Archive of Our Own

Clark was not panicking. He wasn't! He was a grown adult who routinely dealt with high stress situations what would leave the average person unable to function. He didn't panic.

Lois raised an eyebrow at him. "Superman doesn't panic," she corrected him. "Clark Kent? Clark Kent panics. Remember our first date?"

Clark remembered. He remembered feeling like he might throw up, mostly. The reminder didn't help things, as he felt his stomach turn in anticipation. "Not helpful," he gritted out, adjusting his tie for the third time. His first date with Lois had been nerve-wracking enough, but they'd just gone for dinner at a half-decent eatery a few blocks from the Daily Planet offices. They'd walked there together after work and hadn't made too much of a big deal about it, and he'd still felt like throwing up beforehand.

This was different. This was Bruce Wayne. "Why did I offer to plan this?" he asked her, not for the first time.

"Because the date's in Metropolis," she reminded him. "And you know this city better than he does."

Clark sighed. Sure, it had made sense when he'd suggested it. It made less sense now, though. Clark knew the best food carts in the city, sure. He knew coffee shops and diners and take-out places, but restaurants at the level of quality Bruce was probably used to? He was flying blind, here. He'd booked somewhere based on the recommendation he'd gotten from Mandy, who wrote a food column for the paper. He trusted her expertise implicitly, but a quick look at the menu—more specifically, the lack of prices on the menu—had sparked a whole new wave of nerves.

He was fairly confident Bruce wouldn't let him pay, but Clark wanted to be able to at least offer without completely wiping out his savings.

"But it's Bruce Wayne, Lo." Clark knew he was whining, but he couldn't relax. "Cat Grant has written about five of his dates in the last year. I can't compete with that!"

"If I wasn't talking to you through a phone screen, I'd slap you. Clark, this isn't Bruce Wayne. It's Bruce. Your friend, Bruce. Has he ever mentioned these dates to you?"

Clark looked at the phone screen, wincing at her expression. "No, he hasn't," he admitted.

"Do you think the Bruce you know would enjoy—" she glanced to the side, squinting to read something. "A hot air balloon ride, followed by a privately catered dinner on a super yacht with a model?"

Clark tried to imagine it. His friend. The man he'd met on a rooftop seven years ago. The quiet, broody, tough nut to crack, beautiful soul he was pretty sure he'd loved for almost as long as he'd known him. He tried to picture him laughing on a yacht with a model, and he could see it, but couldn't connect it to the person he knew.

Lois hummed. "Exactly. Whatever you have planned, it'll be fine, because you know him. He cares about you."

Clark smiled at his own reflection in the mirror. "Yeah, okay. I guess you're right."

"Now, hang up on me and finish getting ready, alright? You can debrief tomorrow when you pick up Jon."

"Alright. Yeah, thanks Lois."

"Any time, Smallville."

Clark tapped the screen, disconnecting the call.

It would be fine. Although, Clark still wasn't sure. He knew Bruce so well, had imagined a lot of things with him. He could picture lazy mornings, cuddling, could imagine flying home to him after a mission, could imagine quiet afternoons at home surrounded by family, and he could imagine a whole lot of ways they could end up in bed together, but dates? Everything he pictured just felt wrong, somehow.

He thought of Bruce, of the expression he'd worn that day, when Clark had been standing there, unsuspecting and unprepared. There hadn't been anything unusual about that day, really. It was just like any other, right up until Bruce had looked at him. Brow furrowed, eyes intensely fixed on him.

Clark had paused, frozen in the moment.

And then Bruce had kissed him.

And now they were going on a date. A first date on Valentine's day, of all things.

Clark was panicking, sure, but he was also excited. The thought of sitting at a table across from Bruce, hands touching on the too-fancy tablecloth, face illuminated by candlelight… The image was pleasant, for sure. He could do this. He wanted to do this.

That confidence lasted right up until he reached the front door of the restaurant. This place was fancy. Clark felt out of place, in his ill-fitting suit that he wished he didn't have to wear to this date. He wanted to look his best, but looking his best would mean sacrificing his identity, opening himself up to curious eyes and whispered questions.

Of course, when Bruce walked in, he looked incredible. He was perfect, hair styled impeccably, suit tailored to perfectly accentuate his shoulders and waist and—yeah, his ass looked amazing, too, Clark noted, as he turned to hand his coat to a host.

The hosts took your coat here. That's how fancy this place was.

Clark wished he had a debonair, sexy secret identity like Bruce had, rather than bumbling journalist who could barely tie his shoes without tripping over them in the process.

Clark stood as Bruce approached the table. He wanted to kiss him.

He could, right? That was allowed. They were on a date, they'd kissed before. He leaned in, hand slipping around his waist.

"Can I get you any drinks?" The server's interruption was enough to break them apart, a hello kiss turning into more of an awkward, aborted hug.

"Water, please," Clark said, wishing he could benefit from anything stronger. "And, um—" he looked to Bruce.

"Can we see your wine list, please? And a water, also. Thank you."

He smiled, charm radiating from every pore.

They sat, the server leaving them with the wine list for Bruce to peruse. Clark… said nothing. He watched Bruce, taking in the sight of him there, in his element, comfortable in a way Clark could never be in this environment.

Bruce ordered the wine, sipped the taste the server shared with him and said something about tannins and notes of fruit, and then his attention was back on Clark. All of it, bright blue eyes focused on him in a way that made him feel all mushy inside.

"Hi."

"Hey. Thanks for… I mean. How are you?" Clark asked, wincing internally.

"Things are… busy," Bruce said, shrugging. Clark knew what he meant. Gotham's rogues had been particularly active for the past few weeks. Clark had been worried Bruce would cancel, actually.

"I'm glad you could make it."

"I wouldn't miss this. I've been… really looking forward to it, actually." There was a flush to Bruce's cheeks that he wasn't used to seeing.

He wanted to see more of it.

"And your family?" Clark asked. God, he was terrible at this. Bruce told him about the kids, in veiled terms to disguise their identities. Clark read between the lines, learning Tim was taking care of Gotham tonight, most of the rogues back in Arkham while Damian was staying in Blüdhaven with Dick. Bruce spoke about each of his children in turn—singing Cassandra's praises, fretting over Jason keeping his distance, all of them covered in the time it took for the server to come back and ask for their dinner orders.

By the time their food arrived, Clark had told Bruce about Jon's latest exploits, the gossip at the Planet's office, and his parents' latest update from Smallville.

What else did people talk about on a first date? Hobbies, work, family… They already knew each other so well, on a level they couldn't talk about together in public like this.

They lapsed into silence, legs brushing under the table. The silence was comfortable, but Clark was hyper-aware of their surroundings, of the forks he didn't know what to do with, of the people at the next table, whispering. Whispering about them.

Is that Bruce Wayne? Who is he with?

He could see Bruce bristle a little, and he knew that Bruce had heard the whispers, too.

"I'm sorry," Clark blurted out, probably a little too loud. Bruce frowned at him. "This is… I should have picked somewhere more private."

Bruce reached out, covering Clark's hand with his own. A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. Clark turned his hand over, letting Bruce's fingertips trace over his palm before linking their hands together.

That point of contact was enough to make Clark forget the people at the next table over, forget the mystery cutlery and the panic filling his head. It made him forget everything, except for Bruce.

He loved him, so much. With every fiber of his being, he loved that man. "Bruce, I—"

There was a crash, bursting in on their moment. Clark was the first to react, pulling Bruce under the table a second before the doors to the restaurant were blown inwards and the screams started.

There in the doorway was the massive, hulking figure of…

"Is that a pink teddy bear?" someone asked.

It was—huge and fluffy and cute, apart from the fact that it was holding onto the hostess and cuddling her tight enough that Clark could hear her struggling to breathe.

"You got a plan?" Clark whispered, glancing at Bruce.

"Several. Can you tell whether it's biological or tech?"

Clark looked through the fur and saw the steel skeleton beneath—well, that was a relief. He didn't think he'd be able to handle it if this thing was alive, honestly. He recognized the mechanism operating the robot.

"Machine. Toyman, from the look of it."

Bruce grunted in acknowledgement. "Where is he hiding out?"

Clark closed his eyes, focusing on the faint hum of the signal controlling the bear, tracing it back to it's source. There were more than one, bears rampaging in on every high-class restaurant in the city.

The source was nearby—a rooftop just a few blocks away. He opened his mouth to tell Bruce as much, when a scream rang out as the bear's grip tightened on the hostess.

Bruce darted out from under the table, and a pink fluffy arm reached for him, pulling Bruce into its fluffy embrace.

"Bruce Wayne!" The cry went up around the restaurant. "It's got Bruce Wayne! Somebody help him!"

Bruce looked thoroughly annoyed to be caught like that, but Clark could tell he was only pretending to struggle. The bear had dropped the hostess to grab him, after all. He locked eyes with Clark.

He didn't say a word, but Clark knew what he was trying to communicate.

Get out. Stop him. End this humiliation.

Clark used the distraction of everyone around him to speed out of the restaurant, changing into his suit in record time and making his way to the rooftop where Toyman was hiding out.

He was grandstanding, rambling about how those idiots don't deserve love, don't deserve to celebrate this holiday, not when people like him have nobody to spend it with.

Clark usually tried to hear people out, tried to talk them down from whatever ledge they were on, but he was fresh out of patience. He punched the machine controlling the teddy bears and tied Toyman up before rushing back to the restaurant.

Back to Bruce.

"It's Superman!"

A cheer rang out in the restaurant as he walked in, and he realized a fraction of a second too late that he should have paused to change back into his suit before coming back in.

He braced himself. "Is everyone alright?" he asked, making his way into the restaurant and pulling the arms of the bear open, freeing both Bruce and the hostess.

"I'm okay," the hostess gasped, rubbing her chest where the arm had been grasping her. "A little winded."

Bruce winced, clearly faking it. "Thanks for the save, Superman." His smile was tight, and Clark knew this was killing him. He hated being helpless, having to rely on someone else to save him.

"Any time." Clark grinned. He couldn't help but feel amused and a little turned on by this Bruce, grumpy and disheveled, attempting to straighten his rumpled suit.

"What happened to his date?" someone asked, and Bruce's jaw clenched.

The murmurs grew louder, everyone recovering enough from the shock to start gossiping. Clark wrinkled his nose, silently apologizing to Bruce for it all.

"Superman!" someone approached, being followed by the hostess. "Thank you for coming to help. If you want anything from the kitchen, it's on the house."

Clark glanced over at Bruce, who was attempting to vanish into the shadows.

He hated that their date had gone so poorly. He hated letting Bruce down like this. This was supposed to be perfect—their first date, their first Valentine's day together.

"It was no problem. I'm just glad everyone is okay. I— I just need a minute, if that's alright, I—" Clark couldn't finish his sentence, leaving the conversation to go find Bruce, who had managed to make his way outside into the relative silence of the street.

"Do you want me to take you back to Gotham?" he asked.

Bruce frowned. "Why would I want that?" he asked.

"Bruce, I—I don't know if you noticed, but this date has been… a mess. Sorry, I should've—"

"Cl—" he looked around him. "Clark," he whispered, soft enough that anyone without super-hearing would struggle to hear. "I mean, sure, being grabbed by a giant fluffy pink Teddy bear wasn't what I had in mind for tonight, but that wasn't your fault. But before that, it was good, wasn't it?"

Clark furrowed his brow. "You were enjoying yourself?" he asked.

"I mean, I was on a date with you. How could I not enjoy myself?"

Clark deflated. "I screwed this all up. I was so stressed that you'd hate it, B, it was all I could think of. I couldn't—every date idea I had felt so wrong, so not us, and then, there were all the forks and it was so fancy, and the portions were so small, B."

Bruce laughed. "Clark, I was just happy to be there with you. I'd be happy to be anywhere with you."

Clark glanced around before resting his forehead against Bruce's for a moment. He was an idiot.

"Can we try again?" he asked. "I have another idea."

He stood up and took a step back.

"I'd like that," Bruce nodded. "Something we'll both enjoy."

Clark nodded. "Want me to fly you, or would you rather take a car?"

Bruce made a face. Clark knew he hated being carried. He laughed. "Get a car to my apartment. I'll meet you there."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, and Clark flushed. "Not—I mean…"

Bruce grinned. "See you soon."

Clark made it quick—as soon as Bruce was out of sight, he ducked back into the restaurant and took the manager up on his offer, accepting whatever the kitchen had to hand in a to-go bag. He made it home before Bruce's car pulled up outside, changing out of his suit into a comfortable pair of pants and a sweater, one he knew he actually looked good in.

He dished up the food and set it on the coffee table just as the door opened and Bruce slipped in. Clark had never given him a key, but he wasn't surprised he had one.

Clark grabbed some candles and lit them next to the food. "Hi, Bruce."

Bruce looked at the table setup, then at Clark. He reached out and dimmed the lights in the room. Clark held out a hand to him, and Bruce crossed the room in just a few steps.

This was perfect. "We don't have to put an act on here," he said, pressing a kiss to Bruce's cheek before sitting down on a cushion on the floor. "We can just be us."

Bruce stared down at him, eyes wide.

"Bruce?" he asked.

"I—I don't know how to do this," Bruce said.

Clark saw a nervousness there, now. One he hadn't seen at the restaurant, one that mirrored his own panic from earlier. "It's easy," Clark told him, holding his hand out again. "You just sit. and we eat."

Bruce shook his head, but he took Clark's hand, sitting next to him. "That's not what I meant. I said I was happy to just be on a date with you, but I don't—I've never—"

"I know." Clark linked their fingers and took a forkful of risotto from the dish in front of him, holding it out for Bruce to try. "But it is simple. Or, it should be, right?"

Bruce closed his eyes. There was a tightness in his brow, even as he opened his mouth and accepted the bite Clark was feeding him. Clark kissed that spot, right at the point of the little furrow, and then watched as Bruce's face relaxed.

He chewed, then swallowed. "I don't know how to do this, Clark," he whispered. "Not—not for real. Not without the act."

Clark laughed, and it caused the frown to spring back onto Bruce's face.

"Sorry! Sorry, I didn't mean—" Clark shook his head. "I just… we're a pair, huh? I can't handle a fancy restaurant, you can't deal with a romantic meal at home."

Bruce's expression curled into something close to a smile. "I suppose we are." He opened his eyes, startling blue locking onto Clark's.

"We'll just take it one step at a time, okay? Figure out what works for us."

Bruce slid a hand around the back of Clark's neck and pulled him into a kiss, fierce and bruising. Clark gasped into it, but no sooner was he able to get over the surprise enough to reciprocate than Bruce pulled away.

"I'm fucking terrified of how much I… Of how I feel."

Clark kissed him, soft this time. He put everything he felt into that kiss, the love, the understanding, the giddy happiness he felt at being able to have this with Bruce, no matter how many bridges they still needed to cross before they could have anything resembling a normal relationship.

Bruce's cheeks were pink when they broke apart this time. "We should eat." Bruce nodded to the now mostly cool plates on the coffee table. "The risotto was good."

"I know." Clark kissed him again, tasting the subtle aromatic flavors lingering on Bruce's tongue.

"Clark," Bruce chided.

"Okay, okay." Clark grinned at him, pleased with himself for effectively diffusing the tension in the room. "hang on, let me just—"

He used his heat vision to warm the food—it was a little uneven, but it would be more palatable than eating it cold. They shared each dish, sitting close enough that they could only really use one hand each, the others locked firmly together on the floor between them.

The candlelight flickered, illuminating them in a soft glow.

"You're right," Bruce said, later. They were curled up together on the couch, not nearly enough space for both of them but neither wanting to put any unnecessary space between them. "This is nice."

"You're not panicking?" Clark traced his fingers over Bruce's spine, over the fabric of his shirt. The jacket he'd worn to dinner had been cast aside long before.

Bruce was quiet. Clark could practically hear his brain grinding. "I am," he admitted. "And I can't promise I'll ever stop being… weird, about all of this. Intimacy. But it still… it's still nice here."

Clark smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of Bruce's head. "Well, I can't promise I'll stop being weird about fancy public appearances. But it was nice, too. Before the fluffy bear attacked."

"It was."

Clark let his hand still on Bruce's back, just holding him now. "I love you, Bruce."

Bruce pushed himself up, eyes searching Clark's. "I—Clark, I…"

"I know. You don't have to say it." Clark could feel it, in the way Bruce's heart skipped a beat at the admission, in the way he looked at him, in the way he was so out of his depth. He loved Clark, too.

Bruce swallowed. "You do know, don't you?"

Their lips met, as the candle flames sputtered low on their wicks. The city was alive outside his apartment window, couples celebrating, people dismantling giant fluffy pink teddy bears, cars driving to and fro.

None of it mattered.

Nothing but this, but—

"Help!" The cry was loud enough to reach Clark where he lay, and he froze, turning to face the window.

Bruce laughed. "Need backup?" he asked.

"No, it's just— I can—" Clark didn't want to leave Bruce, not tonight, but it was a child's voice.

"Superman!" they called out.

"Go," Bruce said. He kissed the corner of Clark's mouth. "If anyone understands, it's me. If we were in Gotham…"

He didn't need to finish the sentence. If they were in Gotham, Bruce would have already gone out on patrol. The fact that he hadn't left already was testament to how much he must feel for Clark.

"I'll be back soon," Clark promised, pressing a final kiss to Bruce's lips before changing into his suit and taking off out the window. The February night air was cool and fresh on his face.

Bruce would be there when he got home—he wouldn't be every night. Wouldn't even be most nights, Clark would wager. But he'd be there tonight.

Clark couldn't have hoped for a better Valentine's day.