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Of all the people to despise a young Batman, Clark wasn't expecting it to be Bruce. Bruce sat in his usual chair beside him, a gruff, stubbled scowl peeking out from his mask. The Bat was tense, his muscles and tendons winding so tight Clark worried he might hear them snap like a rubber band. Clark sighed. He'd have to deal with Bruce later. The core members of the League gathered today in the Watchtower's War Room to talk about the issue at hand.
"What are we supposed to do with a baby Batman?" Barry asked. The conversation had already been going for twenty minutes with no headway, and a few leaguers were starting to get exasperated. "I mean, I guess we could just stick him with B, but it would be kind of weird to have two Batmans – Batmen? – patrolling Gotham."
Bruce grumbled loudly and crossed his arms, but none of his words were clear enough to understand.
"Gotham would be most familiar to him," nodded Diana. "And I think that level of comfort would be helpful for his stay, at least while we investigate the cause of his arrival and how to return him to his proper time dimension."
"He stays out of Gotham," Bruce finally bit out his words. Hal rolled his eyes behind his mask – nobody would be able to tell besides Clark, if it weren't for Hal dramatically scoffing at the same time. "We can clear a room for the kid on the Watchtower."
"Oh yeah, because it would be world-ending for Batman to just make interdimensional housing arrangements easy for us for once," said Hal, annoyed enough to throw his hands in the air. "Can we even keep him on the Watchtower?"
"He is right here, and just as much of a capable individual in deciding his arrangements," snapped the much, much younger Batman at the table. This Bruce looked just a smidge younger than when Clark and Batman first met. The man was lithe, just an inch shorter than his counterpart, and his voice was softer, just a little more emotional. If it weren't for seeing the old Batsuit, Clark could've sworn they were talking to a very cranky Nightwing.
The young Batman had suddenly appeared earlier that day, tumbling out of the dimensional transporter they hadn't used in years since they had to beat back an evil Superman and rescue a few leaguers from capture. The dimensional gate had been decommissioned long ago, not wanting to accidentally invite other alternative selves through, but Clark supposed that Cyborg would have to take a second look at it to make sure they didn't have any more guests falling through holes in the interdimensional fabric of the universe and onto the floor of the Watchtower bay.
Of course, they'd questioned him, the interrogation led by their own Batman. Clearly, he must've had some type of contingency or access code because the interview was fairly short. The door to the interrogation room slid open and the two Bruces stepped out.
"Accidental interdimensional time travel from twenty years ago. None of us have met yet in his experience," said Bruce. Because of course he could come to that conclusion in just ten minutes. "Currently unknown whether the cause is magical, extraterrestrial, or other."
And then the founders and council filed into the War Room, and Clark graciously pulled out an extra chair for their guest and had everyone scoot a little bit to make room for him. Right. And that's how they got here.
"Don't talk to me like I'm a child," said the younger Bruce.
"Order," said Clark, patting the table.
"How old are you anyway, Baby B? You old enough to be left alone with the stove?" asked Hal, now solving a floating Sudoku construct. Here came a huff and a lens-covered eye roll from the younger Batman.
"I'm twenty-three," Baby Bruce answered, crossing his arms. The entire room groaned loudly, some hiding their faces in their palms. Clark could see where Damian got his attitude. "Not that it's hard to outperform your childlike intellect even with my lack of veteran experience."
"Order," Clark insisted again. This was getting out of hand. Leave it to the league to start arguing the way they used to when confronted with a twenty-years-younger Bruce. Diana placed a hand on his shoulder, casting him a sympathetic smile. Please, Clark pleaded in his head.
"Dude, are you calling me old?" Hal threw a pen at him. Young Bruce caught it. "I'm only thirty-six!"
"Judging by your punches when I came off the transporter earlier, I would've just said six." Bruce tossed the pen back, smacking Hal in the forehead. "Or sixty-six."
"You little fucking –" Hal rose from his seat, green light sputtering from his ring.
"I said, Order!" Clark slammed a hand on the table, the smack booming across the room, causing a few members to flinch in surprise. "We are not here to argue. We are here to decide accommodations for… Batman." Both Batmen glared at him, their blank lenses boring into his center. "...For the duration of his stay."
Clark sank back into his seat, rubbing at his temples. He sighed. They never got to have an easy day, did they? It was a wonder how he hadn't started graying yet. Bruce's gray temples must have come from the stress of having six kids, rather than the job. Clark pointed a hand toward the younger Bruce sitting across the round table from him.
"Batman is about twenty years removed from our time, which stands to reason that there's a whole twenty years of technological advancement, rogue gallery and criminal developments, and future events that he is not privy to," said Clark, confident and commanding. "So Batman," he turned to the older Bruce. "My question is whether we'd rather house the other Batman on the Watchtower, which contains all of the League's technology and information, your home base, which risks access to your own files and equipment, or elsewhere, in which case it would be far more difficult to monitor our guest's safety and location."
Both Bruces grumbled and looked away, just a little bit. God, they even pouted the same. Clark dragged a hand down his face. If Batman – both of them – had any affection for his coworkers, they'd just pick something. He could see the gears turning in everyone's heads, imagining the potential damage that could come to either their dimension or the other if this Batman were to receive some information too early, or encounter the wrong person. But surprisingly, the first one to compromise was the headstrong young Bruce.
"I'll stay for a few days on the Watchtower," he said. "During your end-of-week meeting on Friday, we'll re-evaluate if we haven't found a way to send me back."
"Great," said Clark, clapping his hands together. "We have that figured out for now. For the rest of the week, we'll ensure that a League council member is on each monitor duty shift, and will have additional duties to check in with our guest and ensure all needs, resources, et cetera, are provided for."
There was another round of groans around the room.
"Come on, guys," Clark pleaded. "Hal, you have the next monitor duty shift, can you make sure Batman gets set up in B's quarters?"
"I'd like to switch shifts," said Hal, holding his hands up. "I'm not a babysitter. I remember B and I being at each other's throats when we first started the League, and I'm done with that. Baby Batman can argue with his own Green Lantern when he gets back home. I'll take a later shift when all the important stuff has been done already and I don't have to talk to him."
"I'll do it! I think it would be fun to hang with a young B," Barry stuck his hand in the air. "If you want, I can show you the ropes." He sent a pair of finger guns at the younger Batman, who only ignored him. Hal gave Barry a high five.
"Request to switch shifts with Flash!" said Hal.
"Request denied." Older Bruce immediately shot back. "But to save my younger self from your antics, I recommend Superman take Booster Gold's shift with you while Batman settles in. I want at least one member I can trust to take care of their duties on the first shift."
That was a good idea. Bruce hated Booster Gold. He'd hate him at any age. Maybe hate was a strong word, since it was just that B despised Gold's cavalier attitude, but Clark certainly would never put them in a room together for any longer than strictly necessary. Clark nodded, agreeing to the shift switch.
"I, for one, am glad that we can show Batman the benefits of the League and our collaboration while he is still so early in his career," said Diana. She was certainly the most positive out of the core members. Thank god for Diana. Or, you know. Gods? "Welcome, Batman, to the Justice League. This meeting is adjourned."
Green Arrow and Flash called out a few whoops and hollers for the hell of it, while the rest of them politely clapped as a welcome. Each member slowly trailed out of the room, chatting amongst themselves as they got back to their own personal duties and lives. Hal called out to Clark that he was going ahead to the monitor room, leaving him with all the "babysitting tasks" as he called it.
Bruce went over to his younger self near the door, speaking in his usual low voice. Clark followed closely behind, wanting to help Batman settle in first thing.
"I'm sure you understand the risks to be had if you interfere with any League missions," said the older Bruce. "Or anything in Gotham for that matter. Stay out until I say you can come."
"I never saw myself as a person who'd treat someone younger as incapable simply because of their age," said Batman. "We both personally know quite a few people who should never be underestimated for their age."
Seeing the two of them right next to each other made their physical differences all the more obvious. Besides the inch-and-a-half difference in height, their uniforms were different. The batsuit had become thicker and bulkier over the years with new layers of armor and hidden gadgets. Simpler, more focused on function than on projecting a character. But it seemed that Bruce's equipment was much more stripped back when he first started two decades ago. Light, membrane-thin armor right out of Wayne Enterprise's R&D department, in a slightly lighter gray than Clark was used to seeing, emblazoned with a gold-outlined black bat.
"You are severely inexperienced in comparison to the dangers our world faces in the modern day," Bruce poked a finger into the man's chest with every emphasized word, using the mere inch and a half height advantage he had to try and lean over him. "So I'll give you the same advice I give my sons. Stay out of trouble." Bruce turned to move around Batman, nearly bumping into Clark.
"Kal," said Bruce. He gently pushed at Clark's chest for distance before moving past him. "I've already programmed your thumbprint to my quarters to make things easier for you. Call if he bothers you too much."
"Thanks, B."
Bruce grumbled back at Clark. But it was the nice grumble that meant he agreed, so that made Clark smile. Bruce's black cape snapped in the air as he drew it around himself, stalking out through the double-wide doors.
Clark placed a gentle hand on Batman's shoulder out of habit, drawing back when he felt his back stiffen under his touch. He turned to meet Clark's eyes with his own blank white lenses.
"Sorry, I forgot that you haven't met me in your world." Clark flashed a brilliant smile and held out a hand. "Hi, I'm Superman. My Kryptonian name is Kal-El, so you can call me Kal. I know your other self pretty well, I hope I can get to know you too."
Batman gazed down at the open hand, hesitating for only a moment before taking Clark's hand and shaking it. Oh. His hand – maybe just his gauntlet – was smaller than Bruce's, just a little bit. Bruce's gauntlets nowadays had an unknown amount of tech inside, and had multiple protective layers and reinforced articulations for the joints to make up for the ache that settled into his battle-worn muscles. It was so strange to be reminded that this wasn't his friend, yet still was at the same time.
"I guess there's no point in introducing myself," said Batman. "I assume you already know who I am beneath the mask." Clark nodded, explaining the core members and council all knew each other in real life – and quite a few of their kids and relatives as well. And honestly with this twenty-year difference, no one would recognize this Batman with his mask off anyway.
"Do you have a human name too?" Batman asked. "Or is that a secret?" Clark shook his head.
"I'm a little worried about giving you spoilers. I'd like to give the other Superman a chance to introduce himself properly, if you have one in your dimension."
Batman used the handshake to gently pull Clark in and steer him toward the door. Clark instinctively stepped forward, bringing him into the man's space for only a moment before Batman stepped away.
"So, are you going to show me to my room?"
All in all, Bruce seemed to really not like his younger self. But since this Batman seemed pretty nice, relatively speaking, Clark couldn't quite tell why.
Batman was settling in quite well. Surprisingly so, to Clark's expectations. After a day or so, their guest had taken to walking around without the cowl on, entirely different from the Bruce he knew so well. But, Clark did tell him that no one would recognize a twenty-three-year-old Bruce Wayne, so he guessed it wasn't so bad.
This young Batman was surprisingly social. He patiently answered queries from various council members who were curious about his universe, not that there was too much different quite yet, since he was only a year and a half into his nighttime career. And Wonder Woman thought he was cute. Like a little brother.
Clark hid a laugh behind his hands when the new Batman pressed a soft kiss to Diana's knuckles. It would've looked flirty, if it weren't for that Diana hugged him tighter than was safe for the average human and pinched his cheeks after.
"You are all so young to me," declared Diana. She looked just the same as she did when they first met her so many years ago. "But I cherish your affection just the same. I am glad to know that you'll grow into an extraordinary man, if there is any similarity between you and our own Batman."
"...Thank you, Wonder Woman," choked Batman.
It would've been funny, if the new Batman hadn't been able to successfully fluster other members – namely Clark and Hal.
It started small. The young Bruce would sit in the monitor room with whoever was on duty for the next two days. More often Clark than not. Hal had two long shifts as well, covering for Green Arrow when Dinah finally went into labor for their second child. Batman would sit in the spare seat by Hal, quiet with his eyes trained on the various trackers on screen until Hal broke the silence. Has he met any other heroes so far? Who was the worst villain he'd faced so far? Did he have any embarrassing drunk puking stories recently?
And with each question, Batman got a little closer until he was leaning against the monitor console for balance, his form pitched ever so slightly over Hal's seat. Clark couldn't help but cast his eyes over every so often, curious how this Batman could be so different. And every time, their eyes would meet. Icy blue eyes met his own unprepared gaze, and he'd turn away before he looked into the other's for too long.
It was just a look here and there, until Bruce started twisting Clark's and his own words in his soft-ish voice. Just a little bit.
"Have you eaten yet?" begot "Are you inviting me to dinner?"
"Could you tell me more about this tsunami detector?" became "I'd like to see you in action."
And "I can't let you go to Gotham," was answered with "What if I stuck close to you?"
Every phrase came complete with an un-cowled smile, or even a light pat on the shoulder from a smooth gauntlet. The flirting slowly got just a little bolder.
The young Bruce would ask for a pen, and two fingers would glide across Clark's thumb as he took it from his hand, quick as a sparrow. He honestly didn't notice that bit until later. When Clark reached for a slice of pizza across the table – courtesy of Cyborg – his sleeve would ride up just an inch, bunching up around his forearm. Bruce reached over to pull his sleeve back into place, muttering that he "shouldn't get grease on his uniform. It would be unprofessional."
This Bruce was nearly as easy to talk to as the one he'd known for years. Clark often forgot that this man didn't have the same shared memories, and he'd run face-first into a story he'd have to cut off if it got too personal or involved with the future Bruce's experiences. But that wasn't an issue – he'd just get a smile and an easy question to redirect the conversation. If it weren't for the fact that Clark did technically know this man for years, in a roundabout way, he would've marveled at how comfortable they could be.
Clark only got nervous when Bruce got a little closer. He'd hover behind Hal's chair first, looking over at Clark, who very purposefully stuck his eyes on the screen. And then Bruce would float to him, reach out over his shoulder to point out an inconsistency in the data, pulling Clark's chair back with his other hand. And it would bring them far closer than Clark was strictly comfortable with – not that there wasn't a part of it that made his skin buzz, but what was he supposed to do, exactly? And when this Bruce wrapped his middle finger and thumb around Clark's wrist to physically pull his hand to a different control ("I think you should check the gamma radiation in that area first before moving on,") his arm felt like wood on a marionette string, only moving by the will of someone stronger. And Bruce would lean into his grip on Clark's chair, then his shoulder, letting his muscled arm brush against Clark's chest and slide his hand to the controls on the lower side of the panel.
It was… provoking, to say the least.
Clark wasn't sure how to bring it up. He didn't exactly want to hold Bruce responsible for his younger counterpart's behavior. That wasn't fair. And it didn't necessarily mean the two Batmen were exactly the same, either. But he didn't have to think about it, because Hal was brave to a fault, and often spoke first, and thought later.
"So does Baby Batman flirt with you guys?" Hal looked over at the older Bruce, who joined them for their Friday morning monitor duty when his younger counterpart left for his quarters. It had been two, nearly three days of increasingly unsubtle flirting, but never anything forward enough to catch the young Batman out in the moment. "Ok, not you. But Clark, do you ever feel like he's paying a lot of attention to you?" Hal pushed on without listening for an answer.
"I don't know. Maybe it's his like, detective skills," Hal pinched his fingers in air quotes. "Or whatever. But he stares at Clark a lot." Bruce looked at Clark with a silent question.
"He does!" Clark shrugged, hiding his warming cheeks from view. "At first I thought it was just curiosity. 'Cause you know. Future, and stuff."
"How eloquent."
"And when he's not staring at Clark, I'm pretty sure he's pointing his ass directly at me." Hal sounded exasperated. "Or asking Clark 'Ooh, what do you do in your spare time? Do you bench six thousand pounds?' Or moving my hand when I'm making constructs. I'm kind of flattered. But I also can't –" He waved a hand at Bruce. "Separate you two very well. It's a bit weird."
"I did – Ugh. He does that." Bruce flexed his neck, groaning when the joints popped. "I expected that he'd be a bit… Distracting. For some of our members."
"Oh?" Hal leaned closer in case the next part was quiet. Bruce would've chewed his lips if he was a timid man, but all he did was roll his jaw.
"In my youth… I was a bit of a cad." Bruce admitted. "Had a bad habit of teasing and flirting, even when I wasn't doing it for my cover. Every rumor has just a smidgen of truth."
"Is that your very humble brag about being a whore?" said Hal with no heat. They'd known each other long enough to consider it a joke. Bruce huffed a silent laugh, and ran a finger lightly against Hal's tricep. He leaned in close, his lips ghosting the shell of Hal's ear. Oh, Jesus. Clark rolled his eyes. If Bruce noticed, then even better.
"Only if I'm with someone worth bragging about," Bruce whispered, and a shiver ran up Hal's spine. Clark frowned. He could've gone without hearing the involuntary shake of Hal's muscles, or Bruce's snort and (very manly) giggle. "Can I brag about you, Hal?"
"What – stop. Stop it! You can't just do that!" Hal stood quickly, stumbling as he backed off from the monitor. It was like flipping a switch between being red with embarrassment, and nervously laughing like a teenager. "Leave my innocent girlhood alone, you tramp!"
"He's probably practicing on you, Hal. Don't take it too seriously," assured Bruce, patting Hal's arm like he hadn't trailed it with the lightest touch only moments ago. "You're the easiest to rile up out of all of us. I used to do it a long time ago, when my public image was more… Egoistic. Get the testiest one in a group to like you and the rest become putty. If anything his brazenness gives you a good reason to punch the Batman in the face. If you can manage it."
"Your tabloid articles make way more sense now," laughed Hal. He stretched his shoulders, casually making his way out of the room. "Anyways I'm taking my break. There's pasta primavera today. Baby Batman sounds like more trouble than expected, so I'll leave him up to you guys."
The door closed behind Hal, leaving Clark and Bruce to themselves. Clark sat in the seat Hal left behind, uncomfortably warm from someone else's body heat.
"A big flirt?" said Clark.
"A big flirt. If he bothers you just tell him to leave you alone or ignore him, and he'll back off," said Bruce, waving a hand in the air about his counterpart.
"So, he's practicing on me?" asked Clark. Bruce took a moment to consider his words.
"Just Hal," said Bruce. That sounded kind of final to Clark's interpretation. But if there was anything more Bruce wanted to say, he didn't say it. He turned back to the monitor, making notes on low-level tremors detected in Bialya. Well. At least Clark knew the young Batman would back off if he wanted him to. But Clark didn't exactly feel the need to cut it off quite yet.
The last two days were interesting, to say the least. Green Lantern seemed fairly friendly, whenever he wasn't calling any form of hospitality "babysitting" to make himself feel more important. But, he quickly warmed up to Bruce when he gently pressed for more info. He asked Lantern about his duties, about Oa. About the differences in alien tech, Earth tech, and Earth tech of twenty years ago. Of course, most of that information came in terms of vehicles, particularly planes.
Green Lantern didn't exactly say who he was, but it was pretty obvious he was a pilot of some sort, possibly former military. Bruce couldn't blame him for exposing so much when he was comfortable, though. He was quite literally a younger version of his longtime friend. Kal was a little more closed off. He was polite, kind even. But not quite forthcoming until he got nervous. So Bruce wanted to make him nervous. Mostly out of the need to investigate everything around him. But also for fun.
And Kal was magnetic, in a way. Most of the first-meeting awkwardness and distrust melted away quickly, half because Kal knew Batman for years already, and half because Bruce was comforted by another version of himself trusting him implicitly.
A knock came at the bedroom door. And then it came again, insistent.
Bruce pressed the side panel to let the door slide open, revealing his own face, weathered by two decades and glowering down at him with the extra height from thick rubber boots. Batman crowded him in, glowering at him through the same white lenses he wore himself.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" His older self hissed. "Or are you just shameless?"
"Does that mean you're shameful?" said Bruce without a beat. He often bit down any instinct for rudeness, but that didn't matter in the cape and cowl. "Or bitter?"
The older Batman growled, his mask holding back half the irritation in his face. He was graying at the temples, and fine lines had started to set in around his eyes. It was strange, yet comforting to know that it was possible for him to reach his mid-40s without being gunned down by GCPD.
"I spoke with Lantern and Superman. And you're being a distraction to my team." Bruce quickly discovered he was not a fan of this brand of self-criticism. "I know how you are. Knock it off."
"Superman didn't seem to mind being distracted," he replied. "So what exactly is the issue? I'm not you. It's clear that I'm not you." His older self crossed his arms. He did that a lot.
"After you leave, I'll still have to deal with whatever troubles you've introduced to my relationship with Clark." Ah. So his name is Clark. Bruce filed that tidbit away for later.
"I don't think you're as bothered by it as you say you are," said Bruce. He stepped past the other man to open the door, showing him out. "You're hesitating. But I'm not. It's not my problem. So I'll stop when he rejects me, or whenever you stop hesitating."
Clark stood outside Bruce's quarters. He forced the twitching in his knuckles to subside, and knocked on the door. The door slid open, with the new Bruce standing on the other side, staring into the red symbol of the House of El on his chest. His head was bent, messing with a catch at the back of his mask, but he stepped aside to let Clark step inside, the automatic door gently closing behind him with a hiss of air.
"Hey Batman," said Clark. "The results from the zeta particle field test came in, and we have a closer match on your dimensional signature. Cyborg needs to run it a couple more times so we were hoping to get more DNA samples from you."
Bruce nodded.
"Yes – that's no problem. Just give me a second." Bruce huffed, letting his hands drop to his sides. "Kal, could you help me remove my cowl? This is only a prototype so it tends to get stuck. Easier with a second set of hands."
"Yeah, of course," Clark answered automatically. He'd done this for his Bruce many times before, many times with mysterious alien gunk or blood caked in the grooves, so this was far easier. Clark's hands caught the seam around the middle of the mask, where Bruce's fingers slipped against the edge. Gently, the mask split apart in his hands as he pushed it back, revealing Bruce's young, immortal face. His fingers curled tighter around the cowl they held, cradling his face along the edges of Clark's thumbs. Oh man.
Bruce clasped his own hands around Clark's wrists, holding him in place as Bruce slid forward slowly, Clark's own hands instinctively dragging this man's face closer. His breath was hot. His eyes were too close, too dark as their eyelids drooped.
"Can you help me with the rest of it, Clark?" And that knocked a breath out of Clark he didn't know he was holding.
They kissed like there was a plan neither were aware of, eyes closing instinctively, heads tilting for comfort. Clark pulled off the cowl all the way, dropping it to the floor before returning to Bruce's lips just as fervently as before. Arms thick with ropey muscles wrapped around Clark's shoulders and head, pulling him in closer, and he pulled Bruce's waist in with his own arms. The back of his thighs met the cot, and Bruce pushed him onto it to sit comfortably. Without breaking their connection, Bruce swung his legs over Clark's lap, plastering himself to his front from mouth to hip. Clark felt a sharp bite at his lip, allowing him to swallow the other's breath.
Clark bent Bruce backward in his lap, his hands around the other's back now the only thing preventing him from falling head-first onto the floor. Clark dragged his mouth down the side of Bruce's neck, listening to heavy breaths shake the taut muscles and vocal cords beneath his skin.
"Clark," Bruce whispered into his ear.
Clark flinched, blinking away the fog in his mind. What were they doing? This was his best friend, sort of. A time-displaced version of a man he'd come to trust and cherish through countless battles, victories, and losses. None of which the man before him had experienced. He broke away, staring down at the Bruce in his hands, red-faced with the same piercing eyes he'd come to know over the years. A gloved hand patted at his face.
"You going to put me down, big blue?" Bruce sounded nearly breathless. The corners of his open mouth pinched into a cover-worthy smile.
"Oh – right. Sorry, I'm –" Clark maneuvered Bruce off his lap, pointedly ignoring the friction of the back of Bruce's thighs sliding across his own. God. He was thirty-seven. Not sixteen. "I don't think we should do this."
Bruce laughed, just a little bit, and leaned back into his new spot on the cot.
"I know." He did? "As much as I'm disappointed to not continue, I'm sure there's more important things for you and the other guy to talk about."
"Bruce and I?" Young Bruce swiped his cowl from the floor and tugged it back on, smoothing down errant locks of hair beneath the rubberized cap.
"You and Bruce, yes." He stood to leave Clark on the cot, wiping away a spot of moisture from the edge of his own mouth. "I've never done well with upfront conversations about… Relationships. So don't let him avoid talking about this."
"What?"
"Spoken like a poet." What? Yeah, that was definitely using his years of journalistic writing skill. Clark fought against the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh. "If I find myself attracted to you when I've been here only two days, what would I feel after well over a decade?"
Oh. Ohhhhhh.
In just another day and a half, the League was able to send Baby Batman home. More members of the council had taken to calling him that, but Clark just kept it on the inside to be polite. All things considered, this was the easiest and most peaceful interdimensional issue they'd dealt with their entire career. And being back to only dealing with one Batman was a relief for some of the members with more casual attitudes – namely Barry, Hal, and Oliver, who was glad to miss the entire event.
The young Bruce was polite for the rest of his stay. The flirting with Clark immediately stopped, but he was no less friendly. That didn't stop the older Bruce from pointedly staring every time he passed him on the Watchtower. But now that it was over, Clark looked forward to laughing about it with Bruce. Even if Clark was avoiding the elephant in the room that the other Bruce told Clark not to let the older Bruce avoid. He felt like a bit of a coward.
"I don't remember being that annoying when I was twenty-three," said Bruce. "Funny how things look different when you're finally going gray."
It was now or never, Clark supposed.
"Bruce. So when I went to get the other Batman for the second round of testing, we um," Clark avoided meeting Bruce's gaze. He was too nervous to see if he was angry, or annoyed, or uncomfortable. He'd rather just get this whole thing over with and make sure things didn't get awkward between two longtime friends.
"You kissed," Bruce finished.
"Yes. We –" Clark hesitated. "You knew?" Bruce scoffed at him in disbelief. Of course he knew. He's Batman.
"It's not like I hadn't considered the possibility myself, before," Bruce's voice was low, quiet like he was hoping Clark would pretend not to hear him.
"For how long?" Clark stepped closer into Bruce's space, leaning on the edge of the monitor console. "Even now?"
"A long time. And yes." Bruce finally looked at him, nowhere near as closed-off as Clark had come to expect of Bruce. And his best friend was beautiful. Clark held out a gentle hand, and Bruce removed a gauntlet to take it in his own. They'd held hands enough times for it to feel familiar, but now it felt like their natural way of being. And wasn't it funny for Clark to find comfort in that so quickly? "It bothered me to see myself like that. When I couldn't do it myself."
"And what would you like to do now?" Clark didn't wait for an answer. He let his eyes slip closed as he tilted forward, placing a chaste kiss on Bruce's mouth before drawing back. Bruce slapped a hand to the side of Clark's neck – much like his other self – and drew Clark back in for another kiss, pressing hard enough to feel their teeth through the flesh of their lips. They slowly pulled apart, but stayed close with their foreheads pressed together.
"I'd like you to come over for dinner." Yes. He could do that. Clark would love to do that. "And stay for breakfast."
Clark coughed, nearly choking on his own spit. He couldn't, technically. But it felt like he could. Even the simplest words from Bruce would be the death of him.
"Clark?"
Clark nodded frantically, quickly pressing a kiss to Bruce's cheek before he lost his nerve.
"Sure. Yes. I love dinner. And breakfast. I'll be over tonight.”