasses. Trash and clothes on the floor.”
Now that felt more like teenage Clark. Which wasn't that far away from adult Clark - minus dirty dishes and trash.
Bruce walked to the only piece of the room he didn't examine yet - a cork board on one of the walls. It had photos pinned to it, and Bruce ran his eyes over all of them, stopping at one in particular.
“You look hot in footballer gear,” he said to Clark, giving him a flirtatious smirk over the shoulder.
Clark stepped behind him. “Careful, Mr. Wayne,” he warned, his warm breath tickling Bruce's ear. “I was only sixteen there.”
Clark's hands slithered around his waist, and he brought their bodies closer, resting his chin on Bruce's shoulder. They looked at the pictures together.
“Those are your friends from high school?” Bruce nodded at the group photo of four people, one of which was Clark.
It looked like prom. Clark was dressed in a nice suit, with a pretty boutonniere that matched the dress of a dark-haired girl he had his arm wrapped around.
On their left was another couple, a blond girl and dark-skinned boy. The photo was taken in front of Kent's house.
“Yeah, from our last year,” Clark confirmed his suspicions and pointed with his finger at the blond girl. “This is Cloe, we ran the school newspaper together. This is Pete, my best friend. And this is Lana. She was my girlfriend then.”
Lana. He heard that name before. Clark must've mentioned her in passing.
“Are they still in Smallville?”
“Pete is, he runs his own photography business.”
That was an unexpected career choice for a farming town.
“Is it profitable?”
“Not in Smallville alone, he takes work in nearby towns as well.”
“What about Lois Lane precursor?”
The chuckle next to Bruce's ear was like music. “Cloe is in Star City, working as a reporter.”
“And Lana?”
He was curious about her the most.
“I'm not sure,” Clark admitted with a shrug. “It's been a while since we talked. And my parents said they haven't seen her come visit in a while.”
“Hmm.”
It was kind of disappointing. He was curious what kind of girl stole Clark's heart back in school. She was definitely different now than as a teen, but Bruce would still be able to learn something.
People don't change that much.
He looked at more photos, mostly of Clark and his friends. Apart from the prom pic, there was no other photo where Clark and Lana were posing as a couple.
“Are you relieved we won't bump into my ex?” Clark asked unexpectedly.
“No. Why?” He turned his head just slightly and caught the sight of Clark's smiling face. “Should I be worried?”
Clark brushed their lips together. “Nah, Lana and I were done the moment we went to college. Our relationship was always complicated, more off than on.”
“I'm honestly surprised,” Bruce hummed. “You always struck me as the type to marry your high school sweetheart.”
“I was awkward as hell as a teen,” Clark revealed. “I pretty much only dated Lana. Had some kisses with Cloe and other girls. Even one with Pete.”
Bruce's brow twitched.
“What? We've been curious. That's how I discovered I liked men too,” Clark explained with an awkward smile. “Anyway, my love life in high school was pretty uneventful.”
Bruce turned around in Clark's arms, returning his embrace. “You never told me this before.”
Clark gave him a small smile. “I guess it never came up. And being here piqued your interest so I'm telling you now.”
That was fair. It was never a secret between them, they just never really talked about their high school years.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Have you ever fooled with Lana here?” he asked, nodding at the bed.
Clark's face heated up instantly. Sometimes it was too easy to make him flustered.
“No,” he denied. “Why?”
Bruce smirked. “No reason.”
Clark watched him closely for a few seconds, eyes narrowed. “I'm not having sex with you on my childhood bed. Dick will be sleeping here.”
Bruce slipped away from Clark, patting him on the ass. Clark squeaked. “On the last day then.”
Clark turned around with a huff, hands on his hips. He watched Bruce take a curious seat on the bed, testing if it was cracking loudly. “You're impossible. Is this a kink?”
Bruce stretched his legs in front of him, taking advantage of how the pants he was wearing were slimming them down. Clark’s gaze followed the movement. “Don't think so.”
Clark shook his head, an amused smile on his lips. “I think it's a kink,” he decided. “Come on, I'll show you the barn and my loft up there.”
Bruce stood up quickly, following Clark out of the room and out of the house.
They walked through the yard towards one of the two barns on the property. Bruce spotted Jonathan and Dick by the other one.
The boy climbed the fence of a pasture connected to the barn, and with a protecting hand of Pa Kent on his back, he fed two cows with fresh grass. He seemed to be having fun.
Bruce smiled at the sight, and when he glanced at Clark, he saw the other man was smiling too.
“We don't keep animals here, just the tractor, equipment and hay,” Clark said when they entered the barn. “And my spaceship before I took it to the Fortress.”
“Your parents just keep it here?” Bruce was surprised.
“There is a basement.” Clark nodded at the tractor, and when Bruce took a closer look, he spotted a hatch in the floor underneath. “It's empty now. And up there is my loft.”
Clark stopped by a ladder with a big smile. He bowed dramatically with one hand behind his back, the other outstretched in an inviting gesture.
“After you,” he insisted.
Bruce smiled back and obediently climbed the ladder, Clark just behind him. He probably thought he was being smooth.
The loft, while also storing some hay, was obviously organized mostly as Clark's private space. There was a trunk by the wall, a small, clunky looking bookcase filled to the brim with classical literature, a little table and seats made of wooden crates, and a telescope by the window right under the roof.
Bruce could easily imagine teenage Clark coming here to brood or just be alone, reading a book.
“You definitely fooled around here,” Bruce teases, enjoying how red Clark got again.
“Once,” he murmured. Bruce was surprised it only happened one time. What teenager wouldn't use such a private space to his advantage? “Had my first time here.”
Bruce gave the loft another look around. The air was heavy with the scent of hay and an old tractor.
“How romantic.”
Clark was blushing all the way to the tips of his ears. “Shut up. After sunset it's really cozy,” he argued.
Bruce chuckled and walked to Clark, giving him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Was it good? Your first time?”
“It was…” Clark's face looked sour. “Something.”
“Come on, tell me,” Bruce encouraged him.
“It was awkward, clumsy and way too short,” he sighed, face burning with embarrassment.
Bruce cupped the heated cheeks, stroking them fondly, and Clark leaned into the touch, eyes half lidded. “From the description alone, I can assure you you're much better at this now,” Bruce promised him.
Clark smiled, one of his hands grabbing Bruce's. He turned it in his hold, placing a soft kiss on the inside of Bruce's wrist.
“I sure hope so,” he whispered, and started kissing more skin.
Bruce's whole body started growing warmer. He placed himself closer to Clark, chest to chest, his free hand tangling in the dark curls.
Clark's lips were hot against the sensitive skin, sending tremors through Bruce with each kiss. He was craving more with each second, the tension in his abdomen growing.
“Boys!” the booming voice of Jonathan Kent shouted from the entrance direction. Bruce and Clark jumped away from each other in a flash. “You in there?!”
Clark and Bruce shared a quick look. “Up in the loft, Pa!” Clark shouted back and walked to the edge.
Bruce followed, just in time to see Jonathan and Dick entering the barn, their eyes already pointed up.
Pa Kent grinned at them. “I knew I would find you there.”
“Look, Bruce. I found a cat!” Dick announced proudly and lifted the ginger feline higher.
The cat meowed, introducing itself.
“Good job,” Bruce said in reply, avoiding looking at Pa Kent. “Had fun feeding cows?”
Dick nodded, adjusting the hold on the cat. He carried it like a baby. “Mr. Kent said he will show me how to milk them tomorrow.”
Dick already sounded excited by the prospect. Jonathan smiled down at the boy and ruffled his hair before facing the loft again.
“I can teach you too if you want, Bruce,” he offered.
“I appreciate the offer, but I'll pass.”
He hoped he didn't come off as an ungrateful, stuck-up city boy by refusing.
Thankfully, Jonathan didn't look offended, he nodded in understanding.
“I was gonna show Dick the chickens next,” he informed the two of them. “Wanna join or do you want to return to the loft?”
“We will join, we weren't doing anything important,” Clark responded, already climbing down.
Clark didn't notice the knowing look on Pa Kent's face, but Bruce did and blushed for them both.
Jonathan didn't comment on his reaction, he just smirked, which made the whole situation worse.
He definitely knew what they were up to just a minute ago.
When Bruce climbed down from the loft, he made sure to keep distance from Clark, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
He felt silly. Like a kid and not a grown man that was allowed to show affection to his boyfriend. But he didn't want to risk it and make Jonathan dislike him in any way.
Clark had other plans. He planted himself at Bruce's side instantly and pulled his hand out of the pocket with a gentle, but firm tug, waving their fingers together like it was the most natural thing to do.
Bruce threw a nervous glance at Jonathan, but the man was already leaving the barn with Dick in tow, telling the boy about the chickens.
Some tension left Bruce’s chest then.
Clark didn't let go of his hand even once on the way to the coop, nor after they stopped so Dick could pet the chickens. And after a while, Bruce felt relaxed enough to brush Clark's knuckles with his thumb as they watched the boy play.
Over the next couple of minutes, Dick got to know each chicken and took countless pictures of them to show Alfred. After Jonathan told him how, Dick picked one hen up and requested a photo with the chicken.
It was adorable how much he loved those birds. It’s been a while since Bruce saw his boy so happy and playing freely - just enjoying being a kid.
His fun was interrupted when Martha called them all for dinner. Dick picked up the cat again and ran back to the house, leaving the adults behind.
He waited for them at the porch, and they entered the house together.
“Oh, you found Pumpkin, Dick,” Martha noticed and smiled at the boy. “She's the sweetest cat.”
“She's awesome,” Dick agreed, snuggling the purring cat closer.
“You need to let her go to eat tho,” she reminded him but looked at them all. “You boys go wash your hands.”
They let Dick go first, and after taking turns washing hands, they all gathered in the kitchen.
The table was almost bending under all of the food Martha prepared. Roasted meats, mashed potatoes, casserole, three different salads and various baked vegetables.
It looked like a feast for far more people than just five of them. And Martha did it all by herself. She must've started from the early morning, maybe even a day before.
Something twisted in Bruce's stomach, and it wasn't hunger. It was guilt. He didn't deserve all that effort and money spent on him.
“Do you mind setting the table, Clark?” Martha asked her son, adding some finishing touches to yet another dish.
“Not at all.” Clark gently nudged Bruce toward the chair he was occupying before the house tour. “You sit down and try some lemonade, babe.”
The word left Clark's mouth so casually and took Bruce by surprise. With his face burning, he slowly took a seat. Jonathan lowered himself into the chair at the head of the table.
“My boy sure is smitten with you,” he said, handing Bruce the jug with lemonade.
Bruce accepted it with a quiet ‘thank you’, his blush growing deeper red. The lemonade helped cool down some of it.
After the table was set and all seats were taken, no one spoke while everyone was slowly filling their plates with food.
Dick put a little bit of everything, some of it almost falling off his plate. Bruce almost scolded him for it and apologized to Martha. He even had his mouth open already, but then he saw how delighted she was with Dick's enthusiasm to try every dish, and he stayed quiet.
It seemed eating a lot was welcome, but Bruce still kept himself restrained while picking his food. He never ate much anyway.
After everyone filled their stomachs a little, Martha started a conversation.
“So, Bruce, Dick, how do you like the farm so far?” she asked.
Dick, once again, saved Bruce from speaking first. “It's so big! Is all this land really yours?”
“Yup,” confirmed Pa Kent.
“I'm sure it's not as big as the Manor or its gardens,” Ma Kent pointed out.
Bruce cut the meat on his plate slowly. “Wayne Manor is mostly empty, it's only me, Dick and my butler Alfred there,” he informed and looked up, smiling at Martha. “Your farm is much more welcoming, Mrs. Kent.”
“Just Martha, please,” she told him, returning his smile. “And thank you. It's an old house, it could use some renovation, but we try our best to keep it home.”
“It really feels like a family home,” Bruce complimented again. “If I was to ever leave Gotham, I wouldn't mind living in a place like this.”
He hoped he didn't go too far with this. He didn't say it just to appeal to the Kents, he really felt like that.
“Well, Clark will inherit it, so who knows. It may become true,” Jonathan noticed, hiding a smirk behind his drink.
“Pa,” Clark scolded his father, stiff with embarrassment on Bruce's right.
Jonathan chuckled. “Just saying.”
Bruce lowered his head to hide his shy smile. Retirement on Kents’ farm with Clark didn't sound half bad.
“Can I have a second, Mrs. Kent?” Dick asked suddenly, his plate empty.
Bruce has no idea where the kid was storing all this food.
“Of course you can, dear. Take as much as you want,” she encouraged him, already handing him a bowl with chicken drums. “Just do it before Clark, this boy can eat through the army's worth of food.”
Bruce glanced at Clark's plate, almost empty as well. And the other man ate earlier already.
“I know,” Dick complained with a groan, putting a generous amount of mashed potatoes onto his plate. “I can never beat him at eating the most pancakes for breakfast.”
Clark smirked smugly around his fork. Dick noticed and stuck out his tongue at him and the two giggled.
One day Dick and Clark's little competition was going to drive Alfred mad. Bruce already had enough pancakes for breakfast, but Alfred had it much worse, having to make them almost every morning. Not to mention double the amount on weekends whenever Clark spent the nights.
But how could Alfred say ‘no’ to pancakes when both Dick and Clark used their puppy eyes on him?
“Hope my son isn't emptying your fridge regularly, Bruce,” Pa Kent said.
“Not at all,” he replied with a fond smile, and took a risk to grab Clark's hand under the table. Clark smiled back, cheeks a little blown out with food, like a chipmunk. “Even if he did, I don't mind. I don't always eat dinner, or I eat very little, so at least Alfred has someone to cook for beside Dick.”
He could afford going through so many groceries too.
Once he stopped talking, Bruce noticed that Martha was looking at him with concern.
“In that case, you gonna eat everything on this table, or I won't let you get up from it,” she warned, pointing her fork at him. “No one goes to bed hungry in this house.”
Bruce let go of Clark's hand and sat a little straighter, caught off guard by the sudden threat. And a little touched by the reason behind it.
Jonathan leaned towards him over the table. “It’s true,” he said with a serious expression, backing up his wife.
One glance at Clark, who nodded, gave Bruce another confirmation that Ma Kent wasn't joking.
Bruce took his next bite more urgently. “Well then, I wouldn't want to offend you and your lovely cooking, Martha.”
Martha nodded, satisfied with his answer. “You got yourself a smart one, Clark.”
Clark preened at his mother. “Don't I know it.”
Without a warning, he pecked Bruce's cheek with a quick kiss and returned to his food as if nothing happened.
Bruce felt himself blushing again, but he smiled too, tension leaving his body fully.
He truly was welcome here.
Bruce went through life on scraps of food and protein shakes, only occasionally eating a full meal.
This time he ate more, making sure to try everything Martha cooked, and not small bites either.
By the end of dinner, and halfway through dessert, Bruce was fully bloated, and he could already tell he would need a couple of intense training sessions to burn all those calories.
He almost felt sick with how full his stomach was, but the uncomfortable feeling was worth it when he caught Martha watching him with a gentle smile whenever he picked something new to try.
Clark was giving him similar looks, glad to finally see Bruce eating sensible portions of food after years of nagging him to do so.
There was another reason to not regret overeating - Martha Kent was a fantastic cook, and everything she made was simply delicious. It would be a crime to not taste every single dish, and clearly others at the table agreed.
Despite how much food there was at the start of the dinner, Bruce was surprised when very little was left at the end of it. Clark with his bottomless stomach played the biggest part in cleaning off the table.
Dick wasn't that far behind.
“Someone needs to roll me up the stairs,” Dick groaned, his body sagging from the chair, too full to move.
Bruce knew that feeling.
Pa Kent's warm laugh filled the kitchen. “You certainly can eat a lot.”
“It was all so good!” Dick justified himself. “Especially that brownie!”
Martha patted Dick's full belly, making the boy giggle when it jiggled. “I'm glad you enjoyed it, honey.”
Jonathan stood up from the table slowly and started gathering empty plates, movement sluggish after such a filling meal. “You did dinner, I'll do the dishes,” he told his wife.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” They shared a chaste kiss when Jonathan walked behind her. “Come on, Dick, let’s roll you to the couch.”
Martha got up from the table and helped Dick up, the boy complaining all the way to the living room, swearing to never eat again. She was finding it amusing.
“Want some help, Pa?” Clark offered when only the three of them were left in the kitchen.
“Wouldn't say no to it,” Jonathan replied, the first batch of dishes in the sink already. He turned on the water to fill it up and added dish soap.
Clark turned to Bruce, placing a kiss on his cheek. Bruce’s gaze darted quickly in alarm to Jonathan, but the man didn't even bat an eye.
“I'll help Pa, go be with Ma and Dick.”
“I can help too,” Bruce suggested. After feeding him so much, helping the Kents with dishes was the least he could do to pay back.
“Nope, you're a guest, go to the living room, we'll join you in a minute,” Clark insisted, already up.
“He can make tea if he wants,” Pa Kent proposed.
Clark considered it for a second. “You up for it, B?”
Bruce nodded. “Sure, just tell me where everything is.”
After pointing where to look for everything necessary to make tea, Clark left Bruce to his tea making and joined the dish washing.
The father and son talked, one cleaning the dishes and the other drying them. They were catching up, Clark asking for the newest gossip and news, and Jonathan providing answers. Every time they started a new topic, one of them filled Bruce in as best as they could so he didn't feel left out.
Bruce wouldn't have minded not being included in the conversation. He didn't really take part in it, not knowing enough about Mrs. Rogers’ messy marriage or Mr. Hall’s feud over plum trees with his neighbor to have an opinion on them or be invested in the drama.
He could always pretend, nod in the right moments. That was his first instinct, but that would've been rude.
While the scent of brewing tea was slowly filling up the kitchen, Bruce listened to Clark and his dad discussing all those community news, slightly amused by how invested both of them were in some of the topics.
Regardless of everything, Bruce was happy to be included. It showed they wanted him to be part of their conversation, even if only as a listener.
Once the dishes were done and all leftovers put away, they took the tea Bruce made and carried it to the living room.
Martha and Dick were on one of the two armchairs, the boy sitting on her lap while she helped him knit. Dick held the needles himself, Ma Kent was just showing him how to move them.
“That looks good, Dick,” Clark said, putting down the tray with teacups on the coffee table.
“It's going to be a scarf,” Dick explained and stuck his tongue out in focus. “For Alfred.”
“I'm sure he will like it,” Bruce claimed and skillfully poured tea into each teacup. When he was finished, he put the kettle down and handed out the drinks.
He took his and Clark's as the last before joining his boyfriend on the couch. Briefly, he considered putting some distance between them, but he decided against it.
He sat so close to Clark their hips and shoulders were touching.
“He's a very skilled boy,” Martha told Bruce, letting Dick work on his own now. He was doing well. “You should be proud, Bruce.”
“I am.” He watched Dick working on the scarf some more, so focused he didn't seem aware he was the subject of the conversation. “We both are,” he added, looking at his boyfriend.
Clark confirmed his statement by wrapping his arm around Bruce.
Martha smiled at them both and tried the tea. A surprised moan escaped her throat.
“Oh, it's better than usual.”
“Bruce made it,” Jonathan commented from the other armchair, taking his own sip.
“You sure know your way around tea,” Martha addressed Bruce.
“Pros of being raised by an English man,” Bruce explained, pride bubbling shyly in his chest.
“You need to bring that Alfred of yours next time,” Pa Kent suggested. “We would love to meet him.”
“He's up for Christmas,” Clark informed quickly.
“He better not take it back then.”
“I'll drag him here myself,” Bruce promised Martha.
As they drank their tea, the conversation flew between them, mostly about Bruce and Clark's daytime work. Neither wanted to speak about the other parts of their lives.
Clark talked about the articles he was working on and shenanigans that happened in the bullpen on some days, so there were a lot of mentions of Lois, Jimmy and other reporters.
Bruce's work wasn't as entertaining to talk about, as most of the days he played dumb and careless in front of everyone. Talking about galas and parties wasn't a good idea either, so he mostly talked about Alfred and Dick.
He preferred to talk about them than about work anyway.
Dick sometimes butted in with his own opinion or to correct Bruce on something, but as the time went by, he was doing it less and yawning more instead, eyes and head dropping.
Eventually, he went out completely, slumped against Martha, safely asleep in her lap.
“Looks like the little one has enough,” she whispered and gently took the knitting needles and the unfinished scarf from his hands.
“It was an exciting day, better take him to bed, boys.” Jonathan stood up, grabbing a jacket from the back of the armchair and putting it on. “And go to bed too. You woke up early.”
Bruce and Clark both nodded in agreement. Clark though, was reluctant to let go.
“Yeah, we better call it the night,” he decided and withdraw his arm in the end, letting Bruce stand up and following after.
“I'll take Dick, you go take a shower,” Bruce suggested. “I'll go next.”
“Alright. Goodnight, Ma. Goodnight Pa,” Clark said to his parents before heading towards the stairs.
“Goodnight, boys,” Martha responded. “Tomorrow, we'll take you to the fair.”
Bruce walked to Ma Kent and carefully scooped Dick up from her lap and into his arms.
The boy hummed sleepily, turning his body so he could wrap his arms around Bruce's neck, head tucked under his chin. He settled warmly against Bruce's chest with a content sigh.
“Dick already can't wait to play all the games,” Bruce mentioned, hearth thudding from Dick's quiet affection.
He exchanged goodnights with the Kents and followed Clark upstairs. He saw how Jonathan left the house, probably to take care of the animals before bed.
Bruce carried Dick to his room, holding the boy with one hand while he took the bag off the bed and pulled off the sheets.
He laid Dick down, and undressed him gently down to his underwear, listening to the shower running in the other room.
After folding Dick's clothes, Bruce put them away on the dresser before returning to bed. He tucked the boy in and brushes hair away from his forehead.
Bruce placed a kiss there. “Sleep tight, Dicky.”
With one last brush to Dick’s locks, Bruce turned off the light and left the boy, going to his and Clark's room.
Clark was still in the shower, so Bruce unpacked their things and prepared his toiletries.
He was joined by his boyfriend shortly after, already dressed for bed in a pair of sweatpants that hang low on his hips. Clark had a towel draped over his neck, the water from his damp hair falling onto it.
Some droplets missed and ran down Clark's muscular, tan body instead, following the curves of his abs. Bruce watched every single one of them, craving to lick them off.
Clark noticed, expression smug when he ran a hand through his hair to cause more water to sprinkle his body.
“Shower's all yours.”
Bruce almost missed what he said.
Reluctantly, Bruce stood up from the bed and walked past Clark to the door. He couldn't help but brush his fingers over the perfectly carved six-pack of Clark's stomach.
Clark's breath hitched and he looked over his shoulder, watching Bruce with a heated gaze. Which Bruce noticed because he lingered in the doorway to admire his boyfriend some more. Arousal was pulsing strongly in his abdomen when he eventually left to take a shower.
Cold one, preferably.
And the cold shower he took, just standing under the spray of water for a while. He didn’t change the temperature when he eventually started to wash himself, enjoying the chill after hours of experiencing Kansas summer.
When he returned to the guest bedroom, dressed the same way as Clark, his boyfriend was already in bed, scrolling through his phone.
“Anything interesting?” Bruce asked, finishing drying off his hair before throwing the towel onto the chair in the corner where Clark’s own town was already.
“Nope, peace and quiet,” Clark responded, eyes still on the phone. “Both in Gotham and Metropolis.”
Bruce let out a breath of relief. “Good.”
Clark put the phone away when Bruce turned off the main light, leaving on only the lamp on the bedside table. When he climbed into the bed, he turned that one off too, his eyes adjusting to the dark quickly while he settled under the thin, old blanket with lots of patches.
“It's not cotton made out of diamonds or whatever you have at home, but it'll have to do,” Clark smiled at him and turned onto his side, his eyes giving a faint glow in the dark.
“It's nice.” Bruce faced him too, enjoying how soft the blanket was against his naked skin.
Clark reached out to him with his hand, stroking Bruce’s cheek, fingertips warm against the cold skin. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Bruce caught his hand and kissed his knuckles, looking right into Clark’s blues. “I really like it here. And your parents.”
It was peaceful. The most peaceful place he’s ever been to, in fact. While there were places that were quiet, like Wayne Manor and Fortress of Solitude, they were also empty and somber most of the time.
The farm wasn’t like that. Even with its occupants either in bed or getting to it, it still felt warm and lively, but not in an overwhelming way.
Bruce could get used to it.
And the Kents were the cherry on top. Such kind and generous people - a rarity in today's age.
“They like you too,” Clark assured.
“You think?” he murmured against the skin of Clark's palm.
“No doubt.” He moved their joined hands down to lean forward and steal a kiss from Bruce’s lips. “Told you there was nothing to worry about. But I'm happy you worried anyway.”
“Really?” he quizzed.
“Means you cared.”
“Of course I did.” He was the one to give Clark a kiss this time. “They're your parents, I wanted them to like me so you didn't have to leave me.”
A sting of pain hit him in the chest from the thought alone, but Clark’s soft expression quickly soothed the pain.
“I would never leave you,” he swore, their lips still so close they brushed together when he spoke. “Even if my parents didn't like you.”
Bruce pulled back and shook his head a little. “You don't know what you're talking about.”
Bruce would rather leave on his own than make Clark lose his parents because of him. He did not wish that pain on anyone else. Even on his worst enemy.
“Maybe not,” Clark admitted and gave Bruce’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “But we don't have to worry about that anyway because my parents like you,” he reminded gently and Bruce smiled at him, nodding. “I'm glad you're having fun so far.”
“I was nervous at first.” He felt the need to say it out loud, even if Clark knew. “Still am a bit.”
“It'll pass.”
“I know.” It has already started to. “Thank you for inviting us.”
“Of course.”
Clark scooted closer, their bodies fitting perfectly like two pieces of a puzzle. It should be uncomfortable, they were both big and muscular men, with more sharp edges than soft curves. Yet somehow sleeping against each other was like hugging a body pillow.
“Let's go to sleep, yeah?” Clark suggested, their foreheads pressed together.
Bruce hummed. “I don't remember when I went to bed this early.”
It wasn’t even ten yet.
“However will you survive that, my dark prince?” Clark teased, sliding down Bruce’s body to snuggle into his chest. Bruce wrapped his arms around him and held him tight.
He kissed the top of Clark’s head. “Smartass.”
Clark smiled against his collarbone, nuzzling it with his nose. “Love you, Bruce.”
“Love you too, Clark,” he replied sleepily. “Goodnight.”
Between Clark’s steady breathing, the cicadas playing outside and fresh, country air falling through the open window, Bruce found himself asleep in just a few minutes.
He never fell asleep this fast when not exhausted.